Buenos Ay-ya-ya-res

I am obviously getting older.  If I drink, I get a hangover.  No matter what.  As we say here, estoy con resaca.

Last night I went to Lo De Roberto which translates to Roberto’s Place more or less.  This is THE spot to hear tango.  A new friend of mine, Jennie, is here on a grant to study tango violin.  She is a regular at the bar and I have decided I want to be her regular sidekick at said bar.

This bar holds about 30 people maximum, but there always seems to be about 20 too many.  If you’re lucky, you get a chair, and you sit with your 10 peso bottle of Dalton Malbec (Oh, how it makes me think of 007, that sexy Dalton), and watch a few guys playing guitar, maybe bowing a violin, hopefully manipulating a bandoleon (the squeezebox like instrument), and of course, singing with strong storytelling voices.  The other day, I swear to god, Brent Lang’s doppleganger got up and belted out some of the most awe inspiring lunfardo (tango slang) I have ever heard.  I wish I knew what the hell he was saying.

It’s watching tango at a milonga (dance hall) or the currently closed Catedral and listening to the tangueros in bars like Roberto’s Place that really reminds me I am the luckiest little traveler.  You cannot get this stuff outside of Buenos Aires because when you do it is all show and there’s nothing authentic about it.  And I am not trying to be all snotty about the authenticity thing, but it’s like when you have the real thing, everything else tastes like kraft singles.   All aspects about the experience enchant me–the low lighting, the clothes (mixture of men in grey suits, young guys in soccer jackets, girls in whatever they want), the way the audience participates (with respect and ease), the settings (hodge podged and often dusty).  I never seem to bring a camera and I always wonder how I would be able to capture how I feel with a snapshot.

The tango crowd, well, that’s another side benefit.  Machismo is a problem for me, in general, and the tango types are generally pretty machista.  There are usually not too many ladies at the bar, and those who are tend to be there with someone, so being a single lady makes me a hot ticket.  But I have had it up to my limit with the macho guy thing here.  I need to be seen as an equal again, it’s going to drive me loca.  So, when I say side benefit, it is either tongue and cheek or someone tongue on my cheek.  Take your pick.

In the meantime, I enjoy the Wednesday night tradition .  Show up at Lo De Roberto around midnight, listen to music that makes your heart bleed, drink too much red wine, around 2 have a mass exodus to the second bar, La De Estela (Estela’s Place, you’re learning quick!) where the same musicians and the same people are together, just about 4 or 5 blocks away.  Leave when the sun comes up too drunk and pushing some drooling machista out of your way as you find your bus home.  Truly a beautiful thing.

When I woke up today, I would have written off my memories of the night before as a dream had it not been for the fact that I got a text message from my friend Rodrigo telling me he was sorry he was so drunk.

Rodrigo invited me and Susannah (my roommate) and her new beau, Christian, to a party in a casa tomada (taken house, I think we’d call it a squat in English) across the street from his place in La Boca.  The new lovers decided to stay at the restaurant and, well, be in love.  Of course I was excited to go.

The party was actually a show in an abandoned old Jewish Temple.  A series of performances of juggling, acrobatics, magic, dance, and clown skits were set in what would have been the main synagogue of the temple.  Young, dirty, artsy types (just like I like ‘em) walked around drinking what we in the States would call a Forty, but what they just call beer here (by the way, most beer in Argentina is sold in large bottles, you rarely see servings for 1). 

I was transfixed.  Not only were the performances unexpected, they were incredibly well done.  A guy juggled fire!  Some dude actually made magic look sexy!  How can any of this be happening in an deserted house of worship?   

