Well my fantasy romance has come to an end. I know all this time I've been pretending that I've been dating Hernan, and I have to admit now, there's been a little bit of distortion by omission. I guess I'd have to say we are just friends. I'll let you interpret from there and spare the details.
But I have to say that it's been a wonderful friendship and a great fantasy romance.
Tonight we had our final dinner.
I was able to come home from school and my zig-zag walk home and take a nap, then watch a little TV Cronica and some game shows before Hernan got here. He made reservations for us at a Spanish restaurant not too far from here - located in this strange group of restaurants under the Avenida 9 de Julio at the very end. I discovered this place one day walking home. It's a great way to cross 9 de Julio without having to wait for the lights (it's impossible in most parts to cross in one light because it's so wide) - just walk under it!
I've taken many walks in my neighborhood, my Sunday morning walks, which I love, when it's quiet and there is no traffic and the air is clean from one day of less traffic, but I have never walked through parts of my neighborhood at night, which was a very strange revelation for me. I always come and go from one direction when I go out at night. Tonight we had to walk in the direction I go to drop off my laundry.
I have seen art galleries around the neighborhood, but didn't realize that visiting art galleries was such the thing to do at night, or maybe it was just tonight. There were several art openings with people wearing furs drinking white wine, and other people leaving galleries en masse and going to others. It was very odd.
We got to the restaurant in a few minutes and they had our table waiting for us.
This is the first restaurant Hernan took me to where I could see the menu (even though I said to myself I was going to bring my glasses, I forgot them). Because it was well lit, I could read the menu, but since I don't know Spanish food, it was like it was in Greek.
Hernan and I discussed some of the options a bit, but he went ahead and ordered.
First he ordered gamba con ajo - turns out it was shrimp with garlic. I don't know why they used a different word from the one I know for shrimp, and even though Hernan explained it to me, I still didn't get it. But they were regular sized shrimp, peeled and headless, in olive oil with nicely fried pieces of garlic. It was delicious.
Then we had pulpo a la something or other. It was octopus, sliced thinly with potatoes and paprika. I never knew paprika had so much flavor. I think I've only used it for deviled eggs. This dish had lots of paprika and also lots of olive oil. It was wonderful. Very rich, and even though it didn't look like a lot, it was really filling. The flavors were fantastic and the octopus was very tender.
We finished with a desert of cream a la catalan, which was basically a creme brulee, and just as yummy.
It was a fun evening, because of the food, but also it was a great place for conchetto-watching.
For anyone who hasn't been paying attention, or who is new to the blog, conchetto/a are people who have a lot of money and show it. I've been told different things about them - they are nouveau rich, or they don't have a lot of money but pretend they do, they are snobbish, affected, women with furs blond hair, etc. But there is something about them, and about this word, that attracts me. You can also say someone or something is 'chetto'.
Well, walking over through my neighborhood and then sitting in this restaurant was like finding the conchetto mother-lode. Because Hernan is a playwrite, and I am not from here, we were both fascinated by the people in this restaurant.
I loved watching this family that was sitting straight ahead of me. The mother reminded me of one of the older women on a Mexican soap opera. The people on Mexican soap operas never look Mexican. They always look very Spanish with blond hair and very European features. But there is always at least one "mala" an evil woman, who taunts some poor young and innocent maiden. And they always live in some big hacienda and there is usually a more Indian-looking family or at least a woman, and a handsome young man who rides horses, and a useless old man. Well, minus the Indian family, this family sitting next to Hernan was exactly like a family from a Mexican soap opera. La mala - the evil, yet elegant older woman, the useless old man, the innocent young maiden, and the young man who rides horses. I imagined them going back to their ranch after the dinner.
I don't know if the young man and woman were a couple or brother and sister, but they got up and went outside while the older couple sat and talked a bit, and then the woman, who was very conchetta, had to put her fur poncho sort of thing on, fluff up her hair and then put her scarf on and throw one loose end of it over her shoulder with great panache. It was quite a Hollywood performance and she reminded me of some aged Hollywood actress who could only find work on game shows, like Kitty Carlisle on Match Game.
There were other people who came in making grand entrances and there was a LOT of fur!
