I decided to forgive Hernan for the mixup the other night. Even though I believe he was responsible (mostly) for it, I can't be sure that it was intentional (like he got a better offer at the last minute) and am more inclined to believe it was a result of his being so distracted and unable to focus clearly on life. He probably didn't connect my first text of the day "I have a lot of food" with our conversation about him coming over later. He was saying he was coming for a beer. I was assuming he was coming for dinner. The more I think about it, I WAS unclear. Being mad at him was making me feel bad and was not solving anything. I now know I need to be really clear with him, almost as if I were talking to a child.
On Friday, after I got back from the crazy city Buenos Aires had become, I don't remember exactly what I did, but eventually I took a much needed nap. I woke up feeling exhausted. Between the pranic healing and walking forever before finding a taxi (and being slightly panicked about it), and being mad at Hernan and feeling bad about Thursday night, I was drained. I woke up from the nap hearing a message on my answering machine. It was Hernan.
He sounded sad. I couldn't understand most of the message. I heard "ufa", I heard, "locura en las calles" (it is crazy in the streets), and even though I didn't understand the words, I heard that he wanted things to be ok between us. Then I looked at my cell phone and had several messages and a few other missed calls from him. One message said "it was a sad day, but even more if you are mad at me".
I took a while to wake up and didn't call him back, but when the phone rang again, I answered it. Of course it was Hernan (no one else calls me).
He asked if I was mad, and I told him yes, but that was not why I didn't answer his messages. I actually hadn't seen the messages until right before he called. He didn't exactly apologize, but said it was a misunderstanding. He said he hadn't received my response to his text saying I was at home, and when he called and I wasn't here, he didn't want to come here and find me not at home. Again, not connecting the dots. But could I be angry at him for not being in a state of mind where he could do that?
He offered to come by then, but it was nearly 10 p.m., and I told him it was too late. I left it as our first step towards repairing our friendship.
Yesterday after going to the gym, I had a long skype call with my co-authors in Arizona. I just love skype! We got a lot of work done, but I was drained afterwards. I wanted to do something different and had a lot of food still (plus more I bought yesterday to go along with everything I bought in Chinatown). I texted Hernan to see how he was and he called me back.
He was on his way back from his mother's in a remise (a private taxi) with his computer. This was his baby. He is preparing to put down some roots in San Telmo for a few weeks because a friend from Canada is coming to visit. I think this will be good for him - both the visit and having roots.
He invited me over for dinner before I could invite him here.
I thought about bringing everything that was in my refrigerator, but instead just bought what was left of the black rice and coconut milk and a mango I got in Chinatown.
He made an attempt to recreate the dish we had when we went to Chinatown a few months ago, which was a claypot dish with chicken and "three flavors" - garlic, ginger and soy sauce. It was pretty good, and I think better than what we had in Chinatown (I thought their version was too salty). He had a huge mango that was very ripe, almost to the point of being rotten. I thought it was over-ripe, but he disagreed. He put it in the pot with the chicken. That was a little strange. I think it would have been good added at the end, but not cooked.
Afterwards we ate the black rice with cocnut milk and mango.
I stayed for about 3 hours and left. I was still feeling tired. Now that he has his computer, which has a program for him to play DJ, he was totally obsessed with playing music. He had the music pumped up really loud and it was hard to talk. He told me he is in danger of losing his house. He owes 1200 pesos (about 400 dollars) for something, and lawyers are beginning to take steps to foreclose (my interpretation) and put his apartment up for auction. He said he was worried yesterday but since lawyers take all of January off, he still has some time and today he is not as worried. I was wondering why he doesn't try to find a job.
I feel sorry for Hernan. As I sat and watched him play music, which he loves, and he is much better than the DJ in the library bar at the Faena Hotel and Universe, and show me pictures that he has taken, I saw how talented he is. But for some reason, he is unable to find a path in life that will bring him satisfaction and also pay the bills. He seems like he is adrift at sea and doesn't know how to get the motor running. I feel lucky that I have a job that I love and also provides me a comfortable life. Sometimes I don't want to go to work, but after 5 months of being here and not having to work, I am really looking foward to returning. Work provides a lot to me besides money. I have friends I work with and I love my students and get a lot of satisfaction out of feeling like I am helping them and feeling appreciated by them.
Hernan seemed a little concerned about me going out to catch a taxi, which worried me. He was going to call a radio taxi for me. I thought I'd have no problem finding one. In fact it was not as easy as I had thought. I had to walk a few blocks in San Telmo towards Plaza de Mayo before I finally hailed down a cab.
I told the driver in my best Spanish "Arenales y Azcuenaga" and he sped off towards 9 de Julio. It was after midnight on a Friday night and the city was still very much alive, but the roads were not as crowded as during the mid-day crazies. Still, the roads had traffic. But my taxi driver seemed like he was in a very real hurry to get me home. He sped down 9 de Julio stopping abruptly at the red lights that we hit, which sent the bag I had sitting on the seat flying several times. He was listening to a cumbia radio station which was mostly commercials. Those loud commercials that are advertising the latest places to go and get lucky. I heard them say only 15 pesos for men (I didn't catch how much women had to pay, but maybe the ladies get in free). He seemed different from most taxi drivers I have had. Usually they listen to talk radio, but this guy seemed like he was on speed and was ready to go dancing.
He continued speeding down 9 de Julio, honking at anyone or anything that got in his way, and not just a little tap on the horn "be-be" kind of thing, but a serious, get the hell out of my way m-f-er kind of thing BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was feeling like I would be better off walking.
Finally I saw that he was going to turn off of 9 de Julio, thinking foolishly that we were at Arenales, I saw that he was turning on to Cordoba. He was sticking to the large, wide avenues so that he could continue speeding.
A cumbia song came on the radio in the midst of all of the commercials, and I tried to distract myself by listening to the music.
I was thinking of how lucky I am that I can blend in here. Even though I hadn't said much I was pretty sure that this driver, like most, thought I was from here, and that gave me some comfort. Last year my classmate Mike had a problem with a taxi driver when he gave him a 100 peso note and the driver said he had only given him 20. Mike's Spanish was really good, but physically, he was unmistakenly foreign. There was no way he could pass for an Argentine. I felt comforted with the fact that in all of my dealings with taxi drivers I had never been ripped off.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP!!!!
We whizzed down Cordoba past where we should have turned to get me to Azcuenaga and Arenales, but I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to blow my cover. So what if I had to pay a few extra pesos. I was afraid he was going to go to the next avenue, which was Puerrydon, but instead he turned on to Larrea, which is one block past Azcuenaga. Ok, not a problem.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP!!!!!
He blew his nose without a tissue out the window.
This guy was really starting to bug me. I was ready to get out and walk.
Finally, as we pulled up to Santa Fe, he asked if it would be ok to let me off at Arenales and Larrea. I told him Larrea and Berruti, since that was only one block from my apartment.
And then he said, in English, "where are you from?"
Damn!
I don't know what gave it away. Maybe my whole fantasy about me blending in here was just that - fantasy. Maybe I am totally obviously a foreigner, walking around in my shorts with the confused expression on my face and my Spanish that is not really as good as people say it is. Or was it because I didn't roll my 'rr' when I said Larrea? Somehow, this guy had figured out I was not from here. It made me like him even less. In addition to the nose blowing without a tissue, the speeding, the obnoxious beeping, he had the nerve to point out that he knew I was not a porteño.
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