Taking On Buenos Aires: Cuevas, Tango, and McCafe?

The room I share in our Residencia is much smaller than the room I lived in at UCSD this past year. It is about eleven feet long and six and a half feet wide with two beds, two armoires for clothes, and one very small useless table. The table is awkwardly placed next to the gas heater, which we have yet figured out how to turn off due to a broken knob. The ceilings are at least twenty feet tall; more than necessary. We also have a large ceiling fan which other rooms lack. There is a fifteen inch Philips' television which we have not used. (Why would you come to another country to watch television?) Our door does not fit inside the door jam properly, so, we have to slam it shut - even if it is late at night.

My bed, however, is relatively comfortable. I do miss my memory foam pillow back in Temecula because this one here is thin and lumpy. The nice old lady I mentioned in my first post, who let me in, also cleans our room every other day. I was very surprised and very appreciative to return to my room and have the bed made. I am even more appreciative of the EPA in the US because her cleaning supplies literally smell like diesel fuel. Opening the one window and door while using the fan seems to help circulate clean air back into our room.

Our bathroom, which includes a toilet, sink, and shower, is so small I can extend my arms and touch each wall if I chose to. The tiles in the bathroom are slightly chipped and the grout looks like a four year old won the contract to do the finishing work. Something that is very different here in Buenos Aires compared to the United States is the fluctuation in water temperature while taking a shower. I’m use to a slight temperature change when somewhere else uses the toilet in another room, or the gradual decrease in temperature as the hot water heater runs out. After the first two minutes of my relaxing shower, the temperature dropped 50 degrees and I was trapped in a stream of arctic flow. Okay, it wasn’t that dramatic. But when I readjusted the hot water knob to return to a normal shower temperature, I overcorrected and suddenly the hot water burned my skin.

Our one window faces a courtyard which lacks natural sunlight. Additionally, both the door and window have linen covers over the glass components preventing the minimal light available from entering our room. This has made adjusting to the time change more difficult. On the second morning here, I woke up around noon. I was just in time for the lunch provided on the fourth floor by our friendly cook, Maria.

I can only remember Maria’s name because she has been the most accepting of my lack of Spanish language. The other cook, while cordial, gives me a strange look when I enter the kitchen. Anyway, I ate a lunch composed of starches and Argentinian beef, and headed back downstairs to get ready for my next challenge.

There are two exchange rates here in Argentina. The official and legal exchange rate is somewhere around one US Dollar = 5.35 Argentinian Pesos. To exchange money at this rate, citizens with US currency or a debit card can walk into any bank and ask for pesos. The other exchange rate is not recognized or advertised by the Argentina government. This rate is called the “Blue Dollar” which is around one US Dollar = 7.65 Argentinian Pesos. To exchange money at this rate, you have to either meet an “arbolito” who will take you to a cueva, or know someone with pesos willing to trade at the Blue Dollar rate. To better understand the reason for the Blue Dollar, you can read this article. It is important to understand that cuevas can be shut down by the government because they are not exactly legal. Before coming to Argentina, I was advised to bring fresh US currency in $100 bills. Additionally, I was given cross streets and the name of a cueva owner. So the journey began to find the cueva and determine if the Blue Dollar really existed.

My roommate and I trekked five streets south and then seven blocks east, which took about twenty minutes. We found the ice cream shop with green awnings which was supposed to be next to the cueva, but we couldn’t find the actual cueva. We dawdled to the right and found an empty building where new construction was taking place. Then we prowled to the other side of the ice cream shop. Still, it looked like the ice cream shop continued. After looking more closely, we noticed a second door with currency in the window. We buzzed the bell and the door unlocked.

Not knowing what to expect, we slowly walked in and found a small room with two teller booths; similar to what you would find at a bank. My roommate and I strolled up to one window together and the teller knew exactly what we wanted when we displayed our US currency. We exchanged the US currency at the Blue Dollar rate and quickly left the building. I said to Brian, “Don’t you feel accomplished? We just exchanged currency at a great rate!” He replied, “Yeah, but that was kind of sketch.” My thoughts were, “yeah, but damn, we did it!” I still feel accomplished that I was able to travel 6,000 miles to another country, maneuver through unfamiliar city streets, find a cueva, communicate with a teller, and exchange currency at the Blue Dollar rate! Although cuevas are looked down upon by the government, I did see a federal police officer walk out of the back as if he got a cut of the profits. So there has to be something else going on behind the teller windows.

I strutted back to our Residencia to change clothes and prepare for our Tango class later that night.

