Salfinas

La Recoleta, Buenos Aires, Argentina
18 December 2008

At la Quinta, I noticed the kind of table salt commonly used here. It is much more finely ground than in the US – almost like powder. It’s called salfina, or “fine salt.” I found the name pretty and the idea of fine table salt interesting, and so, playing with the word, I though of it as a nice girl’s name. Finally, Pablo and I started using as our own slang for an attractive woman.

Pablo and Nicole and I walk three abreast in La Recoleta, looking for a drink before our meal. We’ve decided to splurge and I’ve booked dinner at the best restaurant I could find. As we stroll through the city, it looks less like a San Teraphthalate to me tonight, and more like a Buenos Aires. Pablo has dedicated himself to demonstrating to me that B.A. is the capital of salfinas, and he puts his hand on my shoulder from time to time, pointing out some pretty woman or other. As the evening wears on, he shows himself a “salfinero” of sorts (salfinero being a word I just made up to describe a spotter of pretty women.)

I tell them of my day as we stroll, and how I met with Pablo’s sister for a coffee late in the afternoon, and our hour-long talk in almost 100% Spanish. I’m proud of my language efforts, though it’s clear that the main reason we were able to talk for so long is that Cecilia is a very patient conversationalist. P & N say that’s probably because her son has some hearing impairment, so she is used to listening and speaking slowly and with care. In my experience, there are many bilingual people the world over who just can’t stick to the language that the person they’re talking to isn’t fluent in, and so they simply switch (naturally enough.) But Ceci stays in Spanish with me. Whatever the reasons, I thought it was wonderful. We spoke for an hour, rarely switching to English.

When Pablo first told me about his sister Ceci some years back, I became interested in meeting her. She’s an unreconstructed, but young, hippie who lives outside El Bolsón, a small town a couple of hours south of Bariloche. El Bolsón and Bariloche are described as beautiful mountains regions at the start of the eastern Andes Mountains, in the northwest corner of Patagonia, with glaciers, forests, high peaks, and many lakes. In fact, the guide books refer to it as the “Lakes District,” a term that Pablo dismisses as invented for tourists.

I met with her because in these last few sweltering days in B.A., I’ve hit on the idea of flying off to the general area of Bariloche, and Ceci lives there. I needed some advice on where to go, how to get there, etc. Ceci tells me about Bariloche, El Bolsón, and she gives me a little practical travel advice on flying to the region. It turns out that flights to some towns in the area are temporarily suspended because of recent volcanic activity in Chile (!)

Ceci ekes out a living by making handicrafts for tourists visiting the El Bolsón area, which I learn is a hippie-redoubt. I’m fascinated by her plan to end up with her own land and home. She’s is squatting on federal land, where she has built a tiny shack. Argentine law says that squatters can claim ownership of land they squat upon after twenty years. She’s now eight years into that twenty. My language muscles tire, though, and I don’t think I can find enough Spanish to ask her about how she can invest so many years of her life, not knowing if she will be evicted from the land at any moment, or indeed in Year 19 of her 20 Year Plan.

P & N & I turn into Oviedo, a place whose name comes from an old town in Spain. The restaurant is a mix of Argentine and Spanish cuisine, with large, round tables and a small wooden bar near the entry. Lots of glass front windows on this corner building. They have quite a lot of Argentine fine wine (nice rhyme.) We’re smartly dressed and cleaned up - a world away from La Matanza. We are seated near the front, somewhat on display, and settle in for a fine extended meal. It’s easily the best meal I’ve had in 3 weeks.

I think P & N are happy to get out from the Green Zone of la Quinta, and to have some adult time. Pablo enjoys being able to interview the Argentine wait staff to get the best choices on offer. He’s told me earlier in the week that the thing he really misses about no longer living in Argentina is the ease with which he can socialize, and can navigate sophisticated social intercourse, so he relishes the interactions now.

I have to admit to Pablo when he points out that there are salfinas Porteñas here to be seen in B.A., and in particular, here in Oviedo.

We talk a lot. My next travel leg in Argentina (which today I’ve decided will be the town of Bariloche itself after my conversation with Ceci and a little homework), and life in Vancouver where they now live, and a little about our past social life when I was married. Of course, since they’re anthropologists, and I have a keen interest in evolutionary biology and culture, we talk about their work a little, and some of the reading I’ve been doing.

All too soon it is pumpkin time for P & N, and they have to return to relieve their babysitter (Ana, I think.)

I’ve visited P & N and their children in Ann Arbor, North Carolina, the Gulf Islands of Puget Sound, and now Buenos Aires. As we kiss our goodbyes, Argentine-style, I pledge to travel and meet them again in Vancouver. We all feel good about that future, knowing that it will happen.