Renting an apartment in Buenos Aires proved a little more difficult than I expected but alas my patience and perseverance paid off (insert enormous laugh) and it’s official, I have a Buenos Aires address. My Spanish lessons start Friday and I have two private tutors showing me the Argentinean way along with a real class and real students beginning April 13. With my luck, I’ll be fluent by 2010 and maybe then I will return to the United States a svelte, bilingual version of my former self. Who knows? It’s possible. My mother keeps telling me I live in a fantasy world. I tend to agree but most of you are likely saying your fantasies don’t involve backpacking and certainly not living in third world countries.

I’ve already made a few friends here in Argentina.  They all have something to do with my friend Tim but I’ll break through on my own eventually.  As we all know, I have a “thing” for foreign men and it didn’t take long for my charm to spread through this tango town to Tim’s superintendent.   It may come to no surprise to many of you that just after 48 hours in the building I dazzled the super with my whit, charm, smile and big mouth.  Tim contends it had something to do with my boobs or sex (I’ll add sex appeal) but let me explain why he has come to that conclusion.  Tim has lived in the building since January and not once has the super spoken English to the dear man.  When I downloaded my conversation to Tim, he gave me a very perplexing look and I immediately thought I had done something wrong.  Tim’s response, “he speaks English?”  Well, yes he does.  In fact, he speaks better than most people I’ve encountered.  He welcomed me to the building, asked me where I was from and questioned me about my stay.  When we met again, he spent 45 minutes telling me all about the safety precautions I need to take and what certain things are called in Buenos Aires versus the rest of the country.  He even corrected my attempts at the Spanish language.  Again, I reported back to Tim who said next time you see him tell him my buzzard doesn’t work since he apparently likes you better than me.  It definitely made for some good laughs. 

Today, I moved into my own apartment. It’s a three story-loft type of place with a terrace and working space. It’s clearly owned by a man since no woman would allow guests to see her discolored couch or lamp cords hanging everywhere but it’s clean. Plus, the apartment has three levels. Any woman would be thinking do I really want to climb up two sets of stairs to clean this place? I rest my case. Regardless, I am very excited to stay put for a bit after spending four months of packing and unpacking every few days. The apartment is located in a gorgeous park area called Palermo Botanico. I already tested out the local pizzeria and it gets my thumbs up. I’ve also spotted many a fashionable boutique that I will be visiting when my mother and her wallet come to visit me. Who says parents shouldn’t support 35-year-old children? I certainly would never make that claim. At least she better visit, I am making note of several potential purchases.  

I’m settling in just like home.  Being the neurotic person that I am, I already done a thorough cleaning of my apartment.  I scrubbed down the kitchen, cleaned the toilet and shower and told the owner he needed a new shower curtain.  When the owner came to fix the lights, he informed me the maid(their words not mine) would be here on Friday and if I keep cleaning she won’t have anything to do.  I said no she needs to vacuum there are little fuzzes on the floor.  To my dismay he said they don’t have vacuums.  My response seemed to scare him like most men I know.  I said, “she should get on her hands and knees and clean the floors then because I just did and was disgusted by the amount of stranger’s hair I had to clean.”  I guess that’s why he asked when I would not be at home on Friday to fix the lights and AC.  I know I know.  I don’t have to show my freak factor to every new person I meet but don’t worry he wasn’t my type anyway.

Rather than going through a formal initiation process in my new city, I invented my own anointing.  I am taste testing Argentinean fine wines, Italiano cappuccinos, pizzas, cheeses, deli meats and last but not least big honken steaks.  So far, all meet my approval. Should you be concerned about my waistline the same thought crossed my mind so I signed up for Pilates and my free session starts tomorrow.  However, allow me focus more on the steak for a moment.  I am not your typical carnivore I much prefer chicken and fish to the red stuff but the lean cut I devoured the other day melted in my mouth.  It had the flavoring of a perfectly cooked perfectly seasoned prime steak.  It’s better than your grandmother’s (mom’s don’t cook these days) and it makes Gibson’s, Morton’s and Ruth Chris look like McDonald’s.  I figured with two months worth of fine steak my vitamin B quota will be back on track in no time. 

