If I had to choose one adjective to describe this month, it would be “hard.” One emotion? “Sad.”
I can’t help but compare my Buenos Aires of 2022 to my Buenos Aires of 2005. Both times I arrived to the city in August, and struggled in September. In 2005 I struggled to find a job, and find friends; I thought about leaving. I wasn’t sure if it was the right place for me.
In 2022, the specific struggles have changed but the challenges remain. On September 1 of this year, we moved from our comfortable, but temporary, apartment in Belgrano to our new, long term apartment in San Telmo. In Belgrano we had good wifi, it was a nice neighborhood. Safe. Furnished. Everything necessary for cooking. In one 20 minute car ride along Avenida Leopoldo Lugones, we went from nice to nothing.
The ‘mudanza,’ (move), got delayed. My Salteño boyfriend had to submit 3 moving company proposals to his company’s HR before getting approval to move all his belongings from Salta (in the north, where he is from) to Buenos Aires. The delay meant we wouldn’t have furniture for 17 days. No tables. No bed. No chairs. No pots and pans. No laundry. And worst of all, no refrigerator. For 17 days.
In theory, this sounds like a fun adventure we will look back on and laugh at one day in the future. In practice, it is very hard. On top of that, imagine living with no tables, no chairs, and NO WIFI. Wifi is life. It is a basis necessity in today’s world.
Only certain companies serve certain neighborhoods in the city; every time we call they say “we’ll call you back when we have an opening.” That doesn’t sound very promising. Fortunately we managed to get Wifi installed after ten days. That was a big win, and I felt the rock in my chest shrink just a little.
For seventeen days, however, we slept on a blow up mattress. For seventeen days my lower back always hurt just a little bit. I typed with my computer on my lap on the sofa- the only piece of furniture in the entire apartment. We borrowed a cooler and bought ice everyday, even though most of the food we tried to save managed to go bad. We rationed our socks and T-shirts. I was grateful for the seven days of my period where I had an extra set of Thinx set aside. We ate on borrowed plates and cooked with borrowed pots and pans from my Salteño’s cousin.
Things were hard, but then the chairs we ordered arrived. This was promising. Our mudanza was scheduled to arrive the next day. Things were looking up. I decided to celebrate and take myself to lunch and do some blog research in La Boca, the neighborhood just to the south of San Telmo, famous for brightly colored buildings and tango in the streets. I went to museums, to La Bombonera (Boca Jr’s stadium) and bought original art from a man who lived in the apartment directly behind his table of paintings.
I made a plan to visit two more museums, but first, lunch. Two blocks from the main center of La Boca, I found a corner restaurant perfectly called “La Esquina.” It was quiet. Less tourists. A Brazilian couple sat at one of the outdoor tables holding hands. While I waited for my food to arrive, I posted a few Instagram stories. Suddenly, I felt a tug on my left hand. I thought it was the waitress bringing my food. Unfortunately it wasn’t; it was a thief grabbing the phone from my hands. He ran. I chased after him. He got on the back of a motorcycle. I threw my glass at him, he spit in my face. Off they want. I wrote about the experience of my robbery here in more depth.
It was really traumatizing. A violation. Emotionally I’m still recovering.
In one instant, I lost the equivalent of 6-months of rent. One plane ticket home. Access to banking apps. Six reels saved in drafts on Instagram. Communication tools with my friends and family. Photos. Videos. The potential of creating more photos and videos for my blog, for my YouTube channel, for Instagram. The ability to feel safe and comfortable to wander the streets alone.
I feel like I have been walking through this entire month in a dark tunnel, and I can’t seem to find a wall to grab onto. Instead, I keep falling in pot holes along the way. I keep stumbling.
I notice it in the way I interact with strangers in public. Workers at the nail salon. At the supermarket. My discomfort of this dark tunnel manifesting in a loss of confidence to speak Spanish. I feel myself stumbling over sentences, forgetting words I know I know. Existing in a world that doesn’t involve my native language in any facet of my life. Not at home. Not in the street. Not at the store. Not in a restaurant.
I open my mouth to respond, and what is in my head does not come out, but something smaller. A sad voice. A voice on the verge of tears. A voice nervous about being misunderstood. A voice I don’t recognize, and wonder if it can really belong to me.
But it is the only voice I have left. The one that exists in English exists only on a computer screen. The only thing I have left that feels truly mine. It comes through my fingertips and not my lips. Like trying to see the Mona Lisa from behind the massive crowd of heads moving up and down. I can say I’ve been there, I’ve seen it, but I wasn’t able to see the paint strokes. The look in her eye. An expression, but not the full experience.
Living in another language, another world, a constant fight to understand and be understood. Emotional stress of the past month. I feel like I’m tired all the time.
I don’t know many people in Buenos Aires yet. I don’t have a pack of girlfriends to catch up with on a Friday night, drinking wine, and explaining about that pit in my stomach. That anxiety that has become a normal part of my morning routine. That anxiety that wakes me up an hour before Salteño’s alarm goes off every morning. The one he ignores for an hour anyways. All I have is him. In Spanish. I explain to him about the misunderstanding at the nail salon. He offers vocabulary I should have used instead, rather than an “I’m sorry, that sounds frustrating.” Because he doesn’t understand. He can’t. He never will no matter how much he wants to or wishes he could.
That feels really lonely.
I’m now reaching the end of my second week without a phone, and it’s disorienting. I don’t know the time. Where I am. Where I’m going. Which bus stop to get off at. Which number bus to take in the first place. But I’m trying my best to keep working. To keep creating.
Fortunately I had already filmed a few videos before my phone was stolen, which has given me at least a few videos to edit over the next couple weeks. I’m working on a blog/video series to help newbies arriving to Buenos Aires. Content about getting money, finding housing, transportation, and 31 things to know about Argentina.
In 2005, October was the month that turned things around for me. I made really great friends from South Africa. I was working at 3 different language institutions. I’m hoping the October of 2022 provides the same. Things are already looking up. My sister and mom are coming in the last two weeks of the month, and bringing with them a new iPhone. Just before that, the Salteño and I are headed to Puerto Madryn, in the Chubut province.
Puerto Madryn is famous for its wildlife. In the months of October and November, you can see whales breaching in the bay near the Peninsula Valdez. You can walk the beaches with thousands of wild penguins. I won’t have a phone yet, so I’ll be doing my best to take photos and videos with my iPad, like a grandma at a local summer concert series.
Losing my phone has forced me into a phone break and social media break. It’s mostly been hard, but I’m trying my best to do my best without it. I’ve been reading my book in the mornings instead of doom scrolling, and that feels like a better habit to have. Though I’m already looking forward to updating you next month, with my new phone, of all the wildlife I’m about to see, plus the visit from the Fam Bam.
If you’re not already, follow along on Instagram, YouTube, and my blog. Why not!?