Fernet and cola under the stars: 04 de enero de 2015
The start of my new year was kind of una mierda. New Year’s Eve we had the hostel to ourselves: Kate, who I played soccer with in college, chiquita, blonde hair, blue eyes, and the most beautiful clear skin, as if she’s never had a zit in her life, and Raúl, who is still here!
January 11th will be one month in Córdoba for both of us, and he will leave the 13th at the latest because he has to be in Chile the 15th to work with churros with his family. It’s like the intense season for them, when they make the most money.
That night we bought Fernet and cola and drank on the patio of the hostel under the stars, dull buzzing lights matching our own purring energies, la Chiki playing in the shadows and tall grass, eyes as balls of fire burning into the night, bouncing and jumping, vanishing into the darkness and reappearing at my side with a throaty vocal inquiry and the tinkle of a bell. She is such a mirror, as am I. We are reflections of each other, and I can feel my personality rubbing off on her, showing me my own sentiments and adding some subtle ingredient that is her own. A homemade emotional soup radiating from gray fuzz and toasting my neurons with pleasure.
I always try to astral-project into her body at night as she sits on the window of my room, her silhouette a dark outline against a backdrop of dusky twilit sky, heavy clouds or a luminescent silky moon, not made of cheese, but something more brilliant: pearls shining in sea water, my thoughts filtered through a cerebral sieve and ending as my voice, and maybe another thought wishing I’d used a different type of strainer. I feel comforted knowing she’s watching me in secret, absorbing my vibes calmly, lost in that agile cat world where everything is a different color.
We went walking through the city at a quarter to midnight, only to find puros viejos, playing chess in dirty cafés, walking in pairs through silent city streets, canes for support, always a whiff of that old-person smell, as we rush past giggling con un trip en el ojo otra vez, waiting for something to happen, attempting to borrow a cigarette from anyone and everyone.
Raúl asks for water in a restaurant and Kate and I wait outside, trying to suppress tears of laughter as a drunken 30-something man assumes we’re from France and begins cooing and murmuring at us in made-up French, leaning heavily on the rail, our own amphetamine-tainted minds making his face droop into some poor, tired soul on the quest to find a vagina.
We laugh hysterically and shout in English, “Everyone wants to fuck our young vaginas!” We hide behind city corners and pee in front of negocios, unable to hold it. I tell Kate that I want to buy a funnel and use it to pee like a man in public, holding it under my skirt and watching a stream of yellow darken a tree trunk, I don’t give a fuck!
The city is empty, a ghost town without energy, and we feel so indecisive, where do we go? Finally we find a group of Germans from another hostel on their way to an electronic party 20 minutes outside of the city by car, and after 30 minutes of confused attempts at hitchhiking, we find one of the last taxis of the night, and we arrive at around 3 a.m. Chateau, the only club where there are any people.
Everyone in Córdoba has left for the sierras, the students have gone home to other parts of Argentina and other countries in South America to spend time with family, and the remainder have come here to socialize under flashing lights and occasional heavy beats. I’m totally sober, but again I try to be the strangest person in the club, closing my eyes, dancing alone, moving my body without bones. The music isn’t nearly as good as Belle Epoche or any other electronic, deep house vibe, but it’s the only thing we’ve got.
At the end of the night it’s pouring rain, and at 6am it’s becoming a torrential downpour with short pauses that give us false hopes for better weather. The water floods into the entrance of the club under the glass doors, seeps into everyone’s shoes, and in her sandals Kate dances and splashes around, laughing while I take pictures from the safety of the couch, my shoes off, feet resting under me as I nestle comfortably into my own warmth, a tired baby bird waiting for some type of rescue.
Al fin they tell everyone to get out of the club, the party’s over, and no one is dressed for the weather. Girls in skimpy dresses and platform shoes, me in a tie-dye dress otra vez and Birkenstocks, completely inappropriate for any type of wet climate.
I thought I was going to die that morning. The wind was the worst, turning the rain into tiny sloppy bullets puncturing bare arms, slapping my face, whooshing up my dress and numbing my legs, freezing my toes. There were no taxis, and no one would let us hitchhike with them into the city. We couldn’t go back into the club, and suddenly I’m alone, Kate crossed the street with two German guys to find the bus stop, and Raúl is still asking cars for rides with no luck.
The weather intensifies, I’ve never seen so much rain in my life. The streets are flooding and I know I will perish, no one will save me. Raúl gives up and grabs me, drags me to the carro de choripan, and I can’t see anything through my fogging glasses sprayed with rain and heated by my face. Raúl’s holding me tightly in his arms, a futile attempt at protection as we huddle, shrinking into ourselves as the rain beats down.
We don’t know what to do, there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and then Raúl’s gone, sprinting across the street. He sees Kate and co. getting into a taxi, and I sprint after him soaking wet, mascara all over my face, jumping across mini rivers, stomping through puddles. We run to the taxi, dodging cars in the street, but it passes us without stopping, without seeing us, and begins to circle the roundabout, so we have to cut back across the grass.
All I can do is scream, “Corre, Raúl!” He’s my last hope, legs pumping through soggy green, and I realize it’s always the same. I’d die without him to save me, every time. And there have been so many times! He throws himself at the car, pounds on the window with his fist, and I know we’ve been saved. Kate sees us and the taxi stops, brake lights red blurry orbs shining through humidity and piercing my pupils with forceful hope, yielding to my instinctual, animal desire for warmth and dryness.
We pile in, laughing in big gulps at the odds, breathing heavily. I can’t believe we’ve made it; this Argentinian taxi driver is now my favorite person in the whole world, I’m gasping for breath and the emotion exits my body in gushes of laughter and broken words…
We make it back to the hostel, shower in steaming hot water, climb into warm beds with heavy blankets, and everything is okay again. The adventure was just that: some passionate experience that changed me in a subtle way, as does every experience.
The next day was the worst. Negative energy manifested itself in another’s mind and punctured my own halo vibe, robbing me of positivity and faith in humanity, as well as money. It was my own fault, I was trusting when I knew deep down I shouldn’t have been. We got robbed by someone that I thought was a friend, and all I can do now is try to not be influenced by that negativity, try to keep generating positive energy, the only way to break the cycle of pain that possesses the world.
It’s my other mission in life, other than searching for la buena onda: no matter what I absorb, positive or negative, I have to keep practicing creating good energy, regardless of la mierda de malas personas. It’s the only way to keep going. I’d not like to talk about it anymore, actually. Better to forgive and forget than to dwell on the hurt. I know better now. I learned my lesson physically when before I only knew it in theory. Trust no one, unless you truly know him.
Hmmm…what else has happened? That day we went to Plaza Alta Córdoba to sell burbujeros, and we made 60 dollars in three hours, so it felt good to be able to make money quickly after having lost money quickly. This week we plan on selling them every day in Alta Córdoba, because that plaza está llena de niños, y toda la gente tiene plata.
I guess I will go now, I work tonight from midnight to 8:30, although there are no people so I’ll probably just sleep the whole time. I am a zen cat mopping the floors at 3am, listening to deep house and Miss Bolivia, what a great vibe. Sola, me encanta andar sola, me siento tan completa, tan entera.