TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

The Milonga Chronicles: Feliz Dia del Amigo

"Que gobierno de la mierda!" I say to my friend Sergio. He laughs at me. "Cuantos años estas aca?" he asks me.  I tell him "Casi cinco."  "Que porteña sos."  My friends always laugh when I use the phrases from here.  Sandra especially.  She takes the credit for being my teacher.  "Que paso?"  He asks me.

I tell him how last week I got my visa.  My permanent visa.  I was so happy.  I went to Migraciones.  I waited with the sea of different faces - Bolivians, Paraguayans, Peruvians, Chinese, Koreans.  I really stuck out, white, with blond hair and green eyes.  All of us foreigners hoping for our final papers.  Those from Mercosur countries knowing it would be easy, those of us who were not from Mercosur countries were still a little tense.  The door on permanent visas had been shut. 

When they called my name I went up to the window.  I was asked to sign a document.  I read through it and signed it.  I then gave them a digital thumbprint.  I felt my eyes misting.  It was a very emotional moment for me.  I thanked the girl.  Never throughout this process did I ever feel that I had the right to a visa.  I know that many Americans and even some Europeans do have this attitude.  I never did. I feel honored that Argentina, especially now, that the door has been shut on legal immigration, granted me permanent residency.  With this visa I needed to go to change my DNI (our National Identity Card) from temporary to permanent.

I got up early to go to the branch of the Registro Nacional for Foreigners.  I expected a huge line as always.  I was told I needed to make an appointment to change my DNI.  I was told this would probably take a month.  I need to travel to the US in September for work.  So I figured this would give me plenty of time.  Except, I forgot, I live in Argentina.  Where nothing goes as you expect it to.

When I get to the Registro Nacional, it is kind of strange.  There is no line.  Only 3 guys blocking the door.  It is closed.  Until August 15. What the F___?  Because of the flu, they tell us.  There is no discussion.  They give us a little slip of paper and tell us to call this number to make an appointment for the 15th.  What is most frustrating is the other branches for Nacionales are not closed. Bueno.

I go home and call and call and call.  For two days I call and get a busy signal.  Probably there is one number and they have taken the phone off the hook.  This is Argentina.  Finally on Monday I reach a person at 3:45 in the afternoon.  She snarls at me "We are closed."  I ask her "OK, when are you open?" She snarls again "August 15."  I explain to her that I was given this number to call and make an appointment for August 15th for when they open again.  She hangs up on me.  This is Argentina. Hijo de puta.

Today is Dia del Amigo.  I will ignore that this woman has hung up on me.  Not very friendly.  I will remember that I have received 86 text messages from friends wishing me a Happy Dia del Amigo, 25 emails, and many phone calls.  Dia del Amigos is much bigger here than Valentines Day.  Valentines Day is really a Hallmark Holiday.  It excludes people.  Dia del Amigos is for everyone.  It is a day for you to share with all of your friends.

Tonight Laura, Marvin, and I are going to go to Gricel.  It has been ages since I have been to Gricel on a Monday. Laura has only been here since Friday.  This will be her first traditional milonga.  She has been to Catedral and La Viruta.  Both without me.  I don't go to those milongas.

We enter Gricel and are greeted by Patricio and Adriana.  Both are happy to see me.  Adriana tells me that Marvin is here already.  She tells me that she has my regular table reserved.  I am surprised as I have not been here in a long time.  She leads us to the back by the bar.  On the way I see many of my friends.  They stop me "Feliz Dia, Deby" I stop to greet them "Feliz Dia, Amiga."

I see Marvin but he is at another table.  I ask Adriana if he can sit with us.  She tells me "Si, hay no problema."  We have 3 seats and there are 2 old crones -viejas already sitting there.  I always have the front tables closest to the floor.  I direct Laura to sit at one of the chairs closer to the floor, I take the other. I tell Marvin to sit next to me.

