Retrospection

One day, I will write about this

Nuevo Departamento

Sunday was an exciting day for me because I finally got to move to an new apartment, and move out of the cold, grungy eight-bed dorm where I was starting to think I was going to spend the rest of my life (ok, the rest of my time in Buenos Aires, but still). Another couple of days and I would have started to develop hostel mold. A month of laying awake at night scratching mosquito bites or listening to my Korean dorm mate's prodigious snoring capacities. A month of wearing wrinkled clothing, of finding my pajamas and sleeping pills using my cellphone flashlight, and of turning the fridge upside down only to discover that someone else has eaten my dinner. Not to mention trying to get a grasp of the economic transformations of the early colonial period in the vice-royalty of Peru while judging by the activity around me 'consumption' might as well refer to beer, fernet con coca and marijuana, and 'production,' to laughter and chatter.

I have seen all kinds of apartments, from the bad to the downright awful. The first prize goes to the dimly-lit den of the crazy architect. When I visited the house, I was greeted at the top of the stairs by a garishly painted mannequin wearing faux furs. My first instinct was to run away, but I politely followed the rest of the tour, smiling and nodding despite my deepening dismay, at the somber windowless room that could have been mine, and the disturbing works of art that the old man painted in his spare time, which adorned the walls of every room. My other favourite was the apartment of a young optimistic Argentine. It wasn't so much an apartment as a personal project, seeing that most of the rooms were still under construction or lacked a roof. "It's fully liveable" he assured me, but I was having trouble digesting this affirmation when the kitchen consisted of a plastic sink in the corner of the patio. I'll give him A for effort, but a girl needs more than a set of plastic chairs and a do-it-yourself desk to feel at home.

It was therefore a relief to find this apartment, a no-frills place shared by three twenty-something French girls. The apartment did not impress me when I visited, but the girls were welcoming, and delightfully 'normal'. I was also charmed by the large windows, the sunny balcony and the great location. I left saying I would give it a thought, but I called the next day to say I would take it. One of the girls was returning to France on Saturday, and I was told I could move in the next day.

 My two roommates are typical French girls. They speak with that snooty nonchalance, are constantly smoking cigarettes on the balcony or through the kitchen window, and recognize cheese as a sacred foodstuff. Marie is a skinny, energetic, bespectacled girl who seems to live off of pasta and cigarettes. She is not ashamed to laugh out loud when there is nobody around. She is the kind of person whose metabolism seems to be running on espresso shots and requires at least four meals a day if she doesn't want to disappear. Amal, on the other hand, is far more laid-back. Her Moroccan heritage has endowed her with gorgeous dark skin and and a beautifully curvy body. Her bedroom is the smallest, a closet-like space accessed through the kitchen, where there is barely enough room for a mattress on the floor and a bedside table, but she spends most her time out of the apartment. She studies commerce in Buenos Aires, but admits hardly going to class (at eight in morning, I don't blame her, especially when we're in Argentina).

My two stereotypically French roommates each have a stereotypically Argentine boyfriend. Marie's boy is ever so slightly geeky and speaks in a string a 'che's and 'boludo's (and when M is concerned, it's 'nena, nena, nena, nena!') Marie's Spanish has obviously strongly been influenced by him because she speaks exactly like him, a cute French version of him. Amal's boyfriend is more of a tall and quiet type. He keeps his hair styled and wears a black leather jacket. I am also told that he is quite the handyman. Every time there something broken in the apartment, he comes to the rescue. Amal hardly speaks Spanish and her boyfriend doesn't speak a word of French, but that doesn't seem to impede them in any way. They communicate to each other in a broken, heavily-accented English which I find very amusing. Despite any cultural differences, both relationships seem to be going strongly, and both couples are a joy to be around.

The apartment is what you'd expect from a group of young women: minimal order and a few endearing touches - makeup kit on the TV set, cold pizza balancing on a pile of dirty pots on the stove-top, half-dead plant on the living room table. Add mate on the table, empanada takeout magnets on the fridge, a dysfunctional toilet and some empty Quilmes bottles in the kitchen corner and bam! you're in Argentina.

The Kitchen / La Cocina

The Bathroom / El Baño

My Bedroom / Mi Habitación

The Balcony / El Balcón

My favourite part of my new apartment are the large windows. In the morning, sunlight pours into my bedroom and I can wake up pretending that summer has never ended. I can also start to heal and forget the things I have had to go through.

