TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

Would you like to come over?

Last week my friend Linda was here visiting from the Bay Area.  She became a part of my pack so to say.  She hung out with me and my friends.  At one point when we were together she told me that she thought I was doing well living here in Buenos Aires.  "You seem really happy, much calmer than when you lived in the Bay Area." she said to me. Linda teased me.  "You are the same."  She said to me.  "Always busy.  Always doing something. Only now it is different things."

We had  lots of conversations about lifestyle differences.  She is no stranger to living in another country.  She moved to the U.S. from England more than 10 years ago.  She told me that even though the language is the same, there are still cultural differences.  More than most people would imagine.

Linda like most of my friends, knows, that I did not move here for tango.  I moved here because I like the life here.  I did not come here to "reinvent" myself. To become another person. Or become something I could not be elsewhere. I had a great life in California. Lots of friends and many many good things.  There was always this little piece missing.  I found it here.  I am nocturnal.  I can be nocturnal here and not be alone.  I also like to be around people.  Here in Argentina, if you are alone, as one of my friends Vero says, "There is something wrong with you."

In North American the thrust is for privacy.  Here everyone knows your business.  Sometimes I have to remind myself not to talk to my North American guests the same way I do with my Argentine friends.  We talk about everyone and everything concerned with everyone.  It is just how it is.  I know things about people I only met once or never met.  Because my friends talk about their friends, their family.  In North America this would be considered bad form.  Here it is normal.  I am no longer amazed now when I meet people for the first time and they know all about me.

The other thing I like is how friendships are.  I have been asked many times by other ex-pats if the Argentines I know ever invite me to their homes. This is kind of an interesting question. North Americans are proud of their homes.  I tell my Argentine friends how when you go to the home of a person the first time they always give you a tour.  Or if they change something, they want you to see it. Events are created around new homes, new couches, new bathrooms.

My Argentine friends think this is funny.  When Sandra moved into her new apartment I asked her if I could see the rest of it.  She did not offer a tour.  This is standard for most of my friends.  Seeing their apartment or house is not on the agenda.  Having mate or dinner is.

I do go to the homes of my friends.  They invite me for one reason or another.  The thing is, most of the time we go out.  The main reason is space.  Most apartments are much smaller than apartments in North America.  That and people come from different sides of the city, so we tend to meet somewhere easy for all of us.  OR around an event like shopping in Plaza Serrano, or the theater or a movie.

The other thing I notice is that people here keep their friends forever.  I think this might be the reason why many people who come here find it difficult to meet "locals" and develop deep friendships. (Besides the language) People tend to keep their friends from grammar school.  They stay in their same little groups.  Many of my friends meet with their grammar school friends once a month to have dinner. Some go in groups as large as 20 or more.

I think people in North America are more migratory.  I changed states and parts of the country twice before I moved here.  In California I lived mostly in the North, but I lived for a time in the South.  I moved many times in the 31 years I lived there.  I have no contact with anyone from grammar school, although several old friends from high school have found this blog and emailed me.  They too have migrated from our old stomping grounds to other parts of the country.

Here people tend to stay put.  Not only in the same country, but in the same apartment.  People live at home with parents longer.  People don't sell apartments and trade up.  Not unless they have a reason.  A new baby, someone dies, gets married, life events. 

The thing I like is sharing time with my friends.  I shared time with my friends in the U.S. but not in the same way.  Like wanting to have coffee with my friends in California.  I had to make an appointment, put it in my agenda, sometimes for 6 weeks in advance.  Here I just call one of my friends "Quieres tomar un cafe?" and we meet.

Weekends here are for friends and family.  My weekends before were for me.  Saturdays I meet friends to go shopping, go to lunch, have mate.  Recently on Sundays we have been doing lunches too.  Last week Sandra locked herself out of her apartment not once but two times.  The first time she had to go to a locksmith.  The second time I asked our friend Jorge if he knew how to open doors.

He has lots of businesses and is one of those handy kind of guys.  I figured it was worth asking.  After staying out until 5:00 am with me, Sandra, and Linda, he went over to Sandra's at 11:00.  Sandra of course ended up staying at my house because she couldn't get into hers.  At noon I came over to have mates with her and Jorge.  Then Linda came over.  Sandra cooked Sunday lunch, and then later we all went for coffee.  Other than the B&E of Sandra's door, this was a normal Sunday.  Lunch with friends.

I am finding that every Sunday we are together.  A group of us.  Sometimes one of cooks.  Sometimes we meet in a restaurant.  We are always together sharing.  This for me is a big difference.  Before my house was my sanctuary.  Somewhere I could run and hide from the world.  Be alone.  Now my doors are wide open.  Like the arms of my friends.

Sometimes You Can't Have It All...

Sometimes you have one of those days.  The kind where you realize you should have just stayed in bed and pulled the covers over your head.  In my case I would rather look out the balcony doors and see the city.  Then somehow in the end, everything seems to work out.

