No hablo Español

For me Buenos Aires felt like a silent movie with not much dialog, yet a rich soundscape and not a moment of silence.

Traffic was always in the background, even in the parks. People chatted constantly. They broke into Spanish with us too only to see the confused expressions on our faces. No hablo Español, we, the four extras on movie set would stutter.

Stories unfolded, little vignettes painted themselves in front of us only to disappear in the hustle and bustle of the city. Somehow we were part of the action yet we were on the edge always looking in, learning, imitating… Day one. Order from a menu by leafing through a little phrase book. We must have been flipping too much as it came undone, a few pages flying in the wind. Did we order without words or did we mutter a few? Day two. An attempt to buy a metro card. The lady covered us with an avalanche of instructions in Spanish enough to give us a headache. Spanish takes more words than English, the four of us decided, payed for the card and pretended that we understood her perfectly. Day three. An older lady helped us buy the empanadas without meat. When we asked her why so few people speak English she answered that most of the English speakers are on vacation in January. But of course:) Day four. Watching the milonga (tango dance) in the park was when the movie metaphor was the most tangent. I was witnessing something so culturally new to me that I felt an outsider again, this time because I didn’t speak the language of tango. Beautiful women arrived with sneakers and changed into high heels to dance with men they didn’t know. Invitations contained in looks were exchanged across the covered garden pavilion. Cheeks touched, embraces were tight. The tango dance itself was fully improvised. Sometimes the women were leading, sometimes the men, but the flow was always perfect, as if they had rehearsed beforehand. There was no stepping on each others toes, no awkward exchanges, even though the people dancing couldn’t be more different from each other. Some were very young, some old. Some were dressed boldly and provocatively, others with the style of times long passed. All were united by their love for the dance. In the moment nothing else mattered.

I was leaning on the rail watching. In a flash I desired to know tango. Spanish too. This feeling was familiar. Along the way travel made me greedy with sudden and random yearnings. In Thailand I had to know how to cook my favorite dish. In Japan I was fascinated by the calligraphy and craved to learn this art. In Bali I pursued the art of preparing the intricate daily offerings…

Yet, somehow being an outsider felt comfortable here in Buenos Aires, as the city was inviting and engaging. One night we sneaked into a music show in Torquatso Tasso, a local club that featured tango music, no dancing and no tourists. We didn’t understand a word from the singing and the little speeches in between but it was incredible to witness the audience connection with the music. People were silently singing to each song. Watching them united again in the moment and experiencing their culture felt so intimate, like a glimpse into the soul of this amazing city.

Below are more glimpses of what our silent movie in Buenos Aires contained ~

Mixing with crowds on the busy market streets. Add to it eating ice cream. In Argentina you can eat helado in the kilos, not in cones. The kids were excited! Reading signs on the street and eaves dropping on people’s conversations trying to at least catch a word. Marveling at residential building lobbies. Walking the streets of Buenos Aires was like a slideshow of different doormen sitting on different chairs in front of different tables always looking bored. One could walk all day and look at those doorman and make a collection of short stories. Going to museums. Visiting design stores in Palermo Viejo. Argentinians excel at design. Just entering a lighting store got us gaping in wonder. Every lamp was incredible and innovative. Watching Tango. So sensual, so beautiful, an art in motion. Staring at food that we couldn’t afford like cherries for $10/kilo. Avoiding the food that we could afford like super panchos (hot dogs). Ordering salad for lunch and having the waiter think we are strange (Argentinians like to eat. They are not scared of plates loaded with ‘real’ food like steaks and potatoes). Watching the guys play soccer in font of our flat till midnight. Trying to find a long sleeve shirt to replace the one that tore in Africa and failing. Looking at art in the art galleries. So many good ones to choose from! Asking for directions in Spanglish. Sitting in a park and chilling during the hot siesta hours. Going in a bookstore and leafing through Spanish books. We would go straight to the baby ones, the ones with one picture and one word per page. Walking, walking and again walking. Making friends with the doorman in our building and pretending that we were following his advice for the restaurant around the corner when all we were doing was going for a stroll around the block. Trying to arrange a haircut (I need it badly) and always failing to communicate the time or what I needed. Admiring buildings, beautiful people, dogs, pretty trees.

Too bad all the people who spoke English came back from their vacation right when we left:) But I liked it that way. Our Buenos Aires was muy impresionante.

Ciao!

~M