The Third "M"

My smoking-hot, mega-talented and infinitely-wise friend Chrissy Bray (check her out: http://www.chrissybray.com/) , upon learning I was flying to Buenos Aires, told me excitedly that I would love it because it was the city of three Ms: Meat, Malbec and Men. 

After writing posts on the other two, this post is dedicated to shedding some light on some of  my experiences with the men of Buenos Aires. Mum, probably don't print this one out for Nanna. Just kidding. Kindof. 




Ok, so I've mentioned before that the locals of Buenos Aires are called Portenos (there's a wavy line above the n that I can't get my keyboard to type.. but you get the idea), meaning, from the Port. A typical porteno has longish hair, lives with his parents until the age of 28, loves football and is an insatiable flirt. Ofcourse I'm generalising. But y'know, mas or menos (my favourite spanish phrase - meaning more or less.. you can use it for everything.. but I digress).

Street, Bar, Police Station, Emergency scenarios (more on that later).. any opportunity is the right opportunity for a porteno to test out his powers of flirtatious persuasion. Now, as far as I have sussed things out.. just because a porteno compliments you, declares his love for you, spends the entire night staring at you etc it doesn't actually mean that he would want anything to happen between you. Often he is just letting you know that he is a male and has noticed (and appreciates the fact) that you are a woman. He is probably married or long-term-girlfriended. Telling a woman he thinks she is beautiful is a reflex reaction akin to yawning. He probably isn't even aware he is doing it.

Street
If you are the type of girl who gets freaked out when construction-site workers wolf-whistle as you walk past, do NOT come to South America. You will hate it. If you feel this way AND are a high-vis blonde, like me, you will spend most days in tears. For my part, although I am amazed by the frequency and inappropriateness of comments (really? do you expect me to hand over my number to a complete stranger who tells me he will f@$% me into 8 pieces? Really?), I would be totally lying if I said I didn't enjoy the attention or sometimes let a private smile slip as I walk past. The attention varies from the genuinely sweet or clever - my gorgeous friend Lucia tells me she had a lovely old man declare "Finally, my eyes have had breakfast"  upon seeing her on her way to work one morning - to lewd kissing and tongue-flicking gestures. Fairly animalistic and gross.

The flirtatious comments have been given the name of "piropos" - which translates something like "fire eyes". There's some pretty cool ones that do the rounds (not that I understand them at the time) like - "Look at those curves! And here I am without breaks"; or "If you cook like you walk, I want to eat scraps!". Sometimes I wish I had one of those head-cameras, I'd call it piropos-vision, to capture the lustful looks and neck-snapping head-twists, that take place as you walk down the street. It's quite comical.

For further insight, check out this entertaining video (the chica who made it has become a bit of a local celebrity after originally posting a video about her asshole ex-boyfriend).. http://vimeo.com/36509870

Bar
Ok.. so this is where Porteno men really shine.  For them, picking up a girl is really just a game where they can put into practice their excellent skills.. and they really love the game! If you don't play the game i.e. if you (a) accede too easily or (b) don't show sufficient interest.. you aren't fun to play with and they'll probably look for someone new. It's a lot like fishing. They bait their hook and put it out there, often starting with direct staring or a flirty comment. Being obviously foreign, I provide the perfect opener of "de donde sos?" Where are you from?.. they chat/bullshit for a little while, testing for nibbles and revealing themselves as Chamuyeros (a silver-tongued, smooth-talking, bullshit artist lothario), then attempt to reel you in (this can be via attempting to kiss you there and then.. or by buying you a drink), then they release the reel, they'll go for a walk and survey their options, they won't call for a week etc.. then they will start again with the charm offensive and attempt to reel you in again. Release. Repeat. There's a whole chunk of porteno slang dedicated to the dating game and describing the male approach. e.g. you describe a guy who demonstrates this hard-to-get, hot and cold technique as an Histerico. FYI, the girls (portenas) play their part equally well in this game and are called Histericas.

Emergency Situations
Ofcourse, you know I love a good story. And Bs As has provided ample fodder for cracking story accumulation. This is one of my favourites (don't worry, it's short), that illustrates perfectly the men over here. Ok.. so I was walking along the street one night when I hear the sounds of an approaching fire engine. Sure enough, further down the street I could see smoke emerging from an apartment. As the fire-truck nears, I notice it start to slow down. I think "Gosh! They don't know where the fire is, I will put on my helpful face and show them where they need to go". Stopping beside me, the firemen lean out the window of the truck ..I wait, expectantly and ready to point and give directions in fumbled spanish. But no..  "Hola! Hermosaaa!! Que tal?! Dame tu numero!!" Etc etc (note.. my spanish is crap. this is along the lines of what I understood).

