Zapatos!

They arrived! My new tango shoes, custom made for my foot. They have suede bottoms and I vow to never wear them off of a dance floor, especially not with all this dog poop around (see previous post).

Because I chose a lower heel these aren't quite as sexy as the original model, but I will be able to dance in them all night, which is, ya know, kind of the whole point.

A note about taking pictures of shoes while they're on your feet - it's hard! I set up my camera on some books on the floor for one of these shots, not perfect, but you get the idea.

Look at that custom arch support! They fit my foot exactly.

Argentina Swing

Last week I experienced a craving for swing dancing. I haven't really pursued lindy hop in years. After my early obsession in high school and the first few years of university, I got over it and found other things that lit up my heart and soul. But I was compelled to search out swing dancers in BA because I wanted to feel the comfort of a skill I know so well, and I was hoping to find a group of young, fun, friendly dancers who would immediately accept me as their own. This has been a brilliant perk of knowing how to swing dance. Almost anywhere I go in the world, I have an instant group of friends in the swing community.

I spent a thorough amount of time on google trying to find info about lindy hop in BA. I found a website or two advertising teachers and their classes, but I couldn't find any information about social dancing that happened at weekly venues. I decided to venture to a class that said it had a "practica" afterwards. It didn't seem like this was really a social dance, but it was the best I could find.

As I was walking to the studio, I walked in between two cars parked on the street. Normally I am very careful to watch where I am stepping because the owners of the thousands of dogs in this city do not believe in picking up their beloved pet's poop. Yes, there's dog poop everywhere, but I was not aware that it exists between two cars parked very tightly on the street. How did that pile get there? Did the dog squeeze his little behind into that space thinking all the while, "this is so well hidden someone's gonna get a footload!" That someone was me. I haven't been that close to dog shit in awhile, but this was the most foul stench I have smelled in a long time. The worst part was I did not bring any dancing shoes to change into like I normally do. This was my only pair. So I walked into the studio, immediately headed to the bathroom, and tried my best to clean the sole of my shoe with running water and paper towels, but the smell was unmistakable and followed me around.

Fortunately I did not end up dancing that night, so I just tried to keep my stinking shoe to the ground. It turns out they were no longer holding practicas at the venue, but the instructors were kind enough to tell me about a live swing band that plays every Friday.

So a few nights later I ventured to a funky, concrete, graffiti-covered, dive bar. I was told the band doesn't start until 12:30am or so. I got there at 12:30 and the swing lesson was still going strong. Then a tango band came on for some reason and played about 20 minutes of music. The jazz band finally started to play around a quarter to 2 in the morning. I was holding back yawns and cursing the ridiculous late night nature of all Porteño dancing, but when the jazz started I was instantly invigorated.

La Orquesta Inestable, or "The Unstable Orchestra" is a kind of gypsy jazz outfit that plays Django Reinhardt covers and other jazz standards and plays them fast. The dance floor was packed with dancers and people who just wanted to be close to the band. This created a very tight floor and it was challenging to find space to dance. I was very impressed with the level of dancers. I expected a small community of a few dorky people (like myself) who had been exposed to the dance while traveling in the US. But the lesson had about 50 people in it, and the dance floor had about 15 active couples tearing it up. One marked difference between this community and others I know is the lack of control. In Toronto we danced on the postage stamp dance floor of the Reservoir Lounge, a sexy and expensive jazz bar where waiters jetted in and out of the floor with hundreds of dollars of liquor on their trays. Nobody collided with them or each other. Control and the ability to 'dance small' were two very necessary and socially respected skills. Here in BA the dancers were as crazy as the pace of the music. I got stepped on, kicked, elbowed and at one point, my partner's glasses went flying off his face and somehow ended up in my armpit, kind of wrapped around my shoulder. It was madness. Sweaty, drunken madness.