I look at one of the viejas. They are obviously not happy. "Hola, Feliz Dia." I say to them smiling. They look back with caras de culos. Bueno.  One says to me "How come you get to sit there.  You are foreigners."  OK so this is how it is going to be.  I explain to them very patiently that this is my table. That I live here, and yes obviously I am foreign and that I have been dancing here for more than 9 years. (And obviously they have not.) As I am talking a friend comes by and hugs me "Feliz Dia Amiga." I hug him back "Vos tambien amor."  I go to change my shoes in the bathroom.

I explain the cabeceo to Laura. Before I see who she accepts a dance with she is off and running. I wince.  It is with an old guy who is not the best of dancers.  Oh well.  More of my friends are walking by the table.  This is like old home week. "Hola Deby, Feliz Dia."  "Feliz Dia Amiga."  The viejas look like they are going to start spurting pea soup.  Marvin goes to dance.  Personally I am content to sit.

Laura comes back to the table.  I ask her how her dance was. "Horrible" she tells me.  I smile.  I ask her why.  She rattles off a bunch of reasons.  She decides to order dinner.  I raise my hand for the waitress to come over.  She sees me, but it is very busy tonight.  Laura asks again.  I explain to her that the organizers have the same number of waitresses regardless.  It is just how it is.  "You are lucky.  We will get better service because the waitresses know me, and I always tip."  I am not sure she believes me that waiting as long as we have is better service.  It is.  By Argentine standards.

My friend Mecha sees me and comes running over.  We give each other big hugs.  I have not seen her for ages.  "I am so happy to see you."  She says to me.  "Feliz Dia."  She sits down at my table.  "How are you?"  I ask her.  She tells me she is really good.  "You are so skinny." She says to me.  I laugh.  "Not really."  She tells me that she wanted to tell me that she is going to have her birthday party at the milonga on Wednesday at Leonesa.  Patricio and Adriana are now going to be with Franca and Luis starting in August. "Can I bring something?"  I ask her. "No." she tells me.  "Just come, and tell Sandra."  We talk a little more and then she leaves.

Laura goes off to dance with a friend of mine. I see he moves her arm.  I am thrilled.  I have been trying to get her to move that arm of hers.  She comes back all aglow.  "He was so wonderful to dance with." she says to me.  I tell her he is an old friend of mine and a great guy.  Since moving her arm, the men are now starting to ask her to dance.  She is having a great time.

The viejas are still frowning. They have moved their table apart and forward.  One of them glares at me.  "Yo no soy muy comoda" she says to me. (I am not very comfortable.) "Que lastima." I say to her. (What a pity.) She starts to complain again..she doesn´t like her table, the column, the fact that we are foreigners and are better positioned.  I am sick of her whining.  What does she think? That I am going to say, here take our seats?  Instead I say "I told you that I live here, that I have been dancing in the milongas for almost 9 years.  Haven't you noticed all the people who have come by to greet me?"  She gives me an evil look. "It doesn't matter." she says to me. "Yo soy de Argentina." "Really?"  I say to her, "I haven't noticed anyone coming by to greet you or even to ask you to dance.  If you were nicer, this gentleman sitting with us would ask you to dance."  She responds by moving her table even further forward.  But when she does this, the waitress comes by and asks her what is she doing. Within 5 minutes they leave.  Viejas de mierda.  Why can't they just be pleasant?

At 12:30 Marvin decides he is a pumpkin and is going to leave us girls to our own devices.  Laura and I order champagne.  The floor is crowded.  I accept a dance here and there.  I do not like dancing when the floor is crowded.  I go to greet friends.

They play a tanda of rock and roll.  The song "Hit the Road Jack" comes on and Laura and I sing our hearts out.  The men around us start to laugh.  I guess it is pretty funny. Two American women singing at the top of their lungs.  I ask a couple of guys if they know what the words mean.  They say no.  When I tell them, they are really surprised.  For years they have been listening to the song and never knew what the words meant.  I tell them it is my key sentence for my Argentine boyfriends.  The guy is shocked. "Chiste." I tell him...sort of..maybe..not really.

