Author: jdv

If you’re stupid enough to accidentally (or deliberately) engineer a long-distance relationship for yourself, here are some things that will by their nature thwart you at every turn. If you don’t believe you can address all these points, it is better not to go. Paradoxically, if you can address them all, you’re probably not on holiday. Again, it’s better not to go. Empirical testing at the risk of my own relationship (actually I think I may have killed it) has been used to produce these results.

• Time. I was prepared for the timezone change. It’s just three hours behind, right? Yes, but in addition to the change in time-zone, you need to factor in the lifestyle changes.
  • Destination-related changes: in Argentina, for example, things seem to happen later in the day, from breakfast to dinner. If you’re already a late riser, things are going to get tough and your contact window to people back at home diminishes rapidly.
  • Holiday-related changes: You’re on holiday, right? I’m not a routine person, but even I have some semblance of order in my day. It takes about a week to get that back. It wouldn’t matter so much if the main person you needed to stay in touch with was there with you. I’m on tango time. That means quite often I’m still up at 0400. The rest of the maths is an exercise for the reader.
• Communication. Koki and I agreed that I wouldn’t send text messages due to the cost. I often didn’t take my smartphone out with me anyway. The result? You lose all the little “thinking of you” message opportunities that you used to have. And if you only think it and can’t act on it, the moment passes. Both partners feel unhappy.
• Distraction. The emotion gap. Change a lot of things at once (last month: I moved home, then left the country) and you create a huge emotional workload to process. You’re likely to be either down or elated. As a positive person, I’m normally the latter. Just imagine what that sounds like at the other end of the phone where everything is more-or-less as you left it.
• Cost. Enjoying yourself can be expensive. But in some ways, I’m spending the money twice. and not in a good way. Every time I have a meal out, not only am I paying for it but it’s also money that I haven’t spent with Koki. The first few times, you can reason it away. I’ve been doing this for two weeks now. I’m eating and sharing with a lot of people, and they’re great, but they’re also really, conspicuously not Koki.
• You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone (or nearly 7000 miles away). Never has this been truer. And when the “got” “went” because it was the only logical result of your selfish decision-making, you really know what you lost, because you can look back and see how you did it.

No, it’s no good. I’m having a great time but overshadowing the superficiality is the awareness that something big is missing from my life. The result is that I feel on autopilot a bit. Predictable that where all those mixed emotions come out is in my tango which is more wooden and uncaring than ever before.

I’ve not written much lately. I haven’t felt like it. I’m not looking forward to Lee flying home, because symbolically that’s when Koki was meant to be flying out. That isn’t happening now so where there should be love and wholeness there will now be loneliness for me.

This trip was in someways an extension of the last; a decision I made practically the moment I touched down on the LHR tarmac back in March. Whilst I discussed it with Kokila it was never in the context of un-planning/re-planning it, only in how she could be involved. That’s not enough when you’re trying to be a couple. I should have gone back to basics, looked at the impetus for the trip (tango), decided whether it was a sufficient justification for going so far on my own again. Whilst I disliked the idea of a two-week trip (it makes the cost per week quite high) the value of a shorter trip with Kokila would have been massively higher than this four-week trip on my own. I thought I could have my cake and eat it – two weeks of tango, Rotary, work focus and then two weeks of Koki and me. The result? A compromised two weeks and a sort of supressed dread of the next two.

So the effect has been a trip that is not what I wanted for us, only a selfish demonstration of free-will for me. And, not being the kind of person who can put matters like that aside, it has coloured and distorted most of my experiences here to varying degrees. I’m now a man trying to have fun on his own which should be shared. No wonder Kokila didn’t want to invade – looking back this was always my trip and she was invited along. That’s not the way to do it if you’re in love and it seems I have a lot to learn.

Well, I’m not telling anyone anything they don’t know when I say ennuie kills the urge to blog. If I’d had enough presence of mind (that’s also a little bit on the rocks) I could have taken notes so that I could catch up on posts. It’s unlikely those same posts would convey my normal boundless enthusiasm so it’s probably better not to write them at all.

If you’re painting a mental picture of what’s going on in my head, let me help you along with some sound advice.

– If you have any empathy at all, don’t try to travel like a bachelor when you’ve got an amazing girlfriend back at home. You’ll probably both end up feeling awful. Your separation coping strategy may be distraction, but that can only get you so far.

– When your relationship is at the stage where your mind and body is connected with someone, no amount of rational internal dialogue will override the simple fact that you need one another.