The community itself is also quite different. It was obvious to me that all of the advanced dancers were close friends. I've certainly experienced clique mentalities in other swing communities, but this was very closed off to newcomers. I'm glad I was one of the top followers because it gave me the confidence to ask the guys to dance (which you can do in the swing community, thank god!) but I had to be kind of aggressive about it. The dancers were also much more casual about actually dancing and much more focused on talking and drinking. I was the keener American with an agenda who wanted to dance every song. I left at 5am without the expected group of instant friends. But I felt happy to know that this community exists and when I tire of the seriousness of tango, I will know where to go to join a mosh pit of swing.

Two Months

Yesterday marked two full months in BA. To be honest it's becoming a challenge to feel positive and hopeful every day. I feel like I am not where I want to be in my progress towards establishing a life for myself. I have taken action, submitted my resume to employers that I want to work for, called on a few contacts to put me in touch, scoured job websites searching for opportunities, and am now playing the waiting game.

This has been a deeply introspective time. There is nothing to distract me from myself, nothing to hide behind. I have no job to occupy my days, I have few friends to pass the time, no love to softly, if not artificially, blanket over every other lack. I wake up every day and am with me. Just me.

For the first month I was jazzed to simply be here and had a thousand things to enthusiastically do and see and discover. I felt excited every morning to go outside and meet my new world and to encounter a new culture through its language. But slowly the newness waned and the days got longer and I started to crave a routine, something stable and focused that would give me a greater sense of purpose. Even a wildly fun night tango dancing cannot sustain my entire reason for being.

Have you ever thought about what makes you happy? It seems so simple, but do you know what elements need to be present in your daily routine for you to feel good? I recognize that a big part of what makes me happy is having work that is challenging and uses my talents. I love making money and feeling like I can support myself. Having purpose and focus in my daily life is a big part of what makes me feel good. Right now this is a part of my life that is unfulfilled. But there will always be important parts of my life other than work and right now I am intensely exploring what those need to be for me to feel good.

Here are a few elements that I have discovered I need in my life: 

- Exercise. The benefits of exercise on mental health are common knowledge, still the first few weeks in BA I let myself slip out of a routine because I have not found a gym in my budget and there are many mornings when I wake up and convince myself that an hour more of rest is better for me than a workout. But I have come to realize that even when my body is tired, exercise helps to rest my mind. I have committed to running regularly now. I was never a running enthusiast, choosing the anaerobic sport of volleyball over others like basketball and soccer, but running is so very, very cheap. Ana my landlady produced a gorgeous lululemon yoga mat for me to use in the house and after my morning run I stretch my body and take the time to connect with myself and honor my health. The exercise gives me the promised endorphin rush and the day always seems brighter.

-Writing. I have never been so consistent in keeping a daily journal as I have the past two months. I have a small black journal that fits in my purse and every day, no matter where I am, I find the time to sit down and write. I am not documenting the minutia of my day, but rather, taking the time to write down my feelings and thoughts and work through them. Like keeping this blog, I recognize the power in sitting down and writing your mind out. It commands a mental focus greater than talking to someone about your life. When I write I intentionally focus on what is good in my life and I celebrate that until my mood elevates. I conjure thoughts and memories that make me feel good. Some days it is easier than others to get myself to this place, but this mental session helps to keep me positive long after I write.

-Treating myself. For me, my big treat has been visiting the many, many excellent cafes of the city. I cannot tell you why this is such a thrill for me. It just has always been something I love. I often order a cafe con leche and a medialuna and for $5 I feel like a million bucks. I love the experience of sitting down and having an afternoon snack in a comfortable, relaxed environment. This is usually when I write in my journal because it is a setting that puts me in a good mood. I could dedicate a blog exclusively to the wonderful cafes of Buenos Aires, but I'm not sure anyone would want to read it.

- Eating well. For me, blood sugar is The Factor that dictates my mood. I have encountered some challenges adjusting my particular diet to this carb-crazy culture, but I am making a focused effort to keep myself as balanced as possible. Sometimes I just want to slam some crackers and get out of the house, but I have to have the discipline to prepare a balanced meal that will keep my blood sugar steady throughout the day, otherwise, the world becomes a very dark, evil place. I've known this about my body for a long time, but right now when there are so many challenges to keeping myself positive, it is absolutely essential to meet my body's nutritional needs.