Back to tango.  Soon the floor is cleared enough.  I dance a few tandas.  Franca comes to the table with Luis to greet me.  I give them both huge hugs.  I tell them I am happy they will be doing the milonga on Wednesday with Patricio and Adriana.  "Come until then" Franca tells me.  "I will try."  I tell her.  "I have to work."  

Laura plops down at the table.  "Anytime you want to leave." she says to me.  I am sort of amused.  It is 1:30.  The fact is, for me, this is early.  I probably would stay until much later.  I tell her I want to dance a couple of tandas and then we can leave.

We collect our things and start for the door.  As we go down the aisle my friends hug me and I them.  "Feliz Dia Amiga." they say to me.  At the door I hug Patricio and then Adriana.  They tell me they expect me next Monday.  "OK,"  I say to them. It has been a long time since I came on Monday, and this was really fun.  The milonga is a family of friends.  Feliz Dia del Amigos.

Life in Buenos Aires: Un asado and a pair of shoes

Sammy and I are off to Quilmes.  We are going to Leo’s for an asado.  Leo has been my shoemaker for almost 10 years.  It is a family business.  Shoemaking has been in her husband Antonio’s family for 4 generations.  Ariel, their son is the 4th generation of zapateros.  Silvia runs the store on Garay, Leo handles the orders for the shows and the professional dancers.  Antonio and Ariel make the shoes.  They are very efficient.  When they tell you 10 days for shoes, you have your shoes in 10 days.

Sammy is going to do a web site for them.  I have convinced them they need one.  They know that they need one, but it never was high on the priority list.  Making quality shoes has always been the main priority.

Silvia and Antonio pick us up in front of the store.  That way we don’t have to take the bus all the way to Quilmes.  I am still getting over the flu and I don’t want to get chilled.  The cold damp weather of Buenos Aires makes it easy to get sick again.

On the drive I catch up with the news of their family and I tell them what has been going on with me.  Not much since I have had the flu.  Everyone is complaining about the economy.  Silvia tells me they are busy creating shoes for a private collection of a well known dancer who is going to sell them in the U.S.  I am happy they have the business.

When we arrive at their house in Quilmes Leo and Ariel come out to greet us.  Ariel tells us that his wife will come later with the kids for the asado.  Before we go to the workrooms Leo want to show us the terrazza.  This is the newest addition to their home.

We climb the stairs to the roof.  They made a beautiful enclosed room on the roof complete with a parrilla.  We can look out over the city of Quilmes.  Like usual I am freezing.  I keep my down coat on.  The temperature is not that low, but the dampness really gets to me.  I forgot to put on a sweater so I could take my coat off.

The room has high ceilings, large glass windows.  There is a long table so everyone in the family along with friends can sit and eat together.  Sammy goes out onto the terraza to take pictures.  Leo and Silvia laugh.  He is on top of the roof next door taking pictures.  Arial and Antonio are building the fire in the parrilla.

They ask me if they should take Sammy downstairs to the work room.  I say yes because that is why we came.  I am translating the whole time.  Sammy doesn’t really speak much Spanish and they speak almost no English.

We go downstairs and Antonio opens the door to the work room.  Sammy’s eyes light up.  Antonio takes us into the area where he makes the shoes.  He shows Sammy all the wooden molds and explains how he forms the shoes.  “Everything is made of leather.” he tells Sammy.  “Others mix cardboard into the leather, my shoes are still 100% leather.  People do not understand that just because the upper part of the shoe is leather, it does not mean the shoe is constructed of leather.”

Antonio sits down at his workbench.  He pulls out dozens of tiny nails.  “I put them in my mouth.” he tells us.  “I have worked this way my whole life.”  He shows us how he pulls the nails and then taps them into the shoes that are perfectly formed around the wooden molds to whatever the custom measurements are.

“Our shoes are 100% hand made.  Nothing is made by machine or computer. Our shoes are all leather.  Dancers feet need to breathe.” He explains to Sammy.  He shows Sammy how the heels mold perfectly to the sole of the shoe.  “Our heels are guaranteed.  They support the dancer.  The plastic or painted heel cannot.”  He shows us the difference. How it is just glued to the shoe.  “We will use this heel but we do not guarantee it like we do the others.”