April has been a strange, strange month. I've had champagne with prostitutes, eaten sushi in a jacuzzi and kissed a stranger in the street (more like he kissed me). I've spends hours and hours wandering the city streets at nights crying, wishing or simply wondering what in the world I was doing here. The last few months haven't been easy. I've felt humiliation, hatred and desperation like never before in my life. Maybe eventually, I'll be able to tell you bit by bit parts of that story, although some parts, I know, will remain secret forever.

Here and There, Buenos Aires

Here is a random assortment of pictures, snapshots from my photographic expeditions that don't belong to any particular theme or location. Enjoy!

The bench looks... tired.

The streets of Buenos Airesare litered with thousands of puestos de flores (flower kiosks). They add bursts of colour and lovely aroma to the city. Jasmin is especially popular.

Wake up, World.

My favourite Argentinian beer (for its name, not its taste, of course).

A restaurant in a remote barrio.

Des bubulles!

 

A cool little park in Palermo.

 Watermelons here are LONG!

A lovely colonial window in one of Buenos Aires' posh neighbourhoods.

Street art.

Outside the famous Café Tortoni.

Detail on a lovely door in the Microcentro.

Pizza scooters!

Connected!

The morning of the 28th, Roberto and I headed out to Palermo Hollywood to buy a cellphone. I figured, since I did not have neither home nor routine, this would be an important tool to keep me connected to the world around me–to start building a network of acquaintances. After all, I was building a life from scratch and I had no idea where to start. Also, it would help me tremendously with my job search. I chose the most basic plan and the cheapest phone, and Roberto helped me along with the procedure. We walked back home talking about clothing vocabulary as we passed by shop windows.

I decided to spend part of my afternoon at one of my favourite museums in Buenos Aires, which happened to be half-price on Wednesdays. MALBA (Museo de Arte Latinoamerico de Buenos Aires) has a great collection of modern Latin American art (1900-present) and additionally hold exhibitions on contemporary artists. They also have a great giftshop with tons of art and design books in both English and Spanish.

Entrance to MALBA

A cool bench inside the museum

On my way to MALBA, I stopped for a stroll in the Jardín Japonés (Japanese Garden), an enclosed haven between busy boulevards.

 

An indispensible part of my visit to MALBA was a tarriance in the Café des Arts, the wonderful coffee shop and restaurant adjoining the museum, where you cannot help but feel sophisticated and classy as you sip your tea, or nibble on the hors-d'oeuvres.

Sitting on my padded chair in the outside terrace, I received my first Buenos Aires phone call. It was my ex-boyfriend, wanting to know if I wanted to get together some time in the evening. We set an hour in which he could meet me in front of my new apartment.

Mauricio and I took a nice stroll through Palermo. He showed me his apartment and we ended up in Plaza Serrano, having a drink outside at one of the busy bars.

My New Barrio

In the morning, I phoned Roberto straight away to confirm that I would take the room. He told me I could arrive at 5:00. So, in the meantime, I put my luggage in the hostel's storage area and went for one last walk in San Telmo (I sure I will still go there, but not as often, now that I live on the other side of town).

 

 

 

I passed by the centre, because I needed some money, and poked my nose in a few antique and second-hand bookshops. After standing in line at five different banks, I finally was able to withdraw money. I returned to the hostel at four, and took a taxi with all my stuff to my new home on Santa Fe. 

 Farmacia de la Estrella was founded in 1834

Books!

I find the apartment pretty feo (ugly-especially my room), but it is spacious and comfortable. However distasteful it might be, I know that I will be able to feel much more at home here than in any hostel. Plus, I could not have asked for a better location, right on the intersection between the Palermo of shopping, cafés and nightlife, and the Palermo of parks. What is more, the entrance to the subte is just one step away (literally-you come out the door and are almost falling down the subte stairs). After showing me around, Roberto prepared a coffee for himself and a tea for me. Then, we went out to grab a few things that I would need to start my life in Buenos Aires, which also served as a short introduction to the barrio. I love how every moment with him is part of a lesson. He asks me what things are called as we run across them, corrects and mistakes and taught me new expressions. So far, he seems to be a great teacher.

On the way back, he showed me what he claims is one of the best pescaderías (fish shops) in the city. It is only two blocks away from the house, so I think I will be there often, stocking up on seafood for my kitchen experiments.

At 9:00 in the evening, I am sitting outside one of my favourite cafés in Palermo Viejo, Mama Racha, much more busy now that the night has fallen and dinner time is approaching. The world around me is abuzz with conversation. It is getting chilly, but I feel much more relaxed, now that I am settled in, that I don't have to deal with hostel life, and with looking for a place to stay.

I walk back to my new apartment quite content. It is midnight by the time I am finally eating dinner.