I order a double cappucino and a crossiant with ham and cheese, just like Bukowski would have, except without the wine. When the barkeep brings it over I´m stoked, until I realize that its not toasted, which is always better, especially for breakfast. I ask him if he can heat it up - No, we don´t have that capacity... hmmm. The owner - Raúl, who I took pictures of yesterday, sitting two tables directly behind me gets up and walks over the the barkeep, whispering something in his ear. The barkeep then comes back over to my table and grabs the cold crossiant and takes it back to the kitchen.
Compromiso,he says, litterally ´with compromise´but figuratively a combination between excuse me and with permission.
The chinese corner store owner from across the street comes in, brandishing a fancy and newish black North Face pull over fleece, kissing Raúl on the cheeck. He is from Shanghai, a lot further from home than I. The warm crossiant now melts in my mouth as I contemplate my last three days here in Buenos Aires. I don´t even know what time my flight leaves but I think its on Saturday. Everyone´s Talking (
I don´t hear a word they say... shadows of my mind?) plays on this strange english-only radio station that you hear throughout the cafes adn cybers in Buenos Aires. It´s kind of like Musak with very little commercials, a bit of news and a super suave DJ, playing a crazy mix of english pop songs spanning thirty years. Now its the Cranberries, then U2... and then the news, something about Katrina and the state of disaster that is New Orleans.
Yesterday, I tangoed for six hours. The first three hours in one of the oldest, classic and most well-known establishments in all of Buenos Aires - Confeteria Ideál, a candy store with a giant ballroom upstairs. As I wait for the class to start, I begin to get nervous. I order an espresso and a ham and cheese croissant - they are hard to get away from. After two quick cigarettes, I take off my sweater (a very nice Tommy Hilfiger which I actually ´borrowed´from Fletcher who actually ´borrowed´it from someone at the office - Reza, I think, but its suited me quite well in freezing BA) and realize that not only did I forget to put on deodorant this morning but that I´m wearing the same shirt that I wore on the fourteen hour bus ride home from Missiones. OH SHIT! I smell pretty ripe indeed. I run to the bathroom to try and freshen up - to be so fresh and so clean, clean. As I enter, there is this guy with long hair changing clothes and spraying his underarms with a huge can of perfumed deodorant.
Um... I forgot to put some on this morning and...I start off in nervous and broken Spanish. No worries... he hands it over and I blast myself under both arms.
Everyone in the class is at least sixty years old. I immediately get pulled aside when this short fat lady complains to our instructor Eduardo, a total fruit cake but great dancer, that I don´t even know the eight basic steps. I had made it very clear before the class that I had no idea what I was doing here and coudn´t dance for shit. I end up dancing with Eduardo for a few minutes while he teaches me the eight basic steps.
Now you practice by yourself,he orders me. I continue on, determined to get something out of this strange experience, holding my left hand out to the side, dangling in the air while my right hand is placed directly over my heart like when I used to say the Pledge of Alliegence back in elementary school, as if I was holding a woman very close. Do kids still say the Pledge of Alligence?
After my three hour lesson ($5.00 USD) which was pretty nerve racking, especially when Eduardo´s main `assistant´ Cecelia, [footnote - I think the word assistant in the tango world is also sometimes used as `lover´, except not in the case of Eduardo] a pretty, tall & thin blonde, not even 23 years old, with perfect posture and a totally hot body (sorry to all the feminist out there, but its true) comes over for a little one on one. She grabs my hand and wraps her arm around my back, slamming our chests together. Raising her head, stareing deeply into my eyes, her face only 3 inches away from mine. She starts barking commands into my face and counting loudly, intensely in Spanish as we begin to move around the dance floor. I´ll never forget that moment.
I catch a cab to Teatro Colón to get tickets for tomorrow nights Hungarian Opera Show. Its supposed to be one of the ´must do´things in Buenos Aires, to go to the Teatro Colón. It boasts the best accoustics in the world and the tickets are only $10 USD each. Samantha doesn´t know that we are going - its a surprise.
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