Even as I write this I have to roll my eyes at myself. How lucky am I to be able to be here? How many people have the luxury to pursue a dream and hang out in a brilliant city for two months? There are so many things in my life that I want that I do not have, and I feel impatient to set up a life here and sometimes slip into negativity about the uncertainty and the isolation and the non-perfectness of where I am. But I also know that I will never regret this time and I am deeply appreciative for the opportunity to experience all of this. If I gain nothing else while here, these coping skills and this self-knowledge will aid me for the rest of my life.  

The Rollercoaster Week

This week was full of some major highs and lows.

I had an interview three weeks ago with a travel company that specializes in luxury travel throughout South America. I was up for a position on the sales team. After my first interview I was extremely excited about this job because there is a large travel component. Every month or so they fly their employees to one of their destinations in South America so that the employee is better able to describe and sell the destination to the client. No problem. Fly me anywhere, my bags are packed. After my interview I had a small amount of communication from the company telling me that things were very busy and that I had to wait for a certain date when the HR person would be back from Brazil, hence my trip to Uruguay. Three days ago I finally received an email from the HR person informing me that they had "suspended the search" for a new employee for now but that they would be in touch in the future if something opened up. I was devastated. I had waited three weeks, turning down another job offer, and putting all my hopes and dreams in this basket only to experience this very disappointing end.

The next night I went to my favorite milonga and my purse was stolen while I was dancing. I make it a habit to not carry anything too valuable with me at night, but I lost my Blackberry, my house keys, and my precious SUBE card. This is a plastic card that you can charge with money to use on all forms of public transportation that took me a month to obtain. The system is new and demand is high and all of the locations that said they had the card did not have the card. I finally tracked one down two weeks ago and though it only cost me $5, I considered it a precious possession because it makes it so convenient to get around town.

These events made me seriously question whether I wanted to stay in Buenos Aires. This experience has been more challenging than I thought it would be. It turns out launching yourself into a foreign country, operating exclusively in a foreign language, and not knowing anyone or having any job prospects is a little difficult.

The morning after I lost my purse I sat with myself for a long time and thought about my options. I entertained the idea of leaving: maybe traveling around South America on my remaining budget then heading home. But it was clear to me that although there are some difficulties in my life right now and I have no idea what I'm going to do professionally, I really, really want to be here.

I've been wondering why I like it here so much. There are plenty of areas in the city that are loud and hectic and dirty. There are people who steal your purse from under your chair while you're dancing (although I fully acknowledge that leaving my purse unattended is not a cautious thing to do - it is a trusting thing to do and now I no longer have that trust). But there are just as many wonderful people who chat to me on the subway, invite me to their granddaughter's birthday, make me feel welcome and speak a language I love with the most gorgeous accent in Latin America. There are areas of town that are extraordinarily elegant, grand boulevards lined with towering trees, now golden from the autumn chill. There is an energy and a pulse to the city that sometimes overwhelms me but often inspires me. I don't often go to sleep before 3am.

And there is tango. Last night I attended a private tango party in the very cool apartment of a tango friend. A handful of the dancers in attendance were also musicians and they set up a small piano, a violin, a guitar and a microphone, making an intimate orchestra. The musicians traded instruments, engaging in a long jam session of traditional and non-traditional tango music, one song flowing into another at the whims of the players. A few of the guests jumped on the microphone and unabashedly sang their favorite lyrics. We all danced on the small, crowded floor in the living room. I mingled with people from Norway, Sweden, Germany, Argentina, Turkey, the States, Japan and Costa Rica. I left feeling so deeply in love with tango and so appreciative of the interesting and diverse people that the community connects me to.