– If you’re a give-your-all kind of person who enjoys living in the moment, you had better make sure that your lover is in that moment. If she’s thousands of miles away, you’re expecting her to be a saint.

– If you felt bad when your girlfriend went away on tour to Spain for nine days of concerts and partying, requiring you to use all your mental effort not to go utterly crazy with jealousy and doubt, don’t think two weeks for her when the distance is even greater will remotely work. You aren’t being fair.

The upshot? I am a long way away, desperately trying to fill my life so that I don’t get overburdened by the idea of two weeks without Koki. I don’t think I’m going to succeed. Do you people seriously want me to keep writing?

…

As I write this, her text has come in to say that she is about to take off for India. If you can avoid putting yourself in this position, do whatever it takes. I never will again.

Haven’t written properly for days, I know. It has been pretty busy and we haven’t been in a great deal, other than to regroup, redress and possibly nap (an alien concept to me usually, but there’s something about this lifestyle that makes it necessary) and go to bed at 0430.

After the trip to La Catedral I reported, I danced at La Viruta in Armenia (also Rock and Roll, which I can take or leave). The class was very good there, though I left at 0030 and later discovered I’d missed the best of the tango. Apparently the show tango dancers from around town turn up to unwind with some social dancing after their performances. I’d like to see that.

The next day (as Lee had arrived), Zhenja (from New York: Lee and I met her in London in the Summer) took us to El Niño Bien on Humberto Primo in Monserrat. Beautiful environment and proper seated milonga. Good dances had by all. We also were introduced by Zhenja to her teacher, Alberto Catala who offered us reasonably priced private lessons in a studio he uses in Belgrano, subsequently inviting us to his regular table at Salon Canning. The price of the private lesson was more than justified by this kindness alone. I’ll talk more about the actual afternoon lesson at another point.

Canning was excellent – it lived up to the blogs I’d read – exclusive, challenging and very busy floor. Mondays are apparently quieter.

Now I’ve been to church and Lee has done a particularly challenging milonga class in Florida, we’ll probably go out for dinner now and then to Confiteria Ideal on Suipacha, which I expect to be quite like El Niño Bien, but with more tourists and less dressing up (apart from Lee who is looking pretty in pink).

Hasta luego!

I awoke at 0930 to the ringing of the doorbell. I opened the door and the caretaker, owner and a cleaner came in.

Forgot that I had accepted an extra clean in respect of the lack of gas.

Lee has now arrived! Says he is in need of beer and steak, so it’s off to El Desnivel in Defensa once he’s had a shower.

I didn’t write about last night today. Since then I’ve been out again. Similar trip, two different dance venues.

Firstly, La Catedral, at Sarmiento 4006. I decided to take the Subte to get there (to arrive at 2200 for the class) but was thwarted in Argentine style: there was a fire(?!) on Linea B, so I got out at Carlos Pellegrini and had a think. I’m not aversed to playing with the buses a little, even in the evening, so I walked one block to Sarmiento and waited at the stop. A large, pale, friendly-looking chap in a suit and tie struck up some conversation with me. I could only engage in a limited way but he was amused when flashed my SUBE card at the bus driver and told him “Sarmiento 4000”. The friendly chap (Julio, for that was his name) told me in Spanish that this colectivo would go via Juan D Peron and that I could walk back to Sarmiento. He also warned me that what I was trying to do was quite dangerous. I’ve decided that it is mainly dangerous if you look naive, wander, talk loudly in English and carry a wallet, jewelery, smartphone or camera. I normally do none of those things. I also recommend growing a beard and cultivating a knowing scowl. I genuinely read that a woman was surprised her husband’s watch was stolen whilst they sat in Plaza San Martin, even though it was hidden by a “tennis bracelet”. I have looked that up, to find that it is a string of diamonds… ~sigh~

Although the colectivo was very crowded, Julio managed to indicate my stop. As he did so he gave me his card and said in English that I was to call him at any point if I needed help. I’ve since written to thank him. The world needs more people like that.

When I got of the bus, I started what became a 20-minute walk which should have been five. Having asked directions I strode of and ended up walking around five blocks in a rectangle or so. I finally found the club and was glad that I arrived when I did, because two Americans, Brent and Phil (I suppose she spells her name like that) from Wimbledon, London joined the quasi-queue behind me. They kindly paid my AR$40 for entry to the class and the milonga, which was laid out traditionally with tables three-deep around the floor.

