A Very Palatial New Years

New Years Eve .... A Continuation

I walked through the spacious grounds to enter a grand mansion, former home of the Russian Embassy. The original structure, built in 1776, is the same year the United States became an independent nation. Amazing to think of it that way.

The estate had three levels, with terraces upon terraces, and a pool. Inside, the tiles were handpainted yellow and blue, very Spanish, with Morrish chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

Varieties of eye candy wandered around as did many expats and Argies who spoke English.

At midnight, a Champagne toast, of course, to the New Year. I felt a little teary thinking of the coming year .... the hope of it being better than the last four making me feel whistful and sad. The last four years of my life have included a divorce, a job layoff, the loss of a home, death of beloved pets and my son leaving home for college.

"Up to the roof!" said someone as the fireworks began in earnest. We climbed up a narrow ladder to see the whole of Buenos Aires lit up with fireworks in dozens of locations. "There will be a lot of people in the emergency rooms tonight," remarked someone, the fireworks being of the do-it-yourself variety.

A full moon, a blue moon, to be exact, complemented the magical night sky. A Brazilian thing went whirring by .... it wasn't exactly a firework, but an orange paper lantern lit up inside with a candle, a rather errie site. A palm tree caught on fire below us.

Behind the mansion, a man stood on his roof and waved to me. I waved back. He blew kisses. I blew kisses back.

"You've still got it," commented the home's owner.
"Yeh, right," I replied. "It was so dark I could have been a man in drag."

Dear Reader, after the fireworks stopped booming and popping, we guests danced the night away in an elegant great room--all ages and every type of music--until early morning.

When I arrived home at 4:30 the house across the street was still rocking!

At home, in Minnesota, New Years would have been quiet and cold ... people staying off the roads in fear of drunk drivers, and ensconced in front of the television with some California Champagne and a bag of chips. I would probably have been alone.

This New Years will be one to remember into my dotage.

To Hades in a Taxi

Miz Boom Boom got invited to an expats party, one that involved traveling to a new neighborhood with which she was unfamiliar. Here is her night of adventure:

Dear Reader,

It seemed simple enough ... dress up in my best party clothes (including heels) and hail a taxi to take me straight to the door. Nothing is simple in Buenos Aires. Nothing. Have I not learned that by now?

I carefully walked to the corner and began in earnest to hail a taxi with its "Libre" light on. Taxis zoomed by with their lights off, indicating passengers. Suddenly, in the next lane, a beaconing "on" light! Can I catch his attention? If I step into the street .....

I stepped into a puddle of mud, sinking my new tango shoe into the filth and upsetting my balance causing me to flail and pinwheel my arms for balance and yell, "Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" to the horror of two teenagers who stepped away so I wouldn't glob onto them for support. No, I didn't fall, but it was close.

This was just the beginning of a stellar night. My next taxi driver was a cheerful "No Englaise" Columbian with cumbia music blaring from his radio. But when I showed him the address, he kept repeating in a disbelieving voice, "Capital Federal? Capital Federal?" like I'd asked him to drive me to Hades.

Don't worry, I assured him. I'll pay. So what if it's a 20 minute trip? Ah, wrong.

The driver pulled over to a street and pointed to it. This was probably my street and he couldn't drive down it because it was a one way. No problem ... I can walk a short distance in my heels. Then the bastard took off.

I was in the middle of no where and this was NOT my street. I called the party giver to ask him where I was. "Goddamn these taxi drivers," he answered, "He dropped you at the city limit. They don't get paid if they go outside the Capital Federal." Can I walk 10 blocks to his house? Not in heels, not even on a good day.

The next driver didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, as they say in Detroit. He drove round and round, talking on my cell phone to the party giver who was trying to pull him in like a vector guiding in a jet at JFK.

We arrived 15 minutes later at a palatial mansion on a quiet street.

But THAT story is for my next post.

Miz Boom Boom Finds Her Argie Son

So I hired a taxi dancer named Louis on the recommendation of a fellow tango dancer. Louis turned out to be very young, handsome and enthusiastic. However, our age difference warranted some kind of story, so I made one up.

I told Louis, if anyone asked, tell them this: Many years ago on a visit to Argentina, I was seduced by a gaucho. It was dark. I was young. The result was him. Reluctantly, I gave him up for adoption and returned home. Now, I've returned to Argentina to find my long lost son. And tonight, my son is sharing his love of tango with his long lost mother.

Louis and I went to Salon Canning on a Monday night. I figured it would be a slow night and we could dance on a fairly empty floor. It was like walking into the Minnesota State Fair on a sunny Saturday.We couldn't move without getting elbowed or stepped on. Such a shame! And not a cheap night either.

But a mother will do anything for her son.

Turn Right at the Cow

Paraguay ... I just spent a week there in the poorer parts of the city visiting a friend.