I got up this morning and went right to my computer.  Where else would I go?  I was happily working away when all of a sudden I had no more Internet.  Being the geek I am, I checked my router, the modem, all the connections.  Everything was fine.  I rebooted.  Still no connection.  Finally I ran some utilities...ahh the problem is on their end not mine.

I ran to the living room, fired up my notebook, and snarked a connection from one of my neighbors.  Gotta love those people who install their routers right out of the box.  I went to Telecom's site.  This has to be one of the worlds's worst web sites.  It takes you absolutely no where.  By the time you have gone in an endless loop from Arnet (the ISP) back to Telecom, you realize you are never going to get any information. 

Call 112, they advise on the site. So I go to my phone to call them. Ahhh!  No dial tone!  I have no phone. That is why I have no Internet.  How can you call 112 when you have no phone?  I wonder if anyone else in the building has no phone.  I call down to the Portero.  Nope, the whole building has no telephone service.  Actually this whole part of my barrio.  Someone cut a cable.  Oh well.  I can try to work snarking Internet connections from my neighbors.

Then about 2 hours later the Portero calls.  They are cutting the  water to the building.  Great.  No Internet. No phone.  And now, no water.  Hopefully they won't cut the electricity.  I really do not want to walk up and down 17 flights of stairs. I decide to go to the gym and hope that when I return things will be better.

The gym.  The market.  A new shirt.  "Do we have telephones yet?"  I ask Hugo, the portero.  He shakes his head.  "Water?"  I ask hoping for a better answer. He smiles and says "Agua, si."  I continue upstairs. I hope I can snark another Internet connection.  I enter my apartment. Something is not right.  I can tell by the look on Roxie's face.

I look over to the middle of my living room.  "Hijo de puta!"  (son of a bitch or take your choice of bad words in English)  There is a small pool of water on the floor.  I look up at the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip. Furious I get towels to mop up the mess and leave there while the water drips. I run for the elevator to find out if Miguel the jerky plumber for the building broke another pipe.  I am going to kill him.

"Hugo, tengo un rio en mi departmento!  ¿Que paso con Miguel?"  Hugo looks at me like I am crazy.  He tells me that Miguel is not working in 18 A he is working in 18 B.  I tell him I don't care where he is working water is dripping from the ceiling all over my living room.

We go upstairs to my apartment.  When I open the door and he sees the disaster, he goes "Marilu!" This is my neighbor upstairs.  We run upstairs and knock on her door.  We can hear water running in the apartment.  Hugo looks at me and pounds on the door again.  He asks if I have her number.  I tell him yes I will go get it.  He runs to find the keys of her apartment.

We meet back at her door.  I give him her cell number.  He calls.  Thank God she answers.  She tells him it is OK to enter her apartment, she is on the way.  He looks at me "Espero que no esta algo mal." Marilu rents one of her rooms. Hugo enters the apartment.  The living room is a disaster.  Poor Marilu, she just did her floors.  There is water running in the laundry room and the bathroom..and all over the floor.  My living room was a pond compared to her place.

When the building shut off the water, her cleaning lady didn't understand that.  She left the faucets running in both rooms and had plugged up the sink in the bathroom.  Of course when the water came back on, she was long gone, and left the beginnings of a new river.

Marilu almost passes out when she sees her living room.  Her new floors. Hugo tells her she can rent a machine to suck up the water on Santa Fe.  She runs down there to rent it.  I go back downstairs.  The water has stopped gushing from the ceiling.  For some odd reason, Roxie has planted herself on the wet towels.

I go to the computer...still no Internet.  Guess you can't have everything.

Absolutely Crazy

One of the more interesting things about learning a new culture, is that you also learn more about your own culture.  At least that is what has been happening to me.  The more I learn about the Argentine culture the more I learn or realize about American culture.

One of the more difficult things for me to understand about Argentine culture is that the Argentine outlook on life is that there is no future, and there is no past.  There is only the present.  People live in the present.

They believe so strongly in this, that they do not even use the future tense.  When they talk of the future many times they use the present tense. A friend might ask, "Where are you tomorrow?"  The answer being "Tomorrow I am in Olivos" rather than "Tomorrow I will be in Olivos."  If the future is really needed, then they use the verb ir which means to go, with an infinitive.   "Tomorrow I am going to be in Olivos."

My friends say that this is because the past history of the country has been bad and they cannot depend on the future. So live for today.  This attitude permeates almost everything people do.  On one side, the man I work with could not understand the programing team he hired.  He gave them all a small percentage of the company.  This is how businesses in the U.S. operate whether it be with stock or an ESOP retirement plan.  The guys really did not care.  The only thing they care about is the pesos they have today.  That is something they can count on.  The future is not.

On a more personal level, it drives me crazy.  Now that I at least understand the mindset, I can deal with it.  I remember once when a guy I was going out with did something ugly to me, I wanted to talk about it.  "No," he told me, "that was then. It's nothing. Forget it."  (Hay que nada) It was not nothing to me.  I insisted we talk about it.  I remember telling him if we don't talk about this, it will just happen again.  "The past is the future."  I said to him.  He thought I was crazy.  "The past is the past.  It is over.  How can the past be the future?" he said to me giving me that you are a crazy woman look. 