Sammy asks Antonio how they got started.  Antonio explains that his family has made shoes for generations.  He is a third generation shoe maker.  One day, one of the dancers from Tango Argentino came to him.  He was having problems with his feet and needed to dance many hours in the show.  Antonio designed a pair of shoes for him.  That started their tango shoe business.  They made shoes for the cast.

Word spread and later they began to make shoes for many of the shows and professional dancers. Their shoes began to gain a reputation for being the best quality.  Leo would go to the shows, salons, and even hotel rooms to take the measurements and Antonio and Ariel would make the shoes. 

Later they opened a small store in San Telmo so Leo would not have to run around.  Silvia their daughter now runs the store.  Leo still manages the major accounts from their home in Quilmes.  Dancers who wear their shoes are loyal.  The store does not have a huge inventory.  Their business is almost all custom order.  Once in awhile Ariel makes shoes for the store, or shoes that did not work out for a customer are sold in the store.

I was referred to Leo by a dancer in Forever Tango.  She made my first pair of shoes in 2000 during my first trip to Buenos Aires.  When I came back in March 2001 I had her make me 2 more pair.  I remember when she made me my first pair of shoes with a 9 cm heel.  She didn’t want to do it.  When they were ready I tried them on in the store.  Leo was ready to make fun of me wobbling.  But when I walked straight ahead she gave me a big smile.

After the accident when I could walk on crutches I brought a client to her store.  Leo burst into tears when she saw me.  By that time I had known her 6 years and probably 50 pair of shoes later.  The doctors had said I probably would not be able to dance in heels again.  I was determined to prove them wrong.

Leo and Antonio helped me.  When I was able to start to dance again I absolutely refused to wear ugly shoes.  I could not do it.   I sat in the store and cried. I could not believe those shoes were going to be my future.  Leo designed a comfortable but attractive low heeled shoe for me. She kept telling me I would dance again in heels. 

Once I regained my balance Antonio took all my 9cm shoes and cut them down to 8cm and reworked them to accommodate my messed up body. It was their present to me. “You know,”  Leo said to me, “We never use more than a 7 or 8cm heel for the shows. We only have the 9cm heel because we have to.”

Leo is amazing.  She knows an incredible amount about shoes.  She can tell you exactly why a shoe is not comfortable or why you can't dance well in it.  She knows exactly how to fix it.  Once in awhile they make a pair of shoes for me that just don't work right.  Leo know exactly why.  They guarantee their shoes.  I had one pair of shoes that became a challenge.  They were made for me before the accident. It took almost 2 years to make them right.  Now they are one of my most comfortable shoes to dance in. 

Leo always says “We make shoes for dancing, not for photos.”  She takes Sammy to a wall and points out all the famous dancers who wear their shoes. It is like a Who's Who of Tango.  The names mean nothing to Sammy.  She looks at me. “How come we have never had a photo of you?”  I shrug my shoulders.  Sammy tells her he will take one.

We move over to another area.  “This is where Ariel works.” Leo tells us.  “He cuts the shoes.  Antonio opens a box and shows us forms.  He explains what they are and how they use them to create the shoes to custom measurements.  They have one machine where they stitch the forms together. 

They take us to a room where the shoes that are completed are laid out and covered.  “The leather needs to dry properly before it is worn.” Antonio explains to us.  I know one shoemaker who tells people they can have their shoes in 5 days.  I see the dye all over my guests feet when they wear the shoes.  Not only that, the shoes stretch out.  “There is no way to hurry the process.  You cannot make a pair shoes faster than 10 days.  They have to dry.”

Leo is laying out shoes for Sammy to see.  He starts snapping pictures.  They are surprised because the cloth is ugly that the shoes are on.  I explain the wonders of Photoshop to them.  They are impressed.

By this time we are all hungry.  Ariel has come downstairs to announce the asado is ready.  His wife and kids are here.  We go back up to the roof.  The food is wonderful.  Chicken, chorizo, morcilla, and or course asado.  Salad, bread, wine.  Sammy calls the wine the great language equalizer.