And today I finally located and bought my first pair of tango shoes. After visiting no less than 10 tango shoe stores in the city and trying countless pairs of heels, I finally found my perfect pair. I special ordered them to have higher arch support and a lower heel. I hesitate to post the photo of the shoes from the website because mine are so much more gorgeous than this. Mine are purple suede, for starters, and the top part of the shoe is really what sold me, which you cannot see in this photo. I have to wait two weeks for my pair to arrive, and then I'll be sure to post my feet in my beautiful new shoes. 

Uruguay

Because of a forced hiatus in my job search (more on that later) I was looking at 7 days with nothing to do and no reason to be in Buenos Aires to look for a job. I have been itching to see other parts of South America so I decided to hit the road. When thinking about where to go for my little vacation, I decided I wanted to get into the countryside for a break from the urban noise and pollution. After looking into 20-hour overnight bus rides to the Andes, I decided to take it easy on myself and take the ferry one hour across the Rio de la Plata to Uruguay. I docked in Colonia del Sacramento, a very picturesque little town that is very popular with Porteños for weekend trips. I only spent a night and a morning in Colonia which was good because after about 4 hours I had walked up and down every street of the compact old part of town.

Looking at the Rio de la Plata from the shores of Colonia

Calle de los Suspiros (The Street of Sighs), Colonia

The lighthouse of Colonia

Colonia

In the afternoon I took a bus an hour inland to a farm/hostel called El Galope in the countryside of Uruguay. I was attracted to this place because I knew it would be deathly quiet, I could ride horses, and I was secretly hoping no one else would be there and I wouldn’t have to share a dorm room. There were other guests but thankfully they had all rented private rooms. El Galope is blessed with Tupak, a German-Sheppard mix and a little cat I named Tiger Lily. Every morning I rose and sat down on the porch to take in the scenery. Tiger Lily immediately jumped into my lap and Tupak immediately found my free hand for a scratch. Their demand for affection was irresistible.

El Galope Hostel

The first morning I took a horseback ride with Miguel. He and his wife Monica are the owners of El Galope. He put me on his gelding Urko and we set off for a 2.5 hour journey. This horse was formerly owned by an old gaucho who knew how to train horses. Urko was the best trained horse I’ve ever been on. One light touch with the rains on his neck and he would turn in the direction I wanted to go. One slight tap of the rains on his shoulder and we would set off at a bouncy trot, then a smooth, controlled canter. It was lovely, but 2.5 hours on top of a horse, no matter how well-trained, is too much time when you’re not used to riding. 

Me and Urko. Check out my awesome gaucho boots!

Miguel gathering a plant akin to chamomile to make tea

The next day I woke up stiff as a board but for some idiotic reason decided to take out one of the rickety old hostel bicycles and journey 6 km to the nearby town of Colonia Suiza. The day I rode in this town was celebrating the 150^thanniversary of its foundation by a group of Swiss immigrants. It was kind of a strange, sleepy little place but they did have some wonderful colored houses. On the ride back to the hostel my bicycle seat, which had been extended to its maximum and still wasn't tall enough for me, loosened out of the stand and while I was sitting on it, started to tilt back really far, extending my arms to their maximum, so I was riding it like a gangsta in a low-rider. For 6 kilometers. About half way home a bug flew right into my eye and I had to keep my eyelid closed while trying to steer and pedal on the crappy bike. The motorists who passed me looked very confused.

Easter colors of Colonia Suiza homes

Colonia Suiza men dressed up for the party

I experienced Uruguay’s national dish: chivito. It is difficult to describe this dish as it seems to have several incarnations, but it usually consists of a strip of tenderloin beef, french fries, a fried egg and some vegetables on the side. The first chivito I had was piled high with what the menu called “russian salad,” (is this a salad actually eaten in Russia?) which is a kind of cold potato salad with peas and mayonnaise. There was also shredded lettuce and tomato on the side. The second chivito I had was more of a fried egg sandwich and it was delicious! Upon return my neighbor told me chivito is definitely not a Uruguayan thing and can be found all over Argentina, but I had never seen or heard of it until I stepped foot in Uruguay. So there.