Forget him saying he was sorry, that is another thing that really doesn't happen all that much here.  In fact my Argentine friends who have lived in the U.S. make fun of us for saying I am sorry so much. "I'm sorry, "I'm sorry" they mimic.  In the end the ugly thing he did to me happened again, and that was the end of the relationship.  At least for me.  Worse, he doesn't understand why.

What this made me realize is that while Argentines live in the present, Americans live in the future.  The past is over, done, it is time to look forward - new beginnings.  How many times have we heard that?  We never work for the present, everything is for the future, retirement, savings, buying a house, going on vacation.  My Argentine friends are more preoccupied with what we will do tonight than thinking about the future.

When I talk about here, people ask me "Why do you like it here so much? What is good about being here."  It is a question that always surprises me, because to me it should be obvious about what is so good about living here. 

There is a lot to be said for both mindsets.  My Argentine friends enjoy life.  They take each day as it comes.  No one makes these "cast in cement" plans.  There is always room for one more.  So what if you are a little late, the world won't stop.  If you need something, there always seems to be someone who can help or someone who has the answer or someone who knows someone who does.

Today is Good Friday.  My phone rang all day.  It was friends calling to ask me how I am, what am I up to these days.  Did I have somewhere to go for Easter?  Tonight we are celebrating Helen's birthday.  I told her that I think 15 people will be coming.  "I don't even know 15 people here." she said to me.  Not important.  Between Sandra and I we found 15 people who wanted to come party with us at Gricel.  That is just the way it is here. 

Walk into an Argentine restaurant.  You see many large groups of friends.  It is not unusual to see tables of 10 people.  Everyone talking, laughing, having a good time.  Not just young people.  People of all ages.  You see tables of 4 or 5 women or men, friends out for the evening.  Rarely do you see a table of 1 person.   It is hard to be alone here.

Contrast that with the life back in the U.S.  There is this mania for privacy.  People do not answer their phones.  They email their friends rather than talk to them.  You want to go to dinner with friends, you need to plan it 2 months in advance.  Here you just do it.  I cannot imagine scheduling a dinner with my friends 2 months in advance.  We always invite each other to come with us, if we have something else to do.  There is no calling the other person to make sure it is alright.

I have had to change and adapt to many things.  As someone from the U.S. and especially San Francisco, we are so into being politically correct, introspective.  I remember the first time Felipe made fun of my Spanish "Hablas como una China" he said to me.  Everyone thought that it was funny.  People call each other "Gordo (Fatty), Flaco (Skinny), Chino (if your eyes are narrow), Negro (if you are dark complected)".  No one is ever offended.

Caring about someone's feelings is a good thing.  That is why Americans are politically correct.  It is why they want to discuss things.  If the stupid guy I was seeing would have cared enough to discuss why he hurt my feelings, maybe we would still be friends.  But sometimes, too much of a good thing is a bad thing.  When a young child falls down and hurts them self, only the parents or a relative may comfort them.  Everyone else is afraid of being accused of sexual abuse.  A doctor cannot comfort an accident victim without fear of being sued.  Some of my American male friends tell me they never tell their female co-workers they look nice for fear of being accused of sexual harassment.  Oh my God, an Argentine man would die if he could not spew comments about a woman.

It is funny, I have become a complainer like many of my Argentine friends.  Of course they don't see it that way.  Some are worse than others.  I don't know why, but they always see the negative.  Again, part of the history, part of the culture.  Americans always see the positive. Ask an Argentine what they think about something and you will get a barrage of everything they don't like.  Ask an American and you will get the opposite, they will tell you all the good things.  We were always taught "If you can't say anything good about someone, don't say anything at all."  Unlike Argentines who are never afraid to voice their opinion.  (As long as it isn't about them)

These are things that drive the Americans (as well as others from English speaking countries) absolutely crazy.  It is why for me I love it here so much.

3,280 ...and the Hits Keep Coming

No I am not talking about Phil Spector, I am talking about the hits to my blog in the last 3 days.  As of now at 7:10 am BA time, that is how many people have come to my blog.  On Saturday morning when I went to check my blog specs I already had almost 300.  That is not normal for a Saturday morning before 10 am.  Most of the time I only average that on a daily basis.

I went to look at where all these hits were coming from.  The link was to the New York Times Sunday Travel Section.  Imagine my surprise to find that Denny Wells the author had mentioned my blog as a resource.  Not only that, I was the only blog he mentioned.  I have never met the author but wow! thanks Denny for the positive press.

Of course every time I end up in the media I get tons of email.  So far I have received over 150 emails.  Yes, I look at each one.  No I don't answer all of them.  Some of the emails I receive are amazing.  I cannot believe that people actually take the time to write some of the stuff they do.

This time I got a lot of email from Gay men.  All of them sent really nice messages.  Most wanted to know if they could stay with me when they come to B.A.  Some of their comments were hilarious.  The ones that had been here before loved my two blog posts about the men.  It is interesting, their experiences were similar.  One fellow told me he thought all the men in Buenos Aires were narcissistic sociopaths, another emailed that he found sex very boring with them.