When Hernan went to the bathroom he came back and told me there was a guy in the bathroom who was a famous musical reporter and also kind of musician. He said to imagine Iggy Pop or someone like that, but that image didn't help me understand who he was. I looked back to where he was sitting and saw a slightly older guy, though not too old, with longish, but stylishly cut gray hair sitting down. Meant nothing to me. Hernan said when he was in the bathroom he heard this sound like someone snorting cocaine.
When this guy left, there was a slight hush in the restaurant, though the chatter didn't stop completely, it did die down.
I got up to use the restroom because I love checking out restrooms in all of the places I go here. It's always an adventure because I never know what I'll find.
In so many restaurants I have to stand in front of the doors for a minute to figure out which one is the men's and which is the women's room. I know it sounds strange, especially since I passed level 7, but the reason is that they don't always have them clearly marked. I think it is a trend here to come up with a creative way to signify what is the men's and what is the women's room. Like they'll have a tango shoe - one male shoe and one female shoe, or maybe a geisha or a sumo wrestler, a rose or a cigar. I feel like I'm gender-challenged each time. Do you know which is the male and which is the female signal?
Well, I was please to find today that it said simply, "Damas" and "Caballeros" - I still hesitated, but I pushed open the door with the kind of confidence that someone who passed level 7 should really have.
The nice thing that has happened with Hernan lately is that we're speaking more Spanish. I think I've gained more confidence, and also he has become more patient with my Spanish. I think he thought I didn't really speak Spanish, and it's actually an honor for me to be able to speak it with him, because it means it is tolerable. I know this might be hard for folks to understand, but other than once when I had a few too many drinks of Nicaraguan rum, I haven't had many moments in my life when I felt like I could communicate clearly in Spanish. These two months of class have just confirmed my feeling that it is an elusive goal, because I felt more times when I was not understanding and communicating the way I wanted than times when I was successful. But hanging out with Hernan and knowing that he speaks English fluently, even if not perfectly, and with such cute additions like the Argentine that sounds like Italian accent and the gestures, and being able to speak Spanish with him, feels like a door has been opened to a place I always wanted to go but never quite got to. It was also nice to be able to rely on English from time to time to clarify something, or say something I wanted to but wouldn't otherwise be able to do. Because he wants to practice his English, we were switching back and forth quite a bit. Also, when the waiter came to our table, he'd switch into English, I'm assuming, so the waiter couldn't understand what we were talking about.
It was a fun evening of people watching, great food and good Spanish practice for me.
We talked a little bit about what I could do if I came her for a sabbatical. Hernan thinks I should study cooking and massage, but he said that as a joke (I think) so that I could cook for him and give him massages (little does he know I can do both). We didn't really come up with something, but I think if I came back, rather than mess with this school business, it would be better if I found a way to put myself in a position where I had to interact with people on a daily basis and speak Spanish. I don't know what that could be - some sort of volunteer work, or studying something else, I don't know yet.
It was a little sad saying good-bye to Hernan on my corner. I found myself bowing. I don't know what that was about, but I think it was that I felt awkward saying good-bye but not wanting to feel sad about it. I don't really feel sad. It was a short-lived fantasy, and I really enjoyed it. I'd like to hold on to the wonderful feeling of the experience and not spoil it by wanting to hold on to the experience and feeling sad because I can't.
I told Hernan my trip here was a little like Fantasy Island. I was able to live a life here that I am not able to live in San Francisco. Tonight's dinner, with a bottle of wine, appetizer and desert, cost us $80 for the two of us. In San Francisco, a similar dinner of equal quality with the kind of people who were there tonight and the number of furs, would easily cost us $80 each. So, yes, tonight was a little on the extravagant side, but it was affordable for me (I treated Hernan). In San Francisco, I'd really have to think twice before spending that amount of money.
So the whole thing, seeing my money go further than it normally does, having a fake boyfriend, speaking a language that really isn't mine, blending in to the point of people asking me for directions (happened again today), maid and laundry service, etc., etc., was like living a fantasy. But like on Fantasy Island, the show comes to an end and the celebrities who are pretending they are regular people return to their normal lives appreciating them even more because they know they are real.
I hope that I will be able to return to my life and appreciate it more. i think I will. There are so many things I miss and I've been gone long enough to miss them, yet, because I haven't been gone that long, I know they'll still be there when I get back.
(By the way, I've updated my photo blog and will be putting more pictures there before I leave.)
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