Chivito #1

Chivito #2

While eating my second chivito in Colonia Suiza, I had a conversation with a Mr. Edegardo Celio. I know his name because he made me write it down along with his phone number. He has some land he wants to sell and is trying to spread the word far and wide. So if you've been thinking about buying land in Uruguay, I know a guy. He is a dairy farmer and cheese maker, like many people in this town, and was off to sell his product in Montevideo. He very proudly showed me his cheese which he called "queso colonia."

After torturing my body with horseback and bicycle rides, I passed the days very quietly. I read two books, sat in the sunshine, and took long walks along the country roads. At night Monica made a fire in the living room with eucalyptus wood and leaves, which are just as fragrant when burned. The other guests and I exchanged travel stories and shared wine while relaxing by the fire.

Yerba mate plant growing by the hostel.

Sheep

Cows

Owl

¡Dale Boca!

I went to a fútbol game last night. Boca Juniors is one of the big teams of Buenos Aires and takes its name from the neighborhood of La Boca which is one of the poorest areas of the city. Most porteños would tell you to skip going to a live game because it's not worth the danger. I was invited to the game by a tango acquaintance who needed my translation services to buy tickets and navigate our way to the stadium. Although a bit hesitant at first, I decided to go because I wanted to experience this essential part of Latin American culture. I've been to an FC Barcelona game in Barcelona but last night's game had an element of wildness that I did not witness in Spain.

Due to the heavy traffic and longer than expected travel time, I arrived in Boca 5 minutes before the game started and alone. I was dropped off by my cab driver on the wrong side of the stadium. Security is so tight you can't simply walk into any gate of the stadium and walk to your seat. They have very clearly defined entrances and exits for all classes of tickets and for the fans of the opposing team. I don't know who would be suicidal enough to go to a Boca game and openly cheer for the rival team, but apparently people do and this is why the authorities try as best they can to separate them. 

The streets were barricaded for several blocks spanning out from the stadium with multiple police check points at every blockade, creating a complicated labyrinth of inaccessible roads. Normally I would not walk around at night through this neighborhood, but there are so many families and regular people in the streets and so many police officers that I think it's fair to say that on game day Boca is one of the safest places in the city. Still, I had to walk for about 25 minutes in a jagged zig-zag around the perimeter of the stadium to finally find Gate 3. I hooked up with a couple who were looking for my same gate and together we made our way through the rough neighborhood streets. For added security I wore a grey hoodie and placed my purse under the hoodie. I zipped it all the way up and pulled my hood over my head even though it was 70 degrees out. I was trying to look as non-female as possible and with my purse bulging out of my hoodie, I'm sure I looked plenty weird to most people. But hey, nobody bothered me.

My friend and I made the wise decision to buy more expensive tickets that placed us in the assigned seats section and away from the "Barra Brava," or the die-hard fans of Boca. This section was on their feet the entire game, waving flags and singing the many fight songs of Boca. One of the songs I was able to understand said "dale, dale, dale, ohhhhh, dale dale dale Boooca, dale dale dale ohhhh." "Dale"  is a difficult idiom to explain and I don't understand all the ways it can be used, but in this instance it means "come on" and is pronounced "dah-lay." 

The video below captures a fun moment, although it's hard to see the action on the field. A Boca player kicks the ball in a high arch hoping to drop it in at the top of the goal. He misses ever so slightly and the ball lands on top of the net. After this the crowd got rowdy and started singing louder and cheering their team on, impatient for a goal. I think the body language of the little kid sitting in front of me is adorable and reflects the emotions of the crowd.

 

Boca won 2-0 against Zamora, a Venezuelan team. It was fun and I'm glad I went but I don't think I need to go to another Boca game.

The Art of Packing

I have packed for a lot of trips in my life, yet I somehow still suck at it. The first time I went to Europe for a 30 day trip I obsessed about what to bring. I read countless testimonials of backpackers that cautioned against over-packing. I took the advice to heart and upon arrival I quickly realized that I simply did not have enough clothes with me or the right clothes. The nights were colder than expected and I wasn't thrilled about having to wash my underwear every day.