Some impressions:

A beggar kneeling on the center line of a busy highway

Horses pulling fruit and vegetable carts

A dirty child sleeping on the steps of a major department store

So many mango trees the fruit lies rotting in people's yards

Finding a residence at night by the black and white cow in the yard ("turn right at the cow.")

An insect called the cigara that makes a loud noise like the sound of an alien with it's appendage caught in a spaceship door

Heat so thick you can swim in it

City roads so rutted and uneven, an all terraine vehicle would be the ideal mode of transportation

Open and friendly people: being invited to an asado (cook out) by a couple on a bus ... sharing a bean lunch with a poor widow.

Green, lush vegetation ... like Hawaii without the ocean

Beautiful cotton dresses made of organic cotton with intricate embroidery and crochet

Dogs, dogs and more dogs

Families on motorcycles ... one family of parents and two kids with no helmets and NO LIGHTS driving on a major highway at night

My friend having to take her porch chair in everytime she leaves so it won't get stolen

Bach on a Bandoneon

Today, the day of New Years Eve, was a day of transportation adventures. I needed to take a long subway ride to a major bus terminal to purchase a ticket to Paraguay (more about that later).

When I arrived, there were, like, almost 200 bus ticket offices! It was the friggin' O'Hara of bus terminals ... I've never seen anything like it. It made me aware of how buses are how most people in South America travel.

I booked something called a "cama suite" and supposedly the seat reclines into a bed. With enough sedatives (luckily have some left over from my dental work), I should be able to get some sleep. It's an 18 hour trip but my friend in Asuncion assures me I will be comfortable.

Wanted to fly, but I waited too long to book and reasonably priced tickets were all sold out ... my usual modus operandi.

On the way home I had a mostly charming experience. A dread-locked man in the subway tunnel was playing the most exquisite Bach on a bandoneon, an instrument I've only heard played in tango music. I was utterly delighted.

While waiting for the train a man dressed as a santa came ambling through ... wrong holiday, tattered suit, and a truly repulsive rubber mask. And then, of course, he had to sit next to me. I called him "Creepy Claus," in my mind.

But when the train arrived, I stepped into another era. I was on the famous "A Line."
Built in 1913, the wooden cars rattled and the lights cast a vintage glow from their old fashioned fixtures. It reminded me of the little antique steamship the plys Lake Minnetonka back home.

Ah, home. A new year, a new country, a new life.

The New Detroit?

Dear Readers,

I will write again when I recover my equilibrium. I feel like the proverbial Mack truck has run over me as multiple events conspired to make Christmas a most challenging and emotional one.

The worst was when two nights before Christmas my 19-year-old son and his friend were robbed at gunpoint in my neighborhood. He only lost his inexpensive watch but he could have lost his life.

It seems as if guns have now entered Buenos Aires .... it did not seem so the last time I was here three years ago. The worst then? A pickpocket or purse taken from a chair.

Locals have told me there is corruption in the police force ... that there are those who not only turn the other way but actively participate in some of the crime. It's hard to believe. I used to be an editor on an American police enforcement magazine and I've always thought of cops as the good guys.

But despite a strong police presence on the street, thugs are using stronger methods to rob. Good people are angry.

How is Buenos Aires going to respond?

Porteno Street Life

As I walk around this city I'm assailed by sights and sounds that both repel and seduce ....

Yesterday I walked by the street lady who sits at her usually stoop on busy Santa Fe. I've walked by her three times now, and am always affected by her wrinkly old doll face topped by curls and her little dog who never takes his eyes off her. I didn't realize she was a beggar until now. There's a bowl beside her but I can't figure out if it's for money or do I see water in there for the dog? Instead, I press a five peso note into her hand and she smiles and the dog lets me give him a pet.

Dogs are everywhere ... yesterday there was even a dog down in the subway, seemingly waiting for a train. Everytime one whooshed up and stopped, he started barking madly ... running up and down to each door, looking for someone. It was concerning. Did he follow his master to the trains without the owner knowing. Or did this occur everyday ... the dog sneaking through the turnstile to greet his master's return at a certain hour?

The other night a derelict man hovered on a step in a dark door way. He had a sandwich and was gnawing on it like an animal. He couldn't sit upright. It touched me deeply ... I'm not a religious person but in his humanity I saw God.

The people who collect cardboard from the garbage--and there are thousands combing every neighborhood--are hardworking souls. They sell the cardboard to recyclers and I'm sure they earn just enough to eat. They hand-pull huge carts piled high with the stuff and sometimes the families have their babies with them. How awful to have to go through garbage while people walk by ignoring you.

I suppose I should end with something pleasant ... maybe the fun of petting the cats in the Botanical Gardens? All sizes, all shapes, all colors, family tableaus of cat families with mom and dad grooming their kittens. Cats on benches, cats on statues, cats sleeping under exotic fauna. Which one would I choose to take home if I could?