Sha Sha Sha ... Me llamo Elias

So no one told me the particulars to the argentine dialect. Granted, Laura (my lovely portena friend and masseuse) said something about it perhaps, but my mind is like a sieve, and always with a "I´ll figure it out when I get there" attitude.

Not that I speak Spanish, but I was particularly flustered by all this ¨sha sha sha" that I heard all the time. Instead of hearing words that I could at least imagine spelling and then not understanding, I was just hearing lots of shashasha amid the other more discernible sounds.

As it turns out, the Argentine dialect treats a double-L as a ¨sha" sound. For example, Castellano is pronounced Cas te SHA no, not Cas te ya no. The word Calle (street) is not Ca Yay, but rather Ca Shay. Most confusing at first, and not much less confusing now that I know the rule. But I am getting it into my ears, slowly. And being someone not immune to pretentious affectation, I´m enjoying employing the shashasha myself as much as I can. "No puedo hablar CAS TE SHA NO¨is something I´ve become fond of saying.

As for my name, once again I am robbed of my correct name. (The first time was when I lived in Italy.) It seems that the Argentines, like the Italians, and the Mexicans, don´t really have a grasp on the name Elliott. (If they did, would they pronounce it E SHEE IT!?!?!?) In BA, I am now Elias, which is my nom de tourista in Mexico as well. In Italy I was either Elias or Elliotto. I can´t say I really mind though. New place, new persona, new name. ¿Porque non?

Tango: The Ten Toes of Humility

I am trying so very hard to get over the inertia, the fear, the whateveritis that stops me from doing those things that I want to do. I don´t want to be one of those people who looks back and says, "I wish I had done ..." So I´d passed a sign in my neighborhood, "Classe de Tango" Mondays, 6:30pm. I went.

I expected a wide variety of people, all ages, locals as well as tourists, etc. Not so.

As it turned out, I was the tallest by at least 6" and the youngest by at least a decade (if not 3!). More women than men, but a close ratio there.

So there are people with 2 left feet. I am one of those. Coupled with a complete ignorance of this very difficult dance (much more intricate and difficult than I expected) and almost no ability to understand the instructors, I became the dancing embodiment of a roadblock, hurdle, trafficjam, jam car, third wheel, etc. You get the picture.

My first impulse was to just leave. To slip out, hopefully unnoticed. But then I remembered that desire to face my fear, to explore the new. I´m so glad I did.

The class started with us all in a circle, streteching legs, arms, etc. And then just stepping around the circle. Easy as pie, right? And then the dance started. Six steps...

Six steps and I was transported back to 7th grade hustle class (DO THE HUSTLE!), which I was equally inept in. While I felt bad for the woman closest to me who was asked to partner up with me, as it turned out, every woman, as well as both instructors, had the distinct ignominious experience of dancing with me at one time or another.

And then something amazing happened...

I loosened up. I would love to say that then it all came to me, like a long'lost language that awakened from a place deep within my psyche. No, that didn´t happen. But it became clear that my participation wasn´t the bigest bummer these folks had ever encountered and that we were all learning, all there for fun, and that they would, at least for a few mondays, tolerate the base missteps and nonverbal blatherings of a foreigner. I did make it clear that "Senor Bush" is no friend of mine, and that seems to help in every social situation here.

By the end, I was able to do the basics and got hugs and kisses from all the gals, hearty handshakes from the men.

I know every damn post here is the same: boy did I have a swell time and isn´t life grand, but what can I say, so it goes.

I´ve got to find a private tango teacher.

Feria de San Telmo!

Slowly branching out, beyond Palermo, I made it to the renowned Feria de San Telmo. Basically a huge flea market, street fair, crafts festival that happens every sunday. Despite my late schedule (woke up at 1pm, made it there around 3) it was still very much alive.

It is so great to see a new place with the eyes of a tourist. Unlike my normal jaded perspective on such things, I was so engaged, so entertained by all that I saw. Absurd street performers, lots of crafts, antiques, crapola and of course delicious steak sandwiches to eat on the run.

The eyes of a tourist should always be looking UP. And if they do so in this city they will see such beautiful architecture amid otherwise banal, normal buildings. How can it be that there are these gorgeous buildings, usually 2 stories high, with incredible marble facades, intricate balconies and various other details, and they are just there. Not embassies, not landmarks, just places where people live and/or work, some in perfect condition, many in semi-disrepair, all beautiful. (I know, I need pictures on this blog...)

And even though this street fair is somewhat touristy it is noticeably absent of the usual horde of Americans. And I can't say that I mind that at all.

I've rediscovered my perfect limbosolitude

Yes, this is what I wanted. To wake up whenever, preferably late, walk late at night, far, and be timeless, without responsibility in a place where all is new, often beautiful, where stories, even history are evoked at every turn.

Alma and I discovered Palermo Hollywood today. Also beautiful, interesting. We sat outside at a parilla while women doted on my dog and discovered, the hard way, how little spanish I spoke. Oh well, still time for that.

And then there's delicious beef as well!

I'm so happy, so fortunate, to have rediscovered the feeling I had while living in Berlin, Siena, Rome and Paris. The endless wandering, where it is all journey and not at all destination. It is not without solitude, not without loneliness, but they are fine in their own way and hardly unexpected.

Yes, this is what I wanted.

Biggest Hail Ever!!!

New word learned: GRANIZO. Means hail. Today there was the most intense hailstorm I´ve ever seen. Hail as big as pingpong balls. Put lots of dents in all the cars unfortunate enough to be caught in it. They said it was not normal for BA. I hope not. Amazing....

Walking and Talking... well, walking and blabbing

I´ve arrived. Alma was a great passenger despite the THREE attempts to get her to pee in the bathroom in teh airport. She just looked at me and wondered why I wanted her to pee indoors. She´s so well trained.

BA is not what i expected, but I don´t really know what I expected. The ride from the airport was ugly as sin, the weather was hideous and the cabdriver was the most dangerous driver I´ve ever had, which is saying a lot.

That said, my neighborhood is fantastic, the city seems amazing and I am excited to discover.

Oh yeah, I don´t speak Spanish. I blab and blather some words and people seem to make sense of it, but I need to get some more language in my head. It will come.

More later. Too excited to sit in an internet cafe when the city awaits.

Ciao!!!

T-minus .... am I there yet????

It's Friday, I leave monday morning. So how many days does that leave to do way to much work and prep? I don't know. Like I have time to do that kind of math calculation when there's still much work and prep to do?!?! Had a weird, uncharacteristic flash of "why the hell am I doing something as stupid as going to Buenos Aires?!?!?" for a moment yesterday, but then I realized why. Because it will be fun, interesting, a break from the usual, i.e., all the things that I value most.

I've managed to chip away at most of the tunes that I have left to score for "Class Act," a wonderful documentary about arts education in US public schools. But still a couple cues remain and I'm managing to keep my procrastination at a very very high level.

OK, enough internal monologue minutiae. I do hope people will read this, write me email, leave comments, even, but I also know that it'll have to be more interesting than this. It will be.

El

T-minus 8 days (Yikes!)

I've never been much of a diarist. I've started them many times but for whatever reason, I never stick with them. And for all I know this one might await the same non-fate. We'll see. In any case it's just 8 days before I fly far away for some combination of relaxation and adventure. Who knows what awaits?
El