I received emails from a ton of people who seem to think that I am the cyber version of the tourist information booth.  People sent requests for apartments, tickets for concerts, requests for restaurants, where to buy leather, dance tango, and who to take lessons from. 

There were a small group of people who emailed saying they too were leaving their country to either come here or somewhere else.  Their own stories were interesting.  Others were planing to leave and wanted advice.

Then the crazies - they come with every bunch of emails.  This time they have not been so bad.  I had a few men want to do bizarre things to my body.  No marriage proposals this time.  Women who email me weird life stories.   There are a lot of lonely people out there.

I never thought moving to Buenos Aires would make me somewhat of a media darling.  When  I was 17 I had these dreams of being famous.  The closest I got in my old life was being quoted in VarBusiness and Computer Reseller News among other trade magazines in my high tech days.  Then there was the time I was the Today Sponge sound byte.

Since moving here I have been in countless interviews  including our local newspaper the Clarin twice and on Mañana Vemos on channel 7.  The interviews outside Argentina are countless and I continue to be contacted.  It is amazing.  All this because I decided to write a blog.

While there is a positive side to this, there is also the other side.  On a very very small scale I can really feel what famous people must go through.  Argentines stare at me.  (More than normal) People still come up to me in the subte, on the street, and say they saw me on TV or in the newspaper. Some even tell me they read my blog.  Others just start talking to me as if I know them.  They know my name, my dog's name.  Most people are really nice, and proud that I love my life here.  Then there are the others. The ones that tell me to go back home.  (I am  home, you idiot) The ones that grab me and try to touch me.  The ones that have some sort of weird agenda.

On the tango side, there are the normal people who read my blog.  People come up to me in milongas and just start talking to me or taking pictures and videos.  At first it was sort of freaky.  Now I am used to it.  One woman told me "You belong to us.  We feel as though we know you."  Sometimes those people can be a little overzealous, but they are mostly super nice.

Then there are the jealous hostile ones.  Oh yesssss there are.  The ones that call me "middle age".  Is that supposed to hurt me?  The ones that have to make their comments about every facet of my life.     I find the whole thing rather funny myself. Sticks and stones....

Writing a blog is an incredible experience.  It is amazing the power blogs now have.  My friends beg me to write about them.  Some of my guests as well ask to be written about.  Once when ending a relationship, the man wanted me to promise I would not write about him in my blog!!  My blog has brought me great joy.  I love to write.  I always have.  I keep hoping that one day I can turn this blog into a book.  Thanks to all of you for reading me.  Beso!

The Gods are Crazy...or something

From where I sit on my balcony I will give you a tour of the nightmare that will probably happen here in Buenos AIres.  A city full of unfinished apartment buildings.  The other part of the nightmare.  The first part. The destruction of all the beautiful buildings destroyed to make room for all these modern nightmares.

See this ugly tower apartment? I think the architect who designed it should have his hands chopped off.  Besides being ugly, it does not,  like the rest of these mammoth buildings belong in this barrio, especially in this part.  I am not sure where it belongs, just not here.  It is like there was a contest to design the ugliest apartment building.  Rather than just one winner, there are several.  Or are they losers?  No, we are the losers.  We have to live with them.

Every day I sit out on my balcony.  I drink cafe.  During the day I bring out my computer sometimes or I chat on the phone.  For the last 3 weeks there has been no one working on this building.  Not one contruction worker to be found.  I have walked by and the lot is empty.  Quiet.  The only thing that has changed is that there are now two salespeople in an office where there was once one.  They sit there bored.  Eating, talking, smoking.

To the right down the block on the corner, an old restaurant was bulldozed to make way for an apart hotel for tourists.  This is a hotel that has apartment like qualities. Up until about 2 weeks ago it was full of busy workers.  Now I notice just a few walking around doing things.

The other building now blocking my view has been open for over a year. It is still half sold.  White paper now adorns the windows of the empty apartments.  On Charcas across Scalabrini is another monster apartment building.  Painfully obvious that it is mostly empty.  The guard sits there day after day.

Two blocks down there are some smaller buildings.  I have started to keep an eye on them as well.  Same thing almost nothing.  This seems to be a trend in the neighborhood.  Of course it did not stop the sign from going up on the near corner of Guatemala and Oro for another nightmare building.  What is wrong with these people?  Can't they see that construction is starting to stop around the barrio?  That no one is buying these ugly, low quality, expensive apartments?  They are not crazy, they are out of their minds.

Argentines will tell you that they are being sold.  That foreigners or farmers are buying them.  If that is the case, then why are the ones in construction just sitting there?  Why are the finished ones sitting empty?  And the biggest question of all?  Why are they still trying to build more of them?

