More on Chile some other time but for now, I have only been in BA for about an hour and already have had an adventure. The bed and breakfast I found to stay at through a series of connections sent a driver to the airport for me. Always a relief to have that prearranged because foreign taxi drivers are very aggressive with fresh-out-of-customs tourists. Anyway, so Andres whisked me out of the cold and after holding my breath that I could withdraw cash from the ATM (you never know what international ATMs will or won't accept) we made the drive to a little neighborhood of BA called San Telmo.
He pulled up to a street where there was literally nothing that remotely resembled a bed and breakfast. It's like a NYC side street where you would have to ring the bell to get into any building at all and very little signs of life other than the main drag nearby. So we get my bags out of the van and walk up to 950 Carlos Calvado street where there is one of many large steel doors and a tiny bell to ring. So he rings... We wait... He rings again... It's windy and cold and dark and damp... And then a little key shake and the door swings open to a short Argentinian woman who looks about 70 and maybe weighs 125lbs and doesn't hesitate to grab my huge monster bag and exclaim "bienvenidos carrie" (w rolled r's of course). And she beckons me inside and the door slams behind me and I look up as I feel a whoosh of sweaty warmth against my face. I am in a high ceilinged bright hallway that angles up to a dance floor where there are no fewer than 15 sweaty dark Argentinian men dancing gracefully to intense loud music in the middle of a tango class. Leti guides me through the floor luggage and all, and I "permisso" my way through the dancers as she grabs a skeleton key from the rack, and marches me to the back where there is an airy checker floored courtyard and up the stairs to my end of the hallway room number 5 that has a balcony overlooking it.
The room is plain and clean and perfect. There is a quaint reading salon next to it and Leti lives on the top floor. I told her in Spanish (for that is all she speaks) that I would refrain from yelling and making loud noises throughout the night on account that we are now neighbors. She laughed heartily and said I had better not! There is no TV and sometimes the Internet works and sometimes it doesn't and I would expect nothing less.
I dropped my stuff and came back downstairs - a new class going on, this time co-ed. With women in high heeled tango shoes. Leti shouts a dinner recommendation to me and says it is muy famoso. Been open since 1842. And I am here now... At a tippy corner table with a glass of cab sav since they are out of malbec. I told the camarero that it tastes the same after a glass anyway, so cab sav would be fine and he should not let anyone act like they can actually tell the difference. He laughed and I stopped being the poorly-spoken gringa in the corner and started being someone who he might enjoy just a little bit even if I can't understand his Spanish very well and keep asking him to repeat himself. The place is packed. It's about 10pm here - time for dinner. I ordered the Argentinian version of antipasti, since that's what everyone else has on their table despite the ten page menu.
I know you didn't approve of this trip, mom. But you should know this is what makes me feel the most alive.
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