I want to try something different. So every Tuesday, for the month of July, I will be leaking parts from one chapter in Hola, Morocha! This piece is about my first visit to San Telmo and the trippy house party I went to there. I will never forget it, and it was the best introduction to San Telmo ever!!!! Now without further ado…
A Black Girl in San Telmo
I wasn’t expecting my first house party in Buenos Aires to be less like a party and more like…a visit to Neverland. Well, Neverland in an alternate universe. I had just returned to my flat after showing Nestor my package of hair products I had rescued from Aduanas. My plan was to make dinner and relax for the night since I was both physically and mentally exhausted from the whole Aduanas ordeal. But as I began to settle—my phone rang.
The unfamiliar voice on the other end belonged to another student of my Spanish tutor. My tutor, Claudia, took pity on me during one of our lessons. My despondent behavior tipped her off that something was wrong: I repeated the Spanish phrases back to her with little enthusiasm and my gaze repeatedly wandered to the weeping willow canopied over my balcony, as I watched its long vine like leaves blow in the light wind.
Claudia’s gaze followed mine to the balcony. When she looked at me again her eyes were full of pity. “It’s a tree that cries,” she explained to me in Spanish, twiddling her fingers in front of her eyes to mimic flowing tears. I understood she was telling me that the tree was a weeping willow. Claudia didn’t speak English so I explained to her, the best I could, that the weeping willow was one of my favorite trees, and like the tree, I felt like weeping too.
She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned her head to the side, blinking with the sorrow she had contracted from me in her eyes. “Porque?”
I explained to her that the loneliness caught up with me from time to time since I still didn’t have many friends. She offered to take my number to pass along to her other students. I was excited—even though I felt a little desperate and pathetic— and thanked her for her offer. Now I was on the line with one of her students being invited out to a house party in San Telmo.
I’d always wanted to see San Telmo. I imagined it to be an artist’s paradise since I heard talks about it being the oldest barrio and a hangout full of street artists, painters tango dancers, art galleries and musicians. I also thought it would be a great opportunity to meet scrumptious guys and artistic companions. So I accepted the invitation, of course.
TO BE CONTINUED…