All pictures were taken from my balcony on a sunny day at 11:45 am

Feliz Año Nuevo...Happy New Year

Happy New Year.  Another one. It seems like I was just 18 drinking champagne and smoking doobies in the bathroom of my friend Mickey Margolies with her and my boyfriend soon to be husband.  Mickey's parents were having  a party.  We were the itinerant children on the move.  First Mickey's house then Gary's.  I don't remember whose was next.  I just know we got in trouble for staying out late.  Parents!  I was a college girl.

I have spent every new year in Buenos Aires since 2001 except maybe 1.  I think.  Maybe I have spent all of them here.  New year's in Buenos Aires is not like New Year's in Southfield Michigan (where I spent the first 18 years of life) or San Francisco where I spent the next part of my life.  There are no big bashes at the Hyatt, Four Seasons, or other big hotels.  Puerto Madero Restaurants are open, but people are not partying in the streets to live or DJ music.

New Years here, is a time for family and friends.  The streets are deserted after 4 pm.  People are home getting ready for the holiday dinner.  There is no desperate frenzy of "what is going on tonight?"  Everyone seems to have a place to go.

I compare that to my years as a single gal in California. Thank God for salsa and then later tango, because at least I could dance at some place with other people.  Thank God BART ran, because it was too scary to drive.  How many people did I know who spent the evening alone because no one invited them to share the evening?     Way, way, too many.

Buenos Aires?  Maybe people do spend the holiday alone.  I have never met anyone who has.  For the last two weeks people have asked me where I am going, if I have something to do.  Everyone wants to make sure I have a place to go.

In the past I spent my New Year's with Mimi and her family.  The last two years I had a party.  My balcony is the place to be when the fireworks go off.  People emailed me months in advance - "Are you having a party, can I come?"  These were tango people who had heard about my parties.  They planned to be in BA for New Years.

Initially I decided no party.  Too much happened to me in the last 2 months.  I was not up for a party.  In the end, it is what happened.  Not a big party.  Just a small dinner party.  Me, Sandra, Janis, Robin, and my guest Ilya.  My other guest had a family party to go to.

Something hit me.  I wanted to do this party right.  It had been a long long time since I did a formal dinner for friends.  I insisted on making everything, they could bring the champagne and dessert.  I was going to use my nani's dishes.

My nani was my father's mother.  She was a very religious woman.  She always bought a new set of china for passover - the Jewish holiday.  She said I could have my pick of whichever set I wanted after she died. I always loved the Noritake china (pre-wwII) with green and gold.  It was my favorite.  I loved it.

My mother tried to give the set to my sister.  I stood my ground.  I knew this was my china. It took me years to get it after my nani died.  I think I finally got it 12 years later.  I revered it.  It stayed packed in the shipping cartons for years.  I didn't dare to touch it.  Finally I moved it to a piece of furniture I bought.  I think I used it twice in California.  I was scared to death of breaking it.  It was one of the few things I had to remind me of her.

I brought the dishes from California.  I packed them with tons of paper and packaging.  I remember being relieved that they all made it here.  The complete set.  It was as if my nani made this journey with me.  Everyone has someone special in their family.  For me it was my nani.  She spent hours talking to me. About her life, about life.  She was a very simple woman.  Humble.  Religious.  She was the eldest of 8 sisters and brothers.

Last night I set the table with her dishes.  They looked great in my modern room.  In came Sandra, then Janis and Robin.  My apartment was filled with laughter.  We realized we were were two short haired blonds (Me and Robin) and two short haired brunettes (Janis and Sandra)  We were in hysterics talking about going to the milonga, the 4 of us entering. 

All night, gossip,. laughing, friendship, food, fireworks, more food. More laughing.  I laughed so hard at one point I was crying.  And nani's dishes?  They survived.  Beautifully.

Reflections...

It has been somewhat of a sad couple of weeks.  People are dying.  My dog too.  She is not a people.  But she is my companion.  A couple of weeks ago when I was at Luis' on Friday night my friend Oscar invited me to dance.

I have known Oscar for maybe 3 - 4 years.  I met him through Mimi before I moved here.  He was friends with Reuben.  Reuben was a great guy.  When I first met him, I could not understand a word he was saying. Once I imitated him for Mimi and she could not stop laughing.  I never thought I would ever understand what he was saying.  He was Porteño through and through.

When I did my tour a few years ago, he did all the transportation.  I had to have my friend Marcelo communicate with him because it was impossible for me.  Marcelo used to tell me all the time that after a year of living here I would understand him perfectly.  I had my doubts.

Then a couple of months ago maybe 3 or 4 Mimi called to tell me that Reuben was very ill.  She said his kidneys were both failing.  I was shocked.  I had just danced with him a week ago.  It did not seem possible.  He was sweating a lot, but then he was overweight.  She said it did not look good for him.

Whenever I would see Oscar or talk to Mimi I would ask about him.  This Friday was no exception. Oscar looked surprised then sad.  "Deby"  he said to me.  "Reuben passed away 2 weeks ago."  I was numb.  "I guess nobody told you."  he said.  It did not seem to bother him and he continued dancing with me.  And Marcelo was right.  After a year, I did understand him.  Completely.

