So on Friday things were pretty lazy and I volunteered to wait around for Carolina, our maid. I think it is kind of silly that we have a maid, but as Annemarie says, “In this city, you either are a made or you have one.” And since she’s only 20 pesos and works a full two hours, it’s a pretty good deal. So after Carolina left I wandered around and read at the park and grabbed some empanadas and coffee at the place where they know me as “extranjera.” (I asked around, that’s not an insult. It’s simply what I am: a foreigner.)
Around dinner time that night we decide to order a pizza (since the four major food groups in Buenos Aires are steak, empanadas, pizza, and more recently sushi) and invite a few friends over for pre-Boliche or "previa." Ben’s American friend Mark and our neighbor Pedro came over. We had ordered one Pizza Especial and one Fuggazetta (which is basically an onion pizza and one of the most flavorful foods here) along with a handful of empanadas for good measure. I added red pepper flakes to my pizza, since the food here is so bland, and Pedro (the only Argentine I’ve met who likes spicy food) thought that was the best idea ever. I must admit it was pretty ingenious. We opened a bottle of Malbec and had a nice little get-together before hitting up Crobar in Palermo. We talked politics both local and American with Pedro: he explained the protests and strikes in el campo; we discussed the impending US Presidential election and its candidates.
Then we met up with Pedro’s friend Carlos to go to Crobar.
[A note about many of the Argentines I’ve met: many of them are fairly well traveled and studied a bit of English in Londres (London). So when they speak English, oftentimes it is British English. So they introduce themselves as Peter (pronounced Pi-ter) and Charlie instead of Pedro and Carlos.]
Carlos is an odd character; he works in the cinema here. Something about the way he’s dressed. It’s like his shirt is too tucked in. And his hair, as Ben pointed out, is reminiscent of Kramer on Seinfeld. That said, he is very nice.
So we take a cab to Crobar. Our cab driver is singing over a Karaoke version of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” He is loud and definitely not the best singer I’ve heard. So we ask him what else he’s got and sing along to Juanes to drown him out.
We arrive at Crobar, and enter through the patio to the “more exclusive” part. Argentines love their exclusivity. But the music here is fun, and we see a group of girls running around for a fin de soltera (bachelorette) party. The friends wear all black and the bride wears white with a halo and angel wings. “Balloons” are tied to all involved parties and they dance on stage doing can-can lines. (Apparently dancing on stage is allowed at Crobar).
Pedro, Carlos, Ben and I only stay for a few hours. Dancing along to such hits as Mika’s “Relax, Take it Easy” and Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.” The whole crowd gets super-excited when the first notes of this one techno song play. I still can’t find it on iTunes, but here it is on YouTube:
After that song finishes we decide it’s time to head back home. Carlos asks me if I’ve seen the transvestites here. I haven’t, but I have heard about them. So we walk along the Parque de los Bosques in Palermo to see them. I don’t believe they are men. They are gorgeous. If anything, it is a testament to the quality of plastic surgery here (which is covered by insurance here.) I don’t know how to talk about them, since adjectives in Spanish take the gender of the subject. We joke that “Ellos son bellas.” Seriously, these men look more feminine than I do. When I say that, Pedro thinks I am fishing for compliments and assures me I am “mas fina.” It’s bizarre how beautiful they are and how much they look like real women. Real women with really long legs and strong jaw lines. We hear one of them yell “30 pesos” to a client. Carlos confirms that they are so cheap because they have a smaller market than regular prostitutes.
On Saturday I meet up with Damian and Annemarie in Belgrano, navigating the subte by myself so that we can take a train to El Tigre, a city on the water and the last train-stop in Buenos Aires province. Once we make it to El Tigre, we hop on the lancha colectiva or “boat bus” as Damian calls it. We ride the whole route while locals get off at their homes. It was cheaper than the tourist dinner cruises and much more authentic. It was nice to get out of the big city for a half day.
typical site in El Tigre
a museum in El Tigre
the yacht club in El Tigre
But the two others were Martin and Fernando. Martin is Damian’s good friend from Buenos Aires. He is a successful chemical engineer who does something with the preservatives in paint, and he just got back from Dubai for work. Fernando is Martin’s Mexican friend from D.F. He is an architect who attained his masters in Finland and has been working in London for the past five years. He is just in town for the week on holiday. I sat next to Fernando at dinner and he was very interesting. Britain has seemed to rub off on him, as he is a bit less aggressive than any other Latin man I have met thus far. Martin is fun to talk to as well. They both speak English impeccably, so the majority of our table’s dinner conversation is held in English. I finally ask them to speak Spanish and Fernando pulls some cheesy line about my eyes being like some river in England. I don't buy it. But since Martin is a bit of a partier and Fernando is here on holiday, the night was a bit on the crazy side. Fun. But crazy.
So today was low key. I finished my book and started another one before wandering around the park by Recoleta, where there were a few musicians and entertainers, some vendors and an Argentine punk band. As I walked home, I ran into the old man from Monday. He remembered me and wanted to get coffee, but I told him I was headed home and he was very understanding. He’s a sweet man. I’m sure I will see him again later.
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