Archive for July, 2009
In a city that worships friendship, connecting regularly is the norm among most porteños. In past years, fear of incarceration or death kept Argentines from gathering and there was little to celebrate while loved ones were disappearing. But, with increased political and economic stability, el Día del Amigo has become another excuse to exchange small gifts, tie up telecommunication lines and share a meal in Buenos Aires.
U.S. Congress instituted Friendship Day nationally in 1935. It acquired international status after Argentine professor and 2-time Nobel Peace Prize nominee Enrique Febbraro lobbied the provincial government of Buenos Aires to establish a day to encourage humankind to embrace peace and harmony. His first attempt was at the end of WWII but he became successful in 1969 after being inspired by the Moon Landing bringing people worldwide together in front of their television sets. July 20th became el Día del Amigo in Argentina and in many countries around the world. Friend Day is the first Sunday in August in North America.
It’s likely that you will find your favorite restaurants and night spots in BA packed as friends gather to party on el Día. So take advantage of the specials offered, and the opportunity to spread a little love, and make your reservations at least a week in advance.
*This article was originally published in the Buenos Aires Time-Out Shortlist 2009
It was buried information – something I didn’t relish being reminded of – but it warrants repeating in the name of precaution against the spread of disease – especially in the time of the Swine Flu (Gripe A) pandemic of fear and consequently the shutting down of several public places.
Julio arrived at Practica wearing a surgical mask. Since Julio is in his 70s he takes his mortality, and protection of his health, more seriously than most of the dancers at DNI. Although I didn’t repeat what the Home Care Nurse told me – that the masks are virtually useless as a form of protection against others – I did suggest that hand-washing was the most effective way to prevent the spread of disease. This is especially important behavior in a public situation where many people are dancing with each other. Julio took me aside and in a lowered tone confided to me that most men do not wash their hands before leaving the restroom.Okay, I really didn’t want to know that. Ignorance has its place in the defense against fear.
Later, engaging another man in a similar conversation, he reminded us of a study that reported that men were more likely to wash their hands if there was another man in the restroom. Chances were good that most men who used the restroom alone were leaving it without having washed their hands. I was dancing with these men. Gross.
Now, to be fair, I have to tell you that some women do not wash their hands before leaving the restroom either. Both genders beware: hand-holding = germ transference.
Since I’ve started dancing I’ve thought it a romantic idea, stylistically speaking, to revive the wearing of hats and gloves for women. Lately, I more furtively believe that women should wear gloves to defend against the spread of germs. Look classy, stay safe.
The Swine Flu is following me. I escaped Mexico the day between the closing of the schools and the closing of the churches. I arrived in Canada and incubated for 2 weeks – nothing. In my province, an entire pig farm was slaughtered after having contracted their very own flu from a human. Meanwhile, the government and Pig Grower Association, offering free sandwiches in the main plaza at lunchtime, assured us that pork is indeed safe to eat. I never ate much pork in the first place so I’m not going to start now.
Here in Buenos Aires fear of gripe has gripped the population. More people have died from this flu than from crossing the street yesterday . . . maybe. People, should they venture out into public, cover their faces with surgical masks or winter scarves. Schools are closing and milongas are either closing or suffering from lack of patrons. We now just make kissy noises on the cheek when we greet each other and we’ve stopped sharing Mate with strangers.The exchange of body fluids has been curtailed.
I was looking forward, to yesterday, the 4th of July. No one recognized Canada here on the 1st but the American ex-pat community makes a big deal of their Independence Day. Because of the ‘pandemic’ some events were canceled but there was still a lot going on. It was my first Saturday of freedom from cohabitation and I wanted to stretch myself.
Unfortunately, the energy started to spiral down when I found my favorite dance studio closed – grim expressions on their faces – telling me to check the web-site regarding further activities. Needing to stay in the area, my girlfriend and I went for a meal while we plotted our next move.
After a bite to eat we headed to Niño Bien to be greeted by a half-full room of die-hard tangueros. We endured the milonga etiquette with the limited opportunities and after dancing a couple of tandas decided to head off to the first in a string of 4th of July parties. Meanwhile, our own energy was becoming questionable as we began to succumb to the semi-pervasive feel of infirmity that was developing amongst the present population. Dark, dismal energy just seems to feed on itself.
This was a night we did not feel in the mood for public transportation. Three to a cab across town seemed more efficient and affordable. We arrived at the Speak-Easy to be greeted by . . . NO ONE. Actually, the host, hanging out in his shorts and sandals said he wasn’t really expecting anyone to show up – and they didn’t. Except we – the hopeful 3. We stayed long enough to chat with the tropical birds, inhale more of the gas leak and, by this time, feeling discouraged and finding it too early to arrive at the next party, considered going home and calling it a night in.
My compañera found solace and an ego boost from male attention at a bar along the way while I hopped into a taxi and headed home. On the way, at this point no longer interested nor very ‘aware’, the young taxista began asking me the usual, very personal, questions: was I here alone; did I have a boyfriend; do I like Buenos Aires? I told him I had a novio*, no, he’s not Argentine. Good, he said, you should be careful with those Argentines.
As I was leaving the cab he asked me out for a drink. I noticed how attractive he actually was – and probably 20 years younger than me. Damn! I smiled sweetly, touched his arm and reminded him that I had a boyfriend. He said that he’s not invited. I reinforced my NO. Never say yes to a man that you haven’t at least seen standing up. With a slightly lighter bounce in my step – I returned to my apartment – and phoned my novio.
*Always tell them you have a boyfriend whether it’s true or not. It not only makes you seem more desirable but you can use it as a deterrent (usually ineffective) against unwanted attention without bruising their ego.
ABOUT
Here lie the musings of a premenopausal traveler and tanguera over a period of time spent in Buenos Aires in February 2006, then from March 2008 until March 2010. Currently I am in Calgary, CANADA, still musing over the many rich experiences I had and designing an even richer future – teaching and promoting tango at home.