Adrift

 

I travelled alone to Buenos Aires for three weeks in February and March of 2016, to dance and discover.  By day two I was a wreck: thrilled, scared, exhausted and overwhelmed.  It was not unlike, in a lesser way, having a child. You are excited, nervous, focused on the birth, not the realities thereafter, despite having 'prepared' for that by spending half your life savings on baby gear. Why we seem to think throwing money at things will make them easier is one of the mysteries of modern existence.

The trip to Buenos Aires began not dissimilarly. I asked sensible questions, read books, got generally informed, made what I thought were as good plans as I felt able and arrived in the city with reasonable confidence. After two days of that reality I felt jetlagged, disoriented, nervous about dance, scared in the city and generally unsettled. I had never embarked on a trip so far from my family nor for so long. I was not used to being in a country where I cannot get by in the language.  I find Europe more than big and interesting enough for travel.  I had never been on such a far-flung adventure alone.  

Some days after we met, I remember Janis, guide extraordinaire to that city, remarking wryly that I obviously wasn't going to be happy with something or other unless I had found out for myself rather than just be told.  Finding out for yourself is a way of feeling safer. and increasing one's sense of things being reliable   

My plan was to stay in three different places over the three weeks so as not to put all my eggs in one basekt. I didn't want to ruin a trip with prolonged bad accommodation.  In the event I was lucky.  Janis had lived in Buenos Aires for twenty years and I was fortunate to meet her.   When I sent her the address of my first accommodation she couldn't believe it.  It was virtually across the street from her place.  It was ideally situated - easy walking distance from all the central milongas.

Forget paying with your card or phone.  Argentina runs on cash.  On day two Janis took me to find the money pick up point.  At the address where the shop should have been we eventually noticed a piece of paper stuck on the wall covered with posters. It indicated that the store might have moved.  This struck me as so chaotic it all felt, in the stifling heat, slightly surreal.  Janis seemed to consider it a minor and not uncommon setback. I would never have thought to search a wall, where a shop should have been, for information as to its whereabouts. But Janis did.  With no internet connection on my phone and virtually no Spanish, I would have struggled to find the new address.  

But with Janis’s knowledge of the city, a subway ride and a descent into a shopping centre I felt fortunate and grateful when she found it.  Still, on noisy, dusty (Avenida) Corrientes I had dissolved, surprised and helpless, into homesick tears when the alarm on my phone rang to remind me that my children were out of school and I could call them. 

Janis was kind and showed me shops and milonga venues on our walk but with her repeated warnings about traffic and crime my sense of instability and fear increased. My emotional state swung wildly between curiosity about the new world around me and alarm.  Over the next few days I walked the streets for hours, thinking familiarity and the calming rhythm of walking might make these feelings pass.  Even so, I felt safest inside the house on Chile.