Yup. That's right. The firemen had slowed down to flirt with me and ask for my number. ON.THE.WAY.TO.A.FIRE.

Obviously a pretty extreme example, but I feel, very fitting for capturing the incorrigible nature of the men over here. And definitely not isolated. There's also the police officer who took my number from my official statement to ask me out (see Cops Are Tops). And the Museum Cloakroom attendant who asked me out after getting my number from the form I completed when checking-in my bag.

The result is that I've become something of a Chamuyera myself. Enjoying the funny, flirty conversation and the chance to practice my spanish.. but not viewing the guys as holding any viability in a serious romantic capacity. Muy histerica. My friend Bill, American ex-pat, tells me that the vast majority of ex-pats here, after experimenting with the locals intermittently, tend to end up dating other ex-pats.

Hate the game, not the players. Although actually, I'm quite enjoying both thank-you-very-much.

"Now, take off your dress". Joining a gym in Buenos Aires

So, I had a plan. Arrive in Buenos Aires, sample the local delights just long enough to establish an informed opinion (1 -2 weeks), then eat like a Portena (which is to say, stop eating) and dance every night to shed the 12 or so kilos I had stacked on after a year of living at home with my parents (my mum seriously makes the WORLD'S best brownies). 

But I didn't really stick to the plan.

I kept eating (d'uh. who was I kidding anyway) and the late night, carb-heavy eating, unfailingly punctuated with a giant helado full-stop, meant the 12 kilos were feeling quite at home and had even decided to invite over some new friends. 

So I decided to join a gym. I'd been holding off, not knowing how long I was going to stay, but at 250 pesos for the month.. I figured future photos of me shaking my groove-thang in a bikini on a beach in Rio would thank me for shelling out the $10/week.

So I signed up, paid my money for the month upfront, then was told I would need to see a doctor to complete a health check before commencing. Refer to the above title. Do you see where things are going?

The seemingly very professional doctor invited me in to his consultation room. He provided me with a questionnaire to complete with all the usual questions: smoke - no, allergies - no, alcohol - yes, please etc etc. He asked me my height and weight, took my blood pressure, all extremely standard. "Ok", he says. "Take off your clothes and lie on the bed".

I look at him, checking for a sign he is joking. No such sign. As serious as cancer. I will say, at this point, that I think his limited English and my limited Spanish meant the absence of customary niceties that would enable him to ask me to remove my clothing in a way that didn't seem completely pervy.

"Porque?"
"We attach these". He holds up a bunch of suction circles attached to a giant battery thing. My concerns are not abated. I think about throwing out another porque but there doesn't seem to be much point. I doubt I would understand the explanation.

Trying to maintain modesty, for now, I unbutton my shirt dress down as far as my navel and allow the doctor to affix the discs. "Be calm", he says. Sure thing.

The discs feel warm but are otherwise painless. A machine zig zags over green-checkered paper. "Normal" he declares. Hmm.. more or less.

I stand up. Ok. Survived that. It was strange but I'd witnessed other off-beat examples of the Argentinian health beliefs/superstitions by now so I'm feeling all, go-with-the-flow about it all. Like, they love calisthenics.. getting together in groups in the park and pointing and flexing their toes.  Ok.. not the best example but it's what I can think of at the moment.


"Now, take off your dress". Really?! Again, the ever-trusty, "Porque?".
"I need to see your skin".
Nope, you're going to have to do better than that. "Porque?!"
"You need to bend over and I need to look at your skin." It's said so matter-of-fact and without a hint of perv. Hmm.. one more.. "Porque?!!"
"Your back". 
I shrug my shoulders and relent. Removing my dress to waist-length and bending over, presumably so he can see the curvature of my spine. 
"Normal". Um.. not exactly.


So that was that. He handed me the green-checkered paper with the zig-zagging line (Mel, or other doctor friends, perhaps you can interpret for me?) and confirmed with the gym staff I had passed my physical examination. 

I still don't know if this is the usual practice or not. Any Bs As locals had similar experiences? Lucia??