The native Spanish speakers were hugely in the minority. As were the dancers – most people were tourists trying tango for the first time. I quite enjoyed the class, though it rocketed through about four weeks’ worth of material in an hour. The floor was also terrible. Wooden, but pockmarked, pitted and frankly dangerous. I happily assumed the role of taxi dancer, taking new followers out on the floor to walk out the basics. Eventailly, new people were asking me to dance with them and their friends. Dancing as much as I did from 2200 to 0300, it is becoming clear to me that some people “have it” and some people don’t. I danced four tandas with one German girl who had never danced anything in her life and she was unstoppable. I also took someone else out and the salida told me that there was no way tango was going to come naturally to her and sure enough her inertia tired us both out. It didn’t seem to matter if they’d danced anything else. I know from personal experience that salsa doesn’t help my tango at all (hips and arms everywhere), for example. Some of the Americans had danced some swing – maybe that’s good for coordination.

Anyway, the Quilmes flowed (from 970ml bottles, well under £4) the empanadas were edible. Everyone had fun, and almost everyone wanted to dance. I don’t think I was refused all night, but the cabeceo didn’t work anywhere. Towards the end we had some Chacareras and someone asked me to dance, but I struggled. No one minds too much with Chacarera. It has a certain phoniness about it anyway. I can’t help but feel it’s long-dead folk dance on life support, resurrected from time-to-time to allow men to show of their zapatos and amagues.

A very good night for my first milonga in Buenos Aires. I feel relieved – milestone achieved. The next club, La Viruta on Armenia deserves a post of it’s own.

Thanks to Ian at Rotary for this.

This one came around about a year ago; but it is worth a repeat.  After reading this, you will understand how the bankers did what they did….

Ian. 

Gordon was the proprietor of a bar in Glasgow …..

He realizes that virtually all of his customers are unemployed alcoholics and, as such, can no longer afford to patronize his bar.

To solve this problem, he comes up with a new marketing plan that allows his customers to drink now, but pay later.

Gordon keeps track of the drinks consumed on a ledger (thereby granting the customers loans).

Word gets around about Gordon’s “drink now, pay later” marketing strategy and, as a result, increasing numbers of customers flood into his bar. Soon he has the largest sales volume for any bar in Glasgow …

By providing his customers freedom from immediate payment demands, Gordon gets no resistance when, at regular intervals, he substantially increases his prices for wine and beer, the most consumed beverages.

Consequently, Gordon’s gross sales volume increases massively.

A young and dynamic president at the local bank recognizes that these customer debts constitute valuable future assets and increases Gordon’s borrowing limit.

He sees no reason for any undue concern because he has the debts of the unemployed alcoholics as collateral!

At the bank’s corporate headquarters, expert traders figure a way to make huge commissions, and transform these customer loans into DRINKBONDS.

These “securities” then are bundled and traded on international securities markets.

Naive investors don’t really understand that the securities being sold to them as “AAA Secured Bonds” really are debts of unemployed alcoholics. Nevertheless, the bond prices continuously climb – and the securities soon become the hottest-selling items for some of the nation’s leading brokerage houses.

One day, even though the bond prices still are climbing, a risk manager at the original local bank decides that the time has come to demand payment on the debts incurred by the drinkers at Gordon’s bar. He so informs Gordon.

Gordon then demands payment from his alcoholic patrons. But, being unemployed alcoholics — they cannot pay back their drinking debts.

Since Gordon cannot fulfil his loan obligations he is forced into bankruptcy. The bar closes and Gordon’s 11 employees lose their jobs.

Overnight, DRINKBOND prices drop by 90%.

The collapsed bond asset value destroys the bank’s liquidity and prevents it from issuing new loans, thus freezing credit and economic activity in the community.

The suppliers of Gordon’s bar had granted him generous payment extensions and had invested their firms’ pension funds in the BOND securities.

They find they are now faced with having to write off his bad debt and with losing over 90% of the presumed value of the bonds.

His wine supplier also claims bankruptcy, closing the doors on a family business that had endured for three generations, his beer supplier is taken over by a competitor, who immediately closes the local plant and lays off 150 workers.

Fortunately though, the bank, the brokerage houses and their respective executives are saved and bailed out by a multibillion pound no-strings attached cash infusion from the government.

The funds required for this bailout are obtained by new taxes levied on employed, middle-class, non-drinkers who have never been in Gordon’s bar.

Now do you understand derivatives ???

Julio,

Muchos gracias por su ayuda en el colectivo última noche. Tuve una noche muy agradable bailando el tango.

Incluso regresó 0330 a San Telmo en un colectivo de Corrientes. Miro feroz y mantener la boca cerrada!

Saludos cordiales!
J.

(El turista con el SUBE)