There is this type of acrobatics that is done here in Argentina and I have not seen it done anywhere else, though, as Susannah and I discussed, I don’t know if its just because I don’t tend to see acrobatics at all in the States or if it is an Argentinean artform.  But women will half dance, half climb two pieces of fabric suspended from the ceiling.  It is incredibly graceful, and they will let go of their grip, be it from their hands or feet, and seem to fall and then WOOSH they have somehow prevented the end of their lives by knotting the rope, hanging elegantly from their ankle as their hands strike a pose.  All of this is incredibly beautiful.  Last night, the woman who did this type of performance was wearing a white top and poofy white pants, exposing her midriff, and they turned off the lights, turned on a black light, and all you could see was a negative space animation, but real life.  They threw feathers from the upper balconies and the black lights made it look like it was snowing.  Her suspended fabric was black, so when she climbed it, it looked as thought she was flying in a very specific, very seductive way.

I felt like I was watching the best variety show a bunch of friends ever put on, but I am not sure how professional these people were or not.  And out of nowhere, in the middle of all this thought, two dogs started to fight.  This country doesn’t have Bob Barker compelling his fanbase to spade and neuter their pets, so the streets are home to many independent dogs.

I have heard dogs fighting to the death from my apartment.  It is a horrifying sound, especially to a puppy lover like myself.  I have yet to see a dead dog in the street, but I am telling you, with that kind of barking, I think they don’t leave the corpses, they eat them. 

So, in the middle of this dark, all-too-professional show, two dogs started to fight in the middle of the audience.  No one could see, I can only imagine why a dog would choose to fight in this arena, Amores Perros this was not, and the crowd started to move away from the dogs as their barking and gnashing became obviously very real and very dangerous to the people around them. 

The performers were awesome about this, too!  They just convinced the audience to bring their attention back to the stage.  In fact, there was a two person dance going on before the dog fight, and they restarted the whole dance!  I thought that was admirable, considering they were more than half done.  Admirable, and at the same time, silly.  It was strange to see five minutes of dance, which had been completely new to me, seem obvious and dull.  A few drunks would also interrupt their show, and the clowns would beckon the eyes of the crowd back to the front of the room.  I just, well, was impressed all around.  Argentines have a special gift for tolerating people’s right to be weird and, at times, obnoxious, but at the same time, they don’t let it interrupt what is going on.  I respect that a lot.

I can’t get over it.  Like a dream, I just accepted everything as it came.  I never questioned why I would be in an abandoned temple on a Saturday night drinking a large bottle of beer watching a guy do rope magic while a couples made out in front of me, my buddy Rodrigo befriended a wall, and two dogs almost declared war.  But that’s the kind of stuff that happens in Buenos Aires.  Apparently.

It is common knowledge here that any time you make plans, there is a 50/50 chance they will actually come through.  I think one of the reasons people like me in this country is because I show up when I am invited somewhere.  In general, people just don’t.

That is why it should be no great surprise that, despite cleaning up my pad, preparing empanadas (from scratch) and cheese plates, my friends canceled on me this evening.  My buddy Juan called an hour after he was supposed to come over and said, "I am at the psychologist" (FYI everyone in Buenos Aires has a psychologist or a psychiatrist, it is like having a dentist), "I have futbol (soccer) afterward and then dinner with my family, so can me and boys come over on Wednesday?"

I know that if I had been speaking English I would have said something in a cutesy manner like, "Juan, these sound like obligations you would have known about before we made the plan to see my apartment and hangout," but given that I am just getting to the point where I understand people on the phone, I said, "No, its all good.  Nope, no, Wednesday is good.  Ok, kisses, luck, ciao." 

And I wasn’t even upset, I just stood there and was like, "Oh yeah!  I forgot they might cancel, whoops!"

Just another moment when I realize I am understanding how things work here, but not like it’s first nature, not quite yet.

UPDATE: I added these pictures of my apartment May 1st, 2006. These pictures were taken of my apartment before we had a party, that’s why everything is so clean. I will put more pictures in the future of my pad which has ended up being SUPER awesome and probably the best looking apartment I will ever have. There is nowhere to go but downhill.

Renting an apartment in Buenos Aires is not an easy task, particularly if you’re a foreigner.  The way the system is set up does not take into consideration any outsiders.

