📍Buenos Aires, Argentina, 7.29.25

It’s Amanda’s birthday. Ari came over around 10pm and we stayed up past midnight to clock in the new year. Wine, cigarettes. Amanda made the grossest-looking pizza bagel to show Ari “American culture,” and I cringed as she bit into it. It feels nice to have friends to be with right after work. When Amanda told me to stay longer instead of going to Mendoza, I considered it. Still am. I have until Saturday to cancel, or I could just go one week instead of two. I didn’t think it would feel like I have a life here so quickly, with friends who spend time together just for the sake of it. I haven’t felt that in a long time. 

I met Adriana’s family. They are all dark-haired and beautiful, with those deep brown watercolor eyes. Her granddaughters are young and lovely, and I spoke a little Spanish to them because they don’t speak any English. I also found out Adriana has a boyfriend, which I am relieved to hear because I was worried she might be a lonely widow—but no, just divorced and playing the field. So good for her. 

I met her boyfriend tonight, Eduardo, at their weekly Tuesday tango class. She took me with her on the bus, and we met up with Amanda there. While we were on the bus, she told me she likes Eduardo because this is the only tango night he goes to and he’s not the greatest dancer—but other men go to tango every single night and always with a different woman. So Eduardo is a good catch. 

We were late, but managed to catch some of the dance class. It was all in Spanish and I didn’t make much progress, so after the class I went for an Aperol spritz and watched the dancers on the floor for a while. It’s a very sensual, elegant dance, with bodies pressed right up against each other, cheek-to-cheek, eyes closed, the woman following the direction of the man. Every time the music ended, everyone would switch partners and press right up against somebody new. I know it is part of the culture here, but it still mystifies me how comfortable people are with touching strangers, and how they don’t look anything like strangers when they tango together. 

After some time, I built up the courage to say yes to the men who came around asking to dance. The first guy was short and smelled gross and ordered me around instead of leading. The second man was one of Adri’s friends and clearly had years of dancing experience under his belt. He was also taller and older, maybe in his 60s, gentlemanly, smelled nice, and was easy to follow. I forced myself into the mental state that it was normal to have so much body surface area touching against some older guy I just met—I am not getting taken advantage of, I am not getting taken advantage of, I kept telling myself. The last man I danced with was younger, nice looking, but not as skilled a dancer. Skill matters the most, I’ve deduced. And smell. 

I would like to learn to tango, but I need to get past my apprehension toward physical contact.