The seven students who live in the same Residencia as I rendezvoused with the rest of our study abroad group and guide to board city bus #36. With standing room only, we jumped on the heavily graffitied bus and packed in like sardines. The bus went east, then south, then east again. I thought, “Boy, I should have paid closer attention to where the bus turned incase I need to get back on my own, or without a guide.” If you read my first post, you’ll remember the driving style here in Buenos Aires is crazy. The bus driver was the same way! He even blocked off the entire cross street as we drove though an intersection because he didn’t want to wait for the light to cycle through again. After 15 minutes of driving, we arrived at the bus stop closest to the Tango club.

We hiked up a long flight of stairs to a second level with hardwood floors and very dim lighting. It looked more like an entrance into a scary movie than into a Tango dance club. Ushered around a corner where we met up with our professor and his friend, our group entered a large room with black and white checkered tiles. We conversed about various events while the previous group finished their lesson.

The tango instructors led us into the dance room where the lighting was very dim and tango music played throughout the room. There was a stage where a band could perform, but our music was being played from an iPod of some sort. All the students formed a circle to stretch and warm up, similar to my high school marching band experience. There was one female and one male instructor, but only the male could speak broken English. They discussed the importance of balance and how to properly transfer your weight. Man, this sounds just like marching band! Lo and behold, we started to do an exercises directly from my high school rehearsals. Nailed it! Then I paired up with Cynthia where we tried to tango in a circle. The male instructor could tell we needed some extra instruction, so he grabbed me and let me feel what a girl was supposed to feel like during the dance. This sounds a little weird, but it was exactly what I needed. It is too difficult to describe in words what I felt, but it allowed me to differentiate between small steps to either the left or right, or large movements altogether and properly lead the woman dancer. It has everything to do with the weight change while dancing.

The class separated into guys and gals while we learned the next steps to the tango. Most of the time our instructor spoke in Spanish, so I didn’t have a clue what he was saying. However, I carefully watched and tried to emulate his fluid movements. The guys and gals paired up again to put the two gender specific elements together to form the true tango. I danced with Chiloe and a few other female students while we practiced the tango and really enjoyed this region specific and time honored tradition. Our instructors performed for us which was a perfect way to culminate the night.

Just as my goosebumps subsided from their performance, I realized our guide wasn’t in the room. Oh no, my fear from earlier was coming true! The other students and professor couldn’t find the guide and we started to figure out how to get back. However, none of us had the proper coins needed to ride the city bus. When we walked out of the dance room, we saw our guide patiently waiting on a wooden bench. Thank goodness! He chuckled at the thought of leaving us on the other side of the city to fend for ourselves.

We boarded the #36 bus again and drove back to our Residencia.

If dancing wasn’t a great way to spend the night, the UCSD students in my Residencia met up with other US students to continue the festivities at one of the local bars. We traveled down J.L. Borges Street to Tazz Bar. They had beer, mixed drinks, and food we could order along with eight pool tables. For 30 pesos, I split a pitcher of some Argentinian beer with Gerardo. I’m not a beer connoisseur but this beer was nothing to be proud of. To compare it to a familiar US beer, Coors Light or Keystone would best match it. Our group of UCSD students played pool for 15 pesos a game, consumed more drinks, and talked about how I don’t know Spanish. I started listing off the words I knew. Surprisingly, I remembered quite a few from high school Spanish, but they were useless without being able to put them into a phrase.

Around 1 am, we walked for twenty minutes back to our Residencia. There were two sketchy looking fellas outside our place, so in my adrenaline filled state, I accidentally slammed the metal door closed. It was a little loud, but we all had a good laugh at it and went to bed.

The next day, I woke up late and grabbed the tail end of the meatloaf lunch being served upstairs. I then bought a Subte pass which will allow me to swipe a card at the subway station rather than buying an individual ticket each time. Around 2:30 PM, there are not many people traveling around the city. We went to class via the Subte and felt pretty safe.

For the 30 minute break, I went to McCafe and ordered two croissants for twelve pesos. You may be thinking, “McCafe sounds familiar.” You would be correct. I went to McDonalds. However, McCafe was similar to a Starbucks; it was just inside a McDonalds. I struggled to pronounce croissant with a Spanish accent and the girl taking my order giggled but knew what I wanted. My classmates and I headed back to the ISA building for the remainder of the class.

Buenos Aires is a completely different world. The language, transportation, food, air quality; it’s all different. I am beginning to feel more comfortable as I walk around the city. I have learned which way the Subte runs and how to properly navigate it, as well as how to get to the much needed cueva. Meal times in Argentina are both much earlier and later. For example, breakfast is served from 6am to 9am and dinner starts at 8pm. As my body finally adjusts to the new time zone, new meal schedule, and new lifestyle altogether, I look forward to exploring the city and surrounding countries over the next several weeks.

It is Independence Day in the US and about time to go out for some American festivities. I left North America, but living in South America still counts, right? I’ll leave you all with a few pictures from the past few days. Ciao!