Leo is fascinated by Sammy coming to Argentina.  She thinks it is wonderful how he has made a life here.  We talk about politics.  We talk about inflation and how much harder we all have to work now.

Ariel’s kids are adorable.  Antonio says to Sammy “That is going to be the 5th generation zapatero.” pointing to his grandson. “Every day after school he comes to be with his father.  One day when he was 3 he picked up a hammer and started pound a form.  That was when we knew, we had another zapatero in the family.”

I remember when Ariel first started to make shoes.  I could always tell if he made my shoes or Antonio.  Now it is impossible to tell the difference.  It was a big joke before.  I motion for Ariel’s son to come over.  I ask him “Are you going to be a zapatero like your daddy?”  He looks at me very seriously and nods his head.  “Do you think you can help me with my shoes?”  He looks at my feet.  I have on black boots.  He looks at his dad and then his grandfather, then my feet again, and then nods.  “Good.”  I tell him.  “I will wait for you.”

I always wondered who was going to make my shoes if Antonio retired.  I don’t have to wonder anymore.  This is a family of zapateros. The tradition of quality will be carried down another generation.

Artesanías "AR-SIL"  Avenida Juan de Garay 908 4362-3936  ar_sil_leo@yahoo.com.ar

Life in Buenos Aires: Gripe "A" more than a week in isolation

I feel like the prisoner of Zenda.  Well maybe not.  Maybe more like the Birdman of Alcatraz, but instead of a bird I have a demonic dog named Maximiliana to keep me company.  Last Monday I got the flu.  It hit me all of a sudden.  I went to have coffee with Amy.  Everything was great.  Then suddenly around midnight, everything changed.

My hair didn't turn green.  (That was in 1987 I think, or was it purple?)My stomach went into reverse flip flop and my body temperature did an amazing somersault.  That was when I knew I wasn't feeling very well.  I kept hoping it would reverse itself, but oh no, that was not to be.  Once or twice the thought crossed my mind I should probably go to the doctor, but when you feel like a truck has driven over your body, the thought leaves really quickly.

Had they not suspended home visits I would have called for the doctor to come.  I just could not get myself motivated to get dressed and go sit with a group of sick people, just to hear that I had the flu.  I mean what would they tell me?  "Drink plenty of liquids and get plenty of rest."  They should have also added "And turn off your television."

Every 1.5 minutes in full color digital graphics all the news stations were presenting mini-epics on "Gripe A", "Gripe Porcina".  If you weren't sick, it was enough to make you sick.  The minister of health resigned right after the elections.  She had been telling everyone for weeks she was going to do it and she did.  La Presidenta installed a new minister of health and in the middle of the worst flu epidemic she took of to circle the airport in Honduras with her new pal the Ex-sort of president of Honduras, Zelaya.  The only South American president to do so. Go Christina.  Even Hugo only sent his pilots.

Life is pretty boring on the couch. I didn't answer my phone until Thursday.  Actually I didn't hear it.  I was kind of surprised when I looked over and saw the little light blinking. My cell phone gave me no choice. You can always answer text messages with "OK". Friends would text me in both languages telling me that they had either called or emailed and that I hadn't answered.  Was I OK?  So I would text back "tengo gripe, estoy mejorando."  Which would then elicit more furious text messages.  So I would text back "OK".  It is a little late to play the language game with friends.  I just did not have the strength to type long text messages on my stupid cell phone and I really didn't want to talk to anyone.

Sandra was a little frantic.  So I went to send her an email.  You can only imagine how much email I had.  I pretended I didn't see it.I didn't even want to check my FaceBook.  I sent her a message and told her I had the flu.  I told her I didn't hear the phone when it rang and I just now got my messages.

This flu has been very boring.  I do not like being bored.  The news media made it sound like the hospitals are overflowing with people sneezing and coughing.  My friends keep telling me I need to go get something for my cough.  The thought of being locked into a place with 100s of other sick people sneezing and coughing is not very attractive.  I decide to take my chances.