Even after experiences like this I still tend to under-pack. The idea of being weighed down by own materialism drives me crazy. The night before I leave for any trip I inevitably begin to stress out about how heavy my suitcase is and I go through it again, taking out 3 or 4 items saying to myself, “I really don’t need four shirts and two tank tops.” So when I thought about what to bring to Argentina I had a difficult mental hurdle to leap. This was not a backpacking adventure. This was me moving to another country, possibly for a long time. Still, I was hesitant to schlep a ton of stuff with me and let's be honest, too cheap to pay $75 for a second checked bag, so that left me with 50lbs in one suitcase and one carry on. Not much.

I decided to buy the lightest weight suitcase possible with the greatest capacity. This turned out to be a monster duffel bag with wheels. For my carry-on I brought my trusty travel backpack that has been with me through some of my greatest adventures. I am so sentimental about this backpack that I made a big deal about making sure it was in fact my backpack I was taking and not my sister's or best friend's as we all three have the exact same bag from REI. Out of curiosity I flipped through some of my travel photos to see how many feature my bag. Here are a few fun ones:

Sitting on a boat to an island in Italy. 18 years old and looking a tad seasick.

Boarding a plane to Scotland.

Arriving on the South Island of New Zealand after a ferry ride. My backpack is inside that van!

But the art of packing is not as much about how much you bring as it is about the intelligence of what you bring. Now that I have been in Buenos Aires for one month I have to laugh at what I brought and what I left. For the future traveler in me who still sucks at packing and for any other traveler who might be reading this, here’s what I have learned:

First, I must mention that when I unpacked my things I discovered that I brought an uneven amount of socks with me. How did I lose a sock in transit?! The precocious sock fairy operates at 30,000 feet, too, apparently. I guess this means you should bring extra socks because you might lose one...?

The most valuable item I thought to bring was a very good map of Buenos Aires. I bought it while walking aimlessly through the Tattered Cover. I remember going there one lonely evening before I had any idea how I was getting to Argentina. I remember seeing the map in the travel section, unfolding it, and staring for a long time at the foreign grid. It was pricey and at that time useless to me, but I bought it anyway. It was a small commitment to myself to one day get to Buenos Aires and use it. For the last four weeks I have used it constantly. Through repetitive use I have managed to tarnish the laminated pages.

The second most useful item has been a single black skirt. It is mid-length and comes up as high as my natural waist and has a flowing, full skirt. I bought this skirt two years ago and always liked it, but here I want to wear it every day. I wear it to milongas with a nice blouse. I wear it with boots and a tank top to walk around town. The weather has been warmer than I thought and I have found that clothes made with synthetic materials feel horrible in hot, humid weather. I am kicking myself for leaving a light purple skirt of this exact nature back at home. Future reminder: pack simple, versatile items that allow air to flow. Bring lots of basic colored tank tops and shirts that can be mixed and matched with your other clothing.

I also brought two pairs of high heels that I haven’t worn once. One is a pair of espadrilles that are so beautiful I couldn’t leave them in my closet. It was as simple as that: they could not be left behind. Considering I’m on average 5 inches taller than most people here I haven’t put them on yet. Also, I walk everywhere and these heels were not made for walkin’. So future self, if you can afford the room bring the cute shoes. But know they will sit in your closet and you will admire them once a day but they are pretty much useless to you now. On that note I wish I had brought a stylish pair of shoes that I can wear with a skirt but can also walk for miles in, but I realize I have never owned a pair of shoes like this because they don't exist. So enough about that.

I'm interested to hear what any of you would have packed with you or if you have any brilliant packing tips? My aunt Snow (who went on a 45 day around-the-world-honeymoon) I'm talking to you! And also my aunt Lise who once described to me how she meticulously folded and squeezed every single piece of clothing and tube of toothpaste into her suitcase while she was touring with A Chorus Line across the world. And my aunt Joan who just recently flew to 4 or 5 cities with an entire wardrobe of 6 or 7 costume changes for her symphony gigs! How can I be the niece of such brilliant packers? Apparently it's not hereditary.