My milongueros are dying.  I expect it from the ones that are in their 70s, 80s.  But Reuben was a robust man in his 60s.  He was a gentleman.  Even when he tried to put the moves on me.  I will miss him.  He was my friend.

Yesterday at Enrique's one of my friend's asked me to dance.  He started showing up at the milongas a year ago.  He told me the woman he worked for encouraged him to start dancing tango.  He fell in love with it.  He always talked about his boss.  He never mentioned her name in the milonga.  Just that he did construction and worked for her.  She had apartments.  He remodeled them and maintained them for her.  When she traveled he took care of them.

One day walking home from the bus, I noticed this sort of scruffy guy on the corner staring at me.  Nothing new there.  But then he tried to touch me.  I almost killed him with my too heavy bag.  Then I realized I knew him and smiled.  "Tranquila"  he said to me.  It turned out he was working in my barrio.

That was when I found out he worked for Robyn Ash-Rose.  I met Robyn once.  I was picking up a pizza on the way home.  She was too.  She recognized me.  "You" she said, pointing her finger at me, "dance tango."  I thought it was a little weird, but I told her, yes, that I danced tango.  She introduced herself to me.

She was from Australia - Perth.  She owned several apartments here.  She lived here 6 months of the year. She rented out her apartments.  She was thrilled to find out I lived in the barrio.  Then she brought out her book.  Shamelessly she self-promoted herself and her book.  I declined her offer to buy it.  I remember thinking she was a little daffy, but underneath it was a sweetness.

Back in the presence, in the arms of my friend.  I asked him where he had been.  He had not been around for awhile.  He gave me a strange look.  "Robyn died."  He said simply.  "Things have been crazy for me."  Then he realized I didn't know.  He apologized.  He said she died alone.  He told me she had cancer.  In the end there was no one to take care of her.  No one came to help.  She had been his boss for 2 years.  He said he could not let her be by herself.

"I made sure she had food.  I took her to the doctor's.  I came by to make sure she was alright." This was difficult for him.  "I had to go down south to see family.  I asked people to look in after her.  Her friends. She was dead for 3 days when I found her.  It was horrible."  This poor man.  I felt really sad for Robyn.  How horrible to die alone and for no one to find you for three days.

When her family came it was to divide up her property.  My friend was never thanked.  He was thrown out on the street.  The family was furious he might have legal claim to an apartment.  He didn't care about the apartment.  He cared about his friend, his boss.

I felt sad, not just for Robyn, but maybe for all of us who live here.  We have no family.  You wonder will there be someone there for us?  I don't mind being alone.  But the thought of dying alone seems so sad. I hope that Robyn has found Reuben and they are dancing that last tanda.  Desde Alma.

Anniversary Update...Version 3.0

December 8th was my 3 year anniversary living permanently in Buenos Aires.  I wasn't going to post a blog about this, but several of you very smart readers caught a reference to this in one of my posts, and wanted to know why. 

The last two years that I posted seemed like big deals.  The first year was the year that I felt, I made it.  The second year I felt settled in.  This year, I just felt like, no big deal.  I live here.  I don't see living here permanently as a major thing any more.

In three years so much has happened to me.  I left high tech and then came full circle right back into it.  When I left California, I left that life.  The life of a techie.  I was bound and determined to do something else, something less stressful.  Famous last words.  Here I am again three years later, managing a team that is developing a new product for the web.

In three years I have experienced a lot.  I moved here, bought and remodeled an apartment.  I made friends.  I had two relationships, both destroyed by the same woman.  I learned why Argentine women are so possessive and untrusting of  other women.  (Not that this will change me)  I was in a bad car accident, I was in an armed robbery.  (No I was not the robber, I was the robbee, only they didn't rob me.) 

I have received over 75 guests in my apartment.  This has been a real experience.  In California I lived alone in a 3,000 sq ft house.  In Buenos Aires I am usually with 2 people - strangers, in a 1000 sq ft apartment.  Having guests is an experience.  Mostly positive.

Sometimes you click with people and you know even if you never see them again, they will be life long friends.  People like Chris, Susan, Maren, Kenny,Lee, Jane, Lina and Danny.  There are so many it is almost impossible to mention all of them.  I miss them and when we Skype or chat, it is almost like they are here again.   This is the hard part of doing this.  The people that come to be a part of your life for 2 weeks, a month.  Then they are gone.  Transient relationships.

Then there are the others.  Thank God there have been few of them.  On the bottom end of the scale are the house guests from hell.  The ones who come here really wanting a 5 star hotel with a concierge and staff.   They complain about everything and everyone. They want Buenos Aires to be like the Paris of South America instead of being Buenos Aires in Argentina.

On the top end of the scale are the lunatics.  Unfortunately this year I had two.  Scary unbalanced women from LA.  One scary enough for me to go to the police to have her thrown out.  Their vendetta continued by posting trash about me on the Internet. Psychotics in Cyberville.

This year I was featured here in two newspaper articles in our local paper Clarin.  One in an article about foreign bloggers and the other about foreigners who have come here to live.  In both cases they wanted foreigners who had integrated into the life here and not foreigners who live here in bubbles of their own country.