On Saturday I decide to venture out. THE STREETS ARE CLEAN.  This is the first thing I notice.  The streets are never clean in Buenos Aires at 10 in the morning.  This is weird.  There is no one out.  I know I should take a taxi.  I decide to take the subte.  I cough my way down the street.  I still can't believe how clean it is.  Scary.

I get to Swiss Medical.  I am really going to see my favorite doctor, Dr. Brain, to get a prescription refill.  I brace myself for the deluge of people I assume are going to be in the guardia sneezing and coughing and full of the flu.  I open the door.  The place is like a tomb.  Wait a second.  The news media said thousands were descending upon the hospitals with this modern day plague.  I must be in the wrong place.

I look around.  Yep.  I am inside my HMO.  A guard comes up to me and asks if she can help.  I can barely understand her with the mask.  Everyone is wearing surgical masks to keep out or in the germs. I tell her why I am there.  I walk down the hall.  In the elevator there is a nurse.  I say to her "There is no one here."  She says "Yes, we are working."  I wonder if she misunderstands me.  I say to her "I was afraid to come because I thought that there would be so many people here. There is no one."  She tells me it has been like this all week.  Maybe people have been afraid to come out.  Like me.  Maybe all those people are in the public hospitals.

I go see my doctor who gives me my prescription.  He doesn't really want to take time to see me.  He says better for me to go home and rest.  "Don't forget to drink lots of fluids."  He says to me.  He tells me to make sure to come back here if I get a fever again.  "Rest and fluids."  he says.

I go back down to the guardia.  In the hour I was upstairs, it is still dead down here.  I am still amazed. I go back to the street.  It is still clean.  There are more people on the street.  It is July.  July and January in Buenos Aires are dead.  July has less people on the street because it is cold.  The flu is not helping the situation.  I take the subte home.

Today is Tuesday.  I have had enough of this cough.  The government is urging people to go to the doctor.  He says 90% of the flu is Gripe A. Our new minister of health is now doing the things the old minister of health wanted to do but the president wouldn't let her.  She thought it would screw up the elections.

I go back to Swiss Medical.  Not only is there almost no one working, there is almost no one there. Usually there are 4 people who work in the guardia.  Today there is 1.  I tell her my problem.  She asks me a few questions and gives me a mask.  I am total klutz when it comes to putting on.  She takes pity on me and leans over to help me.  The mask is made for a big face.  I don't have a big face.  We have to make it fit.

I go downstairs and wait for them to call my name.  There are only 4 other people down there.  Usually there would be at least 10.  Finally it is my turn.  I get a sour doctor.  I don't know what is happening to Swiss Medical but lately the doctors I have had from them have been pretty disagreeable.  She asks me what my problem is.  I wonder if she wants to know about how Maximiliana ate one of my dining room chairs.  I am sitting in front of her coughing like a chain smoker on Camel non-filters and she wants to know what my problem is. OK.  I giver her the run down.

She takes my temperature and then demands to know why I didn't come in last week.  "Because I couldn't move."  What I wanted to tell her is and "I didn't want to have someone like you examine me when I felt even worse."  She tells me that the worst is over and continues to lecture me. In the end she gives me a drug for my lungs and cough.  She makes sure I understand it is not the anti-viral nor is it an antibiotic.  It's a steroid.  Whatever.  She says I should feel better tomorrow. "And if I don't?  I ask.  I get the feeling she doesn't like being asked this question.

Itake a taxi home.  It was good to be outside for a bit.  Brande calls.  We talk a bit.  A few more friends call. Ani, Jorge, Jose.  I am going crazy.  No one wants to visit me.  The government is trying to close everything.  I think this is a bit excessive.  People will go crazy with nothing to do.  The holiday is on Thursday.  I am supposed to teach with Brande if I feel better then go to a milonga.  They say the milongas may be closed.

The government is giving people Friday off as well.  A least the Birdman of Alcatraz got to see the people who brought him his food.