In the US, it is difficult to evict someone.  In Buenos Aires, it is literally impossible.  Thus, landlords are very choosy about who they open their doors to.  This explains why they have this ridiculous policy of requiring a garantia from applicants.  "Garantia" translates to "guarantee."  A garantia is a document that one gets when he buys property.  Let’s call our property owner Pepe.  When someone else wants to rent an apartment, she needs to find someone who owns property, who is not currently lending his garantia to someone else, and ask to use his garantia.  We’ll call our renter Matilda.  And Matilda has found an apartment from the Diaz family.  The Diazes need proof that if Matilda doesn’t pay her rent, someone else will be held accountable.  So, Matilda asks Pepe if she can use his garantia.  Now, Pepe needs to trust that whomever uses his garantia won’t screw him, and in the past, he has said no to people because he cannot afford to pay someone else’s rent and doesn’t want to put himself in that position.  Except that Matilda is his niece and he trusts that she will pay the rent.

So, Matilda reserves the apartment owned by the Diaz family.  She pays 300 pesos to reserve the property and gives the inmobiliaria (real estate agency) the garantia that she got from Uncle Pepe.  The inmobiliaria sends the garantia to a government agency to see if Pepe’s apartment has any mortgages, debts, or if he is already using the garantia for someone else.  A week or so passes by, and the inmobiliaria gets news that the garantia is good, Matilda pays one month’s rent in commission to the real estate agency, one month as a deposit to the Diaz family, and her first month’s rent.

Ahh, if only I had an Uncle Pepe.  No.  Nope, no family in Argentina.  Some good friends, but none who own property and, please, who is going to put themselves in danger of debt because I need to rent an apartment?  Not too many people.  Thus, looks like I have to rent an apartment that doesn’t require a garantia.  Ahh, these apartments reserves for foreigners, well, that’s fine, I’m a foreigner, right?  Sure!  So, I’ll take one of those apartments.  Oh, wait, you want to charge me 3 to 5 times what you would an Argentine?  Awesome.

Not to mention the fact that I want to have a studio here (silkscreen printing), so I can’t take a furnished apartment, and there are even fewer apartments available unfurnished for rent to foreigners.

Many people go the route of paying 6 months rent or a year’s worth of rent upfront in order to serve as a garantia.  But a lot of landlords and inmobiliarias simply won’t work with you if you don’t have a garantia.  I think they figure it is too much of a hassle because, legally, a landlord is required to get a garantia from his tenant.  If not, he has even fewer rights should something arise.

Bueno.

So, I bought a garantia on the black market.  I really don’t like doing illegal things, but it wasn’t that expensive and the apartment that I so badly wanted to rent was one of these places that wouldn’t even entertain the idea that I could pay the whole rent up front.

Waiting for the garantia to pass was one of the most anxiety inducing experiences I have had here.  I knew I had to be out of my other apartment by September 1st and there was NO WORD about whether the garantia had passed.  Not to mention the fact that as time went by, I was hearing from more and more people that black market garantias never work.  I was so afraid I was going to have nowhere to go!

And then a week ago the inmobiliaria called and my garantia had passed.  Aah, sweet bliss.  So, I called the place where I bought the garantia and I found out, low and behold, I need to give the guy whose garantia it is, the garante, one month’s rent.  Shit.  Remember Matilda?  Yeah, she paid 3 months rent when she started.  I have to pay 4!  Great.

All this was compounded by the fact that I lost my wallet a month ago and I have no credit cards or bank cards to get money out.  Thus, I am best friends with the workers at Western Union.  But that is NOT the best way to get money in this country since they take such a large cut.  Some friends they turned out to be, right?

But in the end I got an amazing apartment in the neighborhood I wanted with Susannah, my roommate from the previous apartment.  It is gorgeous.  And I am pleased as punch.  So, you should come over and we’ll drink mate.