international get together, montevideo

Anibal says he's going to see a friend of his who's Australian. She used to live here and she's back for a while. It's a small party. We walk across town, twenty minutes, from Cordon to Barrio Sur. The Australian lets us in. There's another Australian upstairs, who's her boyfriend, of Greek descendence, an American, a Uruguayan tango dancer, another Uruguayan woman and a Frenchwoman, who's there with the tango dancer. Everyone seems very friendly and they ply me with wine. Because I say I can speak a bit of French, I'm sat next to the Frenchwoman.

When she tells me she's a dancer it doesn't surprise me. She has a dancer's physiognomy, petite features, alert, slightly vulnerable. She speaks some Spanish but not a lot. No English. I speak some French, not a lot. We communicate, as you do. She's only just arrived from Buenos Aires. She met the tango dancer, who's also called Anibal, either last night or the night before. She doesn't know anyone here. Anibal, the tango dancer occasionally holds her hand or strokes her hair. She tells me that she's a tango dancer. In France. She dances tango. So now she's come here, to the Rio Plata, to dance in the milongas of Buenos Aires and Montevideo. She's never been to South America before. It's a kind of pilgrimage. She's goes to the milongas alone and dances.

She didn't like the Portenos much. She found them awkward, stand-offish. I tell her the Uruguayans will be kinder. I ask what prompted her visit, now. She tells me that she's just split up with her partner. A relationship of many years. Her partner, who was also her dance partner. The partner with whom she danced tango. In France. I tell her her story, the story of a tango dancer who goes to the Rio Plata to discover the roots of her dance and at the same time sever the ties of her dance, sounds like a film script. She says someone else has already told her that.

My French dries up. Soon afterwards, she leaves, with Anibal. Anibal the tango dancer. They're heading off to a milonga. I talk to the Australian. Whose parents were Uruguayan. Before they emigrated to Australia. Before they returned to Uruguay. The Australian woman studies child poverty. She'd like to stay in Uruguay, but there aren't any jobs.

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in the pension, buenos aires

It's early evening. The pension, in Boedo, consists of a series of rooms which open out onto a first floor patio. There's a parillada and a settee and pot plants. It's pleasant and all the Gatos hang out there. In the middle of our three rooms is another. A couple have moved in. The man is Spanish. I speak to him for a bit. I tell him I'm English. He calls out to the woman who's inside the room. She comes out. She's wearing a sarong. She's middle aged. She comes from New Zealand. We start speaking. In English. I haven't spoken to anyone in English for weeks. She tells me that she just arrived in Buenos Aires that morning. From New Zealand. She's spent a long time travelling. A very long time. She's on her way to Brazil. Tomorrow she goes to Florianopolis. She's going to hang out on the beach for six weeks. Get drunk and hang out on the beach. She has friends there. I ask if she's been there before. She hasn't. I haven't been there either. She says the friend she's going to see is her ex. He's moved back there. From New Zealand. Moved back to his family. I haven't quite got round to thinking that it's unusual to go and spend six weeks with your ex, but I'm getting there. She tells me she hasn't seen him for over a year. Then she says she's going for their child's birthday. Their child who died. He would have been two. She's brought the ashes. She's going to scatter them in Florianopolis. She's going to stay with her ex and his family for six weeks and hang out on the beach and not do anything.

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