(Another afternoon with Christina, this time in Buenos Aires where she had a second apartment. I had gone to B.A. as she had found some job possibilities for me.)
November 3, 1971
Arriving in Buenos Aires, I go to Christina’s office by taxi where I go to lunch with her and two other girls—young, smart-dressing secretaries, very simpaticas. We walk 1-1/2 blocks to a restaurant and afterwards, I go to her apartment, change clothes and go for interviews.
Walking in Buenos Aires is different from walking in Rosario which has an easy familiarity about it. Bs As is dark gray stone buildings—all with wrought iron grillwork on balconies and windows—carved facades and wide streets with trees that have little wrought iron spiked fences set around them. Trees are placed at intervals in the broad sidewalks. Bs As is…
Huge avenues and broad sidewalks
A man walking with a huge yellow straw basket filled with flowers on his head
Flower stands on each street corner
A tin can of bright red flowers against the grey stone of apartment buildings
School children with big brown eyes, white smocks, carrying satchels
Big green parks everywhere
Streets full of buses and taxis
A beggar woman with a headscarf and baby in her lap, skeleton hand reaching out
An old woman is selling newborn puppies
Florida Street runs for blocks and blocks lined with shops full of delectable
goodies, salons; the closer it gets to the Savoy Hotel, the more expensive the
shops become – always full of people.
Gold Street is lined with pawnshops and jewelry stores – faintly sinister.
My first job interview is with a British guy— a British cold fish. I go to another office—another British cold fish. I answer another ad in the paper with a super modern American company —no job. I leave to go to Manpower. They have the same rug here as in Houston—no job. Go to Letter Service. No job. Go to the American Chamber of Commerce – all in Spanish and they give me a form to fill out—no job. Berlitz may have a job in January.
I go to the American Embassy. It is strange to see everyone American and speaking English. I feel like old friends with the Marine at the desk. It is a strange feeling to meet Americans in another country.
Back to Christiana’s office. We go to Christina’s apartment. God my feet hurt.
I like her very much. Bless her. She has worked so very hard to help me find a job. She is very bright, speaking English really well and is marvelously long and boney.
Her friend Chiquita arrives with another friend, Dario, who has prematurely gray hair and beautiful brown eyes. He is very open and very simpatico.
Dario goes to dinner with us. Everyone tipsy singing.
Christina and I sit up late and talk about loneliness and Dario. He would be an easy man to love. To bed.
(Another afternoon, this time in Mar del Plata, a resort town on Argentina’s Atlantic coast. Liliana was insistent that I visit other places in Argentina—especially when we began to suspect that I was not going to find a job.)
November 18, 1971
Mar Del Plata
Took the bus from B.A. to Mar del Plata – a big comfortable bus with green windows – the bus driver sat and talked to me. I don’t understand but I distrust him especially after he buys me an ice cream cone without asking me. In Mar del Plata it is cold as blue blazes; streets are empty of people which reinforces a strange feeling that I am in the U.S. Take taxi to first hotel where the man tells me something I don’t understand, but no rooms. Back to taxi driver who says other hotels are too expensive. He knows another one. I say o.k. then start thinking “Oh God what if it’s a slave market or something.” Get there. Really nice lobby where a sullen young man asks for my documents. To the room. Now I know why lobby looks so nice. The room is awful. Noise in bath; I think the commode is going to explode. A hole in the door where the lock should be; I put table in front of door. Walls are horrid green, colchas green with yellow daisies, blonde furniture (of course) picture on wall of Brazilian couple dancing. What if they’re voodoo?? Shower runs in the floor. Why did I come? I am cold, hungry, lonely, and scared!
Nov. 19 Fri. Wake up at 11:30 in hotel room in Mar del Plata. My first thought is I am still alive. I have a bad headache; the room is cold and dark. I open a window to a grand view of a walled patio filled with cartons of empty coke bottles and sea gull droppings. The room is awful, but I don’t want to leave. The city might be worse. Finally get dressed. Walk thru lobby and see a different young man who apologizes for the room and takes my key so he can move my stuff to a different room. Very nice man.
Walk down 2 blocks to beach where the wind is blowing over enormous beaches with wooden frames in different colors for bathhouses. Everything is so clean. Nice sand. I meet a rather scroungy looking young man, Norberto – he asks me to go to the port for dinner. He is with an even scroungier looking friend, Mario. They are both wearing white cowboy hats and explain that they are in the area to buy some land. We go in their Citroen to a combination restaurant/cafeteria – I eat octopus (for the first time in my life), shrimp, clams and something. It is all good. Then we go to a beach 30 kilometers from Mar del Plata – beautiful – no people, the sand is hard: the water is very salty and very cold. There are big sand dunes with scrubby brushes. We drive past beautiful old houses, many in gothic styles: the parks are beautifully landscaped very different from the rest of the country – the highways are excellent and large. We go to an old sailing ship, very elegant: it is now used as training for the navy. Drive thru a forest, quite lovely. We stop so I can buy cigarettes on the way back to hotel where they take a room next to mine. I go to their room, and we talk and drink mate. Then go out to eat.
Next morning
Nov. 20 Saturday
Norberto and Mario wake me by banging on my wall. We go for coffee and sweet rolls. Then back to the beach. Riding with the top down, singing tangos—yelling and waving at soldiers standing by edge of road. While they are looking at land to buy. I wander down to pier and look at crabs in the rocks. Then we go to a secluded wooded area where we have asado and wine mixed with orange soda. Later we drink mate and talk politics.
We go back to town where we have coffee and say farewell with tears. I catch the bus back to B. A. and the train home to Rosario.
LOOKING BACK
PRESENT DAY REFLECTIONS
Wow – How amazingly gracious people were to me in Argentina—from friends of Lili and Milko who helped me with job interviews to two guys in white cowboy hats who chauffeured me around the countryside when I arrived with no plans or friends in a strange city! I am more and more deeply moved by the kindness of people that I encountered in my time in Argentina. Although I was very grateful at the time, there is a new level of just how transformational that general hospitality was on my life path.
And I am moved by how fearful it was to go into these situations and how my fevered imagination created dark scenarios. How I made decisions about people and situations seems to have been fairly inconsistent! I suppose it was pure prejudice against the poor British bosses (no wonder I didn’t get any jobs!) or the hapless bus driver. And while I recall that I thought it was strange when Norberto and Mario took a room next to mine at the hotel, it was not strange enough to not sit and drink mate with them!
And today, I know from the years of living and working with people from around the globe in Houston just how much those encounters have enriched and blessed my life. And I hope that just a fraction of that was experienced by the Christinas, Darios, Norbertos and Marios that I encountered in Argentina.