I also made TV.  I was on the popular local program Mañana Vemos.  The two newspaper articles and the TV made me a minor celebrity.  People in my barrio now greet me by name.  In the local Disco supermarket a clerk shyly told me she had seen me on TV.  The Bolivians in my fruit market brag to everyone that I was in the newspaper.  Several businesses I frequent - the nail parlor, Chinese market, and even the Portero in my building keep a copy of the article to show people.

It also brought dear friends back into my life.  My friends Alejandro and Luis suddenly popped up again. We had lost contact.  They TV program jolted them back in.  Others who I had not talked to in awhile emailed or called.

The other side of this is that complete strangers come up to me on the street and start talking to me.  It is kind of weird.  In the milonga one man asked me for my autograph.  It is funny how people see you as approachable once they see you in a public manner.

Probably the saddest part for me, and one that I am still dealing with is the health of my faithful companion of 12 years; Roxie.  After going from vet to vet, she was diagnosed with cancer.  It is a tumor that is knitted into the cartilage of her nose.  They cannot operate or do radiation.  She is having chemotherapy.  Some days I wonder if this is the right choice.

She eats, she is still playful, she still walks with Juan.  But I know, when I look at her, her days are numbered and I cannot bear to think about it.  She is my dog, that I know.  But her sweetness and affection have touched many.

Death is a part of life.  In many forms we die a 1000 deaths a day.  My choice is to live.  So here I am; living each day that I can in Buenos Aires.

Sex in the City

That is the course material I use for my English classes.  I have a couple of season's worth of shows.  That along with Tales of the City compromise the DVDs I use to teach my students English.  It keeps them riveted to the screen trying to understand each word.

What is interesting to me is how they react to the DVDs.  My students are mostly in their 30s.  I have a few older and a few younger.  The women are impressed with how much freedom American women have.  "You can just talk to a man without waiting for him to talk to you first" is one of the most common comments.  "You can have sex and the man will not think poorly of you." is another.  "You can just be relaxed." is another common response.

The men however react differently.  One of my students is embarrassed to watch the shows with me.  He asks me "Is it really that easy for American women to have sex?"  Another one of my male students is surprised that when the women have sex on the first date, the men still want to see them, and the women do not always want to see the man again.  Others of my students are amused.

One day after watching one of the episodes one of my students wants to talk about this cultural divide. He wants to know is it only in New York and California that the women are like this.  (Like we have a disease or something...)  I tell him that no, mostly all over the U.S: and in Europe the women are like "this."  He is surprised.

This leads us to a discussion about dating.  I tell him, "Can you see after watching this show, why I have problems with the men here?  In the U.S. I could ask a man out if I wanted."  My student is surprised.  "What will he think of you?"  He wants to know.  I explain to him, many men are relieved.  They do not want all the responsibility, they like a woman to take the initiative.  He finds this amusing.

On Wednesday one of my Argentine woman friends and I went to a mixer at the European Club.  The European club is a mixture of all the European clubs in the city.  (The German, Danish, British, etc.) They have social events where the idea is to meet people.  My friend had expressed an interest in going, so I made the reservations and we went.

The club itself is beautiful with a spectacular view from the 21st Floor.  We walk into the main room and look around.  There are groups of 30 - 40 somethings chatting and holding drinks.  I could be anywhere in the U.S. with this scene.  My friend finds it weird.  "What are they doing?" she asks.  I want to be sarcastic and say what does it look like, but I patiently explain to her the concept of a mixer again.

She insists we sit down.  We select a couch and sit.  I look around the room.  The only people who are sitting are pairs of women.  Interesting.  As the room becomes more crowded, I explain to my friend that we need to mix, approach the men if we want to meet them.  She is horrified.

My friend is very independent but this concept eludes her.  I explain to her that is how we meet them. In her world, you must wait to be presented - like a cupcake or something.  I hate this aspect.  But we sit, and sit, and sit.  Finally I cannot stand it anymore.  I get up and go over to this guy who is eating something out of a bowl.  He is the only person in the room eating.

"Hola"  I say to him, and in Deby fashion "Que comes?"  (what are you eating) He stares up at me "Goulash."  I find that kind of funny and laugh.  He tells me it is very good and that there is food in the other room.  He introduces himself and then to his friend next to him.  Soon we are joined by another friend of theirs.  They work in computers mostly for banks.  I motion to my friend to come over. 

She finally gets up.  She is wide eyed.  She cannot believe I am doing this.  I on the other hand am having a blast.  I do not have to be this "other personality."  I can be me.  The majority of these people seem to be Argentines and not Europeans.  It doesn't matter. 

A really cute guy walks by and I smile at him.  He stops dead in his tracks.  "Do I know you?"  He asks. "No" I tell him.  "Why did you smile at me?"  He asks. I ask him, "Why not?  Is it bad to smile at someone?"  He thinks about it for a second.  "No probably not."

This results in this guy being stuck to me like gum on the sidewalk.  My friend decides he is a desperate married man.  I think no, he is a desperate divorced guy.  Probably I am correct.  We finally escape him after viewing pictures of his daughters and his car on his cellphone.

"He wanted your number." my friend says to me.  "Because you talked to him first.  You know what he was thinking."  I don't agree.  Yes, he wanted my number, but I think it was because he had some good intentions along with the others.  I am just not interested in a guy with young children.  Been there, done that.

My friend is ready to go.  She has had enough of this scene.  I can tell she does not feel comfortable here. I on the other hand am excited to find this place.  We talk about it on the subte.  She has known me for awhile.  We have talked a lot about my living here, the issues with men.  She is Argentine and has the same issues.  Very independent, self sufficient. 

"You are used to this."  She tells me.  " I am not."  I realize that the women sitting on the couches and waiting were Argentine women, waiting for the men to come to them.  They sat all night with frozen smiles. I mention this to my friend.  Of course not all the Argentine women were this way.  I heard many accents and languages that night.  It was like, well, goulash.

It's funny, but once an Argentine male friend of mine told me he was finally beginning to understand me. "I am watching Sex in the City."  He said to me.  Maybe I should make it a prerequisite to all my new dating partners.

The Gods...they must be crazy

Remember that movie?  Maybe not.  Well here, the investors are like Gods.  Argentina went for too long without foreign investment.  Then all of a sudden Argentina was hot.  Every time you pick up some travel piece they are talking about Buenos AIres as the new hip happening place, and it's cheap too.

OK, fine.  That will pass.  People will get tired of the dog doo doo on the sidewalks, black exhaust pouring out of noisy buses, and their inability to be understood if they don't speak Spanish.  What will not pass is the plethora of tower apartments destroying the barrios.

In a 2 block radius in any direction from my apartment they are building ugly tower apartments.  To the right are twin towers on Paraguay.  Around the corner is another tower.  To the left a block down another new tower is being planned, a block over on Oro is another, on Uriarte a 35 story ugly monstrosity just keeps getting taller and uglier each day.  On Thames, they just destroyed an incredible stone building.  The inside and outside was impeccable.  I watched them demolish beautiful hardwood, marble, and intricate moldings - to make way for another ugly modern tower.

On Thames was a store that used to house a ceramic seconds business.  That was kicked out. They are building 5 floors on top of the original store which will have 10 apartments.  The problem here is that sewer lines, electrical lines, gas lines, and water, were all meant for a single unit.  Now 10 units need to share those single lines.  (Bet you would just love to buy one of those!!)

In addition to the towers, there are the regular sized apartments.  They are multiplying like rabbits.  Every time you turn around a new building is going up with 16 - 25 units.  They brag about solariums,  laundry, cable for Internet, and lots of other extras. 

A restaurant was destroyed to make room for a new Apart Hotel for tourists.  1 building - a restaurant. Now to share all the same utility lines but among how many rooms?  Kind of scary if you ask me.

Now, all of this might be OK if they were building for some kind of phenomenal demand.  If people were clawing at each other to buy a coveted apartment.  The sad part is they are not.  The tower apartments are priced so high (and for poor construction) that the average Argentine would never buy one even if they could afford it.  Prices of $70,000 for a studio on the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd floor and the prices get higher as the units get larger or are on higher floors.  They aren't cheap.....and they aren't selling.

The building that opened a year ago on Thames is still half empty.  The sign proclaiming "last units available" has been propped up against the fence since the day they opened the doors.  Those apartments cost less than the new units going up.  Who is going to buy those?  Or the ones in Belgrano? Or Caballito? Puerto Madera? And everywhere else in the city.

The apartment building behind me converted to a boutique hotel.  The ones down the block now have a big sign enticing buyers to purchase to rent to foreigners.  There are tons of signs on apartments "For Rent" and many more "For Sale".  No one wants to live near these towers, many people are unable to rent their apartments.

Yet, they just keep building like people are rioting to buy.  What are they thinking?  Walk through the neigborhood.  You have to start thinking differently.  That is the business analyst in me.  I saw the mortgage crisis in the U.S.  It just happened a little later than I expected.  I have always been paid to find problems.  I see lots of problems.

Businesses that have been established, that were here during the crisis are now going out of business. Their rents were raised and they could not afford to move.  A couple of years ago when a business vacated its storefront it was go to another that was bigger and better located.  Within days another business moved in.  That is not happening anymore.  The storefronts are staying empty.  Maybe not in the heart of Palermo, Recoleta, and Belgrano, but everywhere else I see it.

Last Saturday when we taxied back from the milonga Sandra and I were shocked at how many empty storefronts there were on Scalabrini.  This morning walking Roxie I counted several on Thames, and this is Palermo.  Not a good sign.

Our new president-elect, Christina, must be crazy - Goddess or not.  She will be inheriting a country with high inflation and a crumbling infrastructure.  There new construction has put a major strain on electricity, gas, and water.  No one is buying....yet....they continue to build.  Those Gods, must be crazy.