I am seated right now in my boyfriend Santiago’s apartment on the 13th floor of a building, situated on a street called Piedras [translate: rocks], in the San Telmo neighborhood of a city called Buenos Aires. I am gloriously happy to be back in this city, with this man, after nine months apart. They were months well-spent for both of us: he started a new job and welcomed his nephew Bruno into the world; I graduated from college and found my new family in Switzerland (more on that in blogs to come, I think). That being said, it really is lovely to look over my computer screen, past the little webcam eye that was my only connection to him for so long, at him in-the-flesh, making tea in the kitchen. He’s a disappointing Argentine in the sense that he doesn’t like mate [yerba mate] tea, but he makes up for it with other endearingly Argentine qualities, like his love for mayonnaise. I, actually, love mate and dislike mayonnaise, but they have a special olive oil mayonnaise here, called Mayoliva, which is pretty tasty.
Besides spending my time fattening up on Mayoliva and dulce de leche, I have been living the glamorous life of a Porteño [Wikipedia defines this term as: referring to the citizens of Buenos Aires, Argentina; describing not only to their geographical location but also to their “idiosyncracies and distinct manner of being” that set them apart from other Argentines] bartender. Santi helped arrange for me to work at La Puerta Roja, a neighborhood bar which caters to local clientele as well as to the hoards of tourists in San Telmo. I feel really lucky to have work here, because it’s as difficult to find jobs here as anywhere. And I have been joking about what a responsible adult I feel like, graduating college and beginning my 9-5 job. Except it’s the opposite 9-5; we are open from 6-6, but as usual in Buenos Aires, the night life doesn’t begin until 2 or 3 am. After following the schedule of my two little girls for the last few months, I am adapting surprisingly well to the nocturnal routine.
The best part about going to bed around sunrise is that you actually hear the birds in the morning. You would never hear them during the day, or even in mid-morning when the traffic noise has already picked up. But they start singing about an hour before the sun comes up, and are a pleasant soundtrack for the walk home from work.
Kati Mayfield 