How the heck do these people stay so thin?  Maybe the secret is in the meat… 

I’m back!

For those of you not keeping up with my whereabouts, I am currently residing in Buenos Aires for the next two months studying Spanish and absorbing the culture.  I did make a brief stop in the U.S. to pay my taxes, change clothes and tend to my foot.  I am still trying to find the upside of that visit other than a much needed haircut as I owed money to the government (Yes, I can run for office since I pay my taxes), the doctor diagnosed me with nerve damage and I could really use those unworn tank tops and sundresses I lugged through Africa since it’s 85 degrees and humid here.

The last few days I spent exploring neighborhoods to live (temporarily of course).  Buenos Aires is a very cosmopolitan city and the central downtown area looks like a cross between Fifth Avenue and the Champs d’Elysées.  There are tree-lined streets, numerous parks and gardens, cafes, pubs and restaurants and apartments galore.  I am crashing with mi amigo, Tim, who moved here permanently from NYC last Fall.  Our Spanish teacher at the Cervantes Instituto (NYC) would be so proud of us, although Tim is definitely a few months ahead of me on the learning curve.

Locals definitely enjoy comparing Buenos Aires to Paris and New York.  Tim says Buenos Aires is more like New York in the late 70s than present day but I won’t touch that statement.  I find the city clean, safe and very inviting.  There are a few skyscrapers but nothing like Manhattan or even Chicago.  In fact, other than the parks and some of the older buildings the architecture doesn’t resemble either city.  On the other hand, the people are beautiful.  They are an interesting mix of ethnic Argentinean (Amerindian/Inca) and European.  There are approximately 13 million people living in Buenos areas where ninety-seven percent of the population is of European descent with Spanish and Italian immigrants comprising the bulk of that number. The influx of Europeans dates back to Argentina’s independence from Spain in 1816 when the new government opened the doors for other Europeans to work and live here. The Italians worked at the docks, while the Germans and Spanish had much to do with the cattle industry.  The majority of people in Buenos Aires are Catholic but there is a small Jewish population as well.

Fitness is considered a necessity (I guess especially if you are eating slabs of beef and drinking wine every night).  There are gyms, running tracks and Pilates studios on every block.  Let me give it to you straight:  People are in shape with long legs and flawless skin.  It has left me a bit envious as I walk the streets thinking I should visit a Pilates class soon.  To match those fabulous bodies, women wear cute little tops and shorts and men wear T-shirts and jeans.  However, the dress is a bit more conservative than I expected.  I figured with the tango and late nightlife people would dress more provocatively but in fact they dress very European with a flair for originality.  Buenos Aires is not Rio and it’s not Miami.

I chose to restart my blog as I can’t talk on the phone and wanted to share some thoughts on my new city and the movie I watched tonight.  After three stressful days of searching for an apartment, speaking inaudible Spanish and watching the Spartan’s play in the NCAA tournament (Go GREEN), I ventured to la cinema to see, ­­He’s Just Not That Into You, properly translated into Spanish as Simplemente No Te Quire.  When translated back into English, it means, “he simply doesn’t want you.”  I’m not one for sitting around waiting for life to pass me by but I did find it ironic that the first character to get dumped in the movie was appropriately named Kelli Ann.  I am sure it’s just a coincidence and I do spell Kelly with a Y and not an I but still.  It left me pondering my Argentinean dating plan of attack.  I’m hopeful the kissing bandit in me will reemerge in Buenos Aires when I am making an ass out of myself trying to tango.  I expect some very HOT, SEXY Argentinean man to whisper Spanish sweet nothings in my ear and the best part about that is he might be telling me I smell and I won’t even know it.