I came to Buenos Aires for the first time on a lark. It was 2005 and I was teaching English in the south of Brazil, in a small town called Santa Cruz. I was born in Santa Cruz, California, so it felt fitting- my birth, and the birth of my life abroad.
My university friend, Kalin, moved to Buenos Aires at the same time I moved to Brazil. We were two college graduates, excited for life abroad. Restless. Wanting excitement. Something new. And neither of us were ready to stay in one place for too long. We were the only ones of our friend group to move away right after graduation, and both being in South America, we kept tabs on each other. I would tell him about learning Portuguese, and he would send me emails with photos of Buenos Aires. This was long before Facebook, and months before I opened my Myspace account.
From the first moment I saw those photos, I felt a spiritual connection with Buenos Aires. Something I cannot explain. But I knew I had to be there and I told Kalin that ‘si o si’ I was going to visit him before I left South America. Quicker than I expected, the universe arranged that for me.
Kalin was sick of Buenos Aires, he emailed me one day. He had visited Mendoza, fell in love with the calm vibes of the city, and got a job at a hostel there. He didn’t want to go back to Buenos Aires. “But do you?” he asked me. He wanted to help his roommate replace him. “Do you want to live here?”
“Why not!?”
Six weeks later, on a rainy day in mid-August, I arrived to Ezeiza Airport, greeted by my new roommate Nacho. Nacho was pale, with freckles. In his late 20s and an already receding hairline. He taught me expressions like “me cayó la ficha” (the coin just fell, meaning “Aha, now I finally get it”), and “estoy en mi salsa” (I’m in my sauce, meaning I’m doing exactly what I’m meant to be doing). He spelled my name “Niqui,” which I saw written on a note to the cleaning lady, letting her know that his new roommate Niqui would be in the apartment.
I spent the next five and a half months learning how to alter my Spanish accent from using “tu” to “vos,” and pronouncing my “ll” and “y” as a “sh.” Sho viví en la cashe Yipolito Shirigoyen (I lived on Yipolito Yrigoyen street- “Yo viví en la calle Yipolito Yrigoyen). My best friends were two South African girls. One of them, Sivan, was in Buenos Aires with her Argentine boyfriend. We met on Craigslist and agreed to meet up and exchange English language books. We forgot to exchange the books, but we did remember to exchange phone numbers. The other girl, Bianca, was somehow connected to Sivan’s family back in Durban. Bianca and I would go out until the sun came up, and eat media lunas with strangers at 7am as our mascara ran down our cheeks.
At 23 years old, five and a half months felt like a lifetime. Not only was I excited to travel the world and see more places, I was also broke. I was teaching English at 3 different language schools making about 10-20 pesos and hour ($7/hr at the time). I was consistently eating Ugi’s Pizza (the Taco Bell of Argentine pizza) and choripan for dinner because it only cost $1 and there was a shop across my house. I couldn’t afford much more than that.
I left Argentina in January 2006, headed to South Korea where I had heard you could make real money teaching English, and get free housing at the same time. So I followed my restlessness all the way to East Asia.
I had no idea how much I would miss Buenos Aires. But in the next several months, I started craving it. Not just the dulce de leche and alfajores, but the openness of the people, and the ease in making friends. The way they celebrated life, and the way the city made me love green olives. There is one on every slice of pizza.
I missed Buenos Aires like I had never missed a man. I was in love. With a country. With a city. Five years passed and I still thought of her, trying to imagine every street I took to get to work, all the subte stops in my neighborhood, so I wouldn’t forget. Ten years passed and I saw other people I knew go to Buenos Aires and I felt a jealousy so strong. That’s my city, not yours! Fifteen years passed and I started to wonder if I had made it all up. If I had created some alternate reality. Some amazing, magical place that was so much better than anywhere else I had ever been. Did they really put a green olive on every slice of pizza? Was the San Telmo market really as great as it was in my memory?
Seventeen years passed. I had lived all over the world. Crossed Spain by foot. Russia by train. Did an artist residency in Florence and had a solo show. I got my camera stolen on New Years even in Ho Chi Minh, and found my freedom dancing a puja at an ashram in India. I studied film, graphic design, and yoga in different countries of the world. I learned languages and made friends. Several different lives in seventeen years.
Then one morning I woke up. I had been in the midst of planning a trip to Colombia. My dream from the night before starting coming back to me. I saw Franco, my good friend from Buenos Aires. I dreamt about Franco, and Argentina, and all those old feelings started coming back. I once again longed for Buenos Aires. Thoughts of Colombia were suddenly gone and all I could think about was my one true love. I could no longer ignore the pull. I had done what I set out to do all those years before- see the world, experience new things. While I still loved those things, I also wanted a slower life. I wanted to buy plants and decorate an apartment. I wanted friends who didn’t leave, or friends I wouldn’t have to leave behind. I wanted roots. Community.
The next day I bought a flight from San Francisco to Ezeiza.
I arrived in January 2022, the same month I had left 17 years before. I spent one month in Buenos Aires before setting out to see more of the country I had missed the first time around. While in the north of the country I met a man, Elias, and fell in love. He was moving back to Buenos Aires for work, and asked me to go with him.
One more time, I said “why not?”
I came back to Buenos Aires, now for the third time, in August 2022. The same month I arrived in 2005. This time with the intention to stay. Full circle.
Estoy en mi salsa.