A Farewell Message To My Fair Winds Friend

Dear Buenos Aires,

Hola! ¿Cómo estás? Todo bien? Bueno.

It’s been over two months since I left you, and I am still nursing my wounds. Before my memory fails me, I’m gathering my final musings to make sense of our relationship the past year, and to say farewell to you, my fair winds friend.

I thought a good way to kick this off is to go back to when we first met...when a young, hopefully Holly had just arrived in your arms.

After a whirlwind tour of South America, she was optimistic and excited for all the possibilities that lay ahead of her in the city she had heard was one of the greatest in the world. People said you were a utopia where expats lived like kings, cocktails were $1 and all the men were named Nico and Martin and Nacho and they played shirtless polo in the streets (unfortunately, you only delivered on one of these promises). Here are some early snaps of my favorite times with you. And when I still had a mullet.

It took me a few months to realize that the stories that charmed me to finally meet you were second hand and about 10 years old. Instead, I arrived just in time to witness the final countdown to your dazzling economic and political fireworks display (but unfortunately, not the celebratory sort). I saw you inflate three times (not becoming for your gorgeous Latin figure), your countrymen march in rage over your government, and criminal behavior become commonplace on your streets.

But, it’s amusing to me to look back on our first encounters, when we were just getting to know each other. I was so sweet and innocent then. Pobrecita. You were so fun and exciting; God knows you haven't lost that.  

I made a fine effort getting stuck in your expat safe bubble, Palermo Soho, posting up at places like Maggie’s or Oasis, chatting with other foreigners behind your back about the state of affairs- as if we all didn’t live within your city limits ourselves- whilst tucking away bottles of champagne and figuring out how many party favors we needed for the weekend.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I was a happy partaker in your unrivaled nightlife. It was my favorite escape from the daytime follies of your public offices, public transportation and, well, the public in general. Unfortunately, your bottomless mimosas and day raves could only go so far to mask the reality of living in your unrestful, insecure and dangerous embrace. They did a pretty damn good job, though. Some more snaps of my life in your night.

I'm sorry for the cynical tone, mi amor. I guess there’s still a bitter residue leftover from the unfortunate incident that happened to me a month before I left you. You know, the one where two men broke into my house on a Saturday morning, came into my room and forced me to realize exactly what it means to be in survival mode. Certainly, you haven't forgotten that. And, although the whole incident ended in a Home Alone-style chase-out of the boludo bandits and a very lucky Holly, wallet-less but alive, I resent the fact that it tarnished my trust in you. But that's the past and I'm stronger for it. And, you know how indescribably grateful I am to, you know, be breathing and stuff.

Good thing too because, as your name suggests, there are plenty of good aires to inhale.

You gave me a sensational sensory overload in November. My three best friends visited, and though I utterly deflated myself trying to play the "please everyone" hostess,  you helped me slip in a few memorable moments to send me off on a high note. The magical waterfall adventure, my birthday beach bash, midnight milongas, Cabrera carne, polo parties, Kansas cocktails and a thanksgiving feast with my favorite people, at my favorite place. Muchas gracias por todo.

I thought of many sub-topics during my relationship with you that I could have written about, like:

Buenos Aires: The Adult Playground. Party Now, Grow up Later

The Art of Uprooting: How Being an Expat has Made me Insecure and Unstable. But, maybe a little more interesting and worldly?

Expat Ego: Casual Sex And The Big Fish Complex. (That would have been an interesting one)

But there’s no time for that now, I'm moving on. Maybe in another life when I have a book deal to write an expat tell-all. For now, here are a few of my final translations of life in your jungle….
 

• Buenos Aires, you are comparable to New York and London….in prices. 
• But you're a much better lover. 
• That expat comradery I felt when I first arrived turned out to be more like a fraternity with all the fun quirks frat boys are known for.
• Living at Club Aguilar, with my Argentine family and the international characters that filled the rooms was probably the best thing that came of my time with you.
• And then there’s Maggies, my second home and safe haven. And, I sort of fell in love with the Canadian dynasty behind the establishment. Sorry for the infidelity, but thank you for the intro.  

• Belgrano is your most beautiful neighborhood (but not your safest, as it turns out).
• Cristina is the asshole everyone says she is.
• Your men are aggressive, but in a non-aggressive way. Does that make sense?
• Portenas actually wear the pants in the relationship. They're either floral, striped or hang-crotch.
• Your asados are quite possible better than our American bbqs.Yeah, I said it.
• However, I think your carne is over-rated. Said that too.
• Buying vino blanco is a crime. Actually, buying anything but Malbac should be punishable by death.
• Dulce de leche is the flavor of the Gods
• Top 3 reasons to visit you again: Maggies, leather jacket, telo.
• And your parties. El mejor. Los extraño.
• The lifers I met are the reason I am a serial expat, and you delivered some pretty solid ones.
• Thank you for finally helping me improve my Spanish  after turning on the “shit, I’m leaving in two months and my Spanish is embarassing, must learn quickly and take more seriously” swtich. I get to practice my Castillano on my dog now. How useful.

Oh, Buenos Aires. You bi-polar bitch. You tangoed with me, then mugged me. Sipped vino with me and then spit it in my face. Fed me carne and then pushed me in front of the collectivo. Gave me hot Latin love and kicked me out the next morning. We shared laughs, tears and total breakdowns.

I was addicted to you. All the highs and lows and drama and pleasure. And as I go through my BA detox here in sunny but sleepy Florida, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t having serious withdraws. I guess I’ll always be a little addicted to you.

Another chapter closed on my so-called expat life. Until we meet again, I leave you with the opening of Medianeras, the brilliant little indie flick about depression, love and architecture- exactly how I will always remember you.

Adios, mi amor. Te amo.