Today, I was Carrie Bradshaw

Last night, I went with my hostel-mates to a parrilla restaurant, finally, called Desnivel in San Telmo. It was the one highly recommended to me by Jorge, who was my neighbor on the plane. Unfortunately, no one wanted to eat parrilla. Everyone wanted the lomo, the tenderloin, grilled to perfection and doused in a variety of sauces with a variety of french fries, a bargain at about 8 USD. I really wanted the ribs and flank steak parrilla, but I wasnt going to do it alone (although I may soon...)

It was as good as expected. Even though (or perhaps, more so) because of the waiter. He was the Buenos Aires version of the Soup Nazi.

We got into the restuarant, and although there was no one waiting to be seated, we were asked about 7 times if we were a group of 7. It was 10 pm, and I was starving. And we're standing next to the grillmaster (there was only one for this huge restaurant, and he was WORKING) watching him cook all that delicious meat. Torturous.

We sit. No one speaks spanish but me, so they point. I start to speak to him in spanish, and he wants none of it. I'm trying to ask him what is better, and it goes something like this...

'Tengo preguntita. Que es mejor, el lomo o el ...'
'EL LOMO.'

No smile, nothing. Pen in hand, pretty much just writing it down. Perhaps he was just in a foul mood. He never brought us bread, or checked on us, he didn't even want to take our order when someone wanted dessert. He shouted something to the effect of 'don't be in such a hurry!' so we got the check instead.

Tried to find a tango venue, and no one could point us to one. Evidently, many of the Porteños are out of town this week.
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Which brings me to today. If this is what Buenos Aires is like when nobody's here, I'm truly afraid to see what it's like when it's busy. I constantly wonder where the time has gone.

I decided that I was done shopping. Everything sucks. I wanted to see ONCE, the bustling district where most of the immigrants live. But first, I wanted to see the tango shoe store.

Oh. My. God.

This particular store was called Comme il faut, Arenales 1239, Puerta 3 Dpto M. There are about 3 shoes on display. They ask you what size you are. They bring you what they have. All the time, I am sitting there, drooling at the ones that this other woman was trying on, but they don't carry my size. Incredible color and texture combinations. Hot pink and purple. Red leather and black pony. T-strap, open toe, whatever. But only what they have. And she brings me this thing.

Purple leather lizard, with a 3'' stiletto heel in matching iridescent purple. There's a braided T-strap in iridescent aqua. It's dreadful. It's impractical.

Incredibly sexy.

I must have them.

I shouldn't. REALLY. They're about USD100, and I don't tango. Yet.

What an inspiration, though. Maybe these will make me dance. They'll make me dance BETTER.

I decide to do what I normally do when I cam gun-shy... walk away, and if I'm still thinking about it, I'll come back for them. I'll look online to see if there are more tango stores nearby. There HAVE to be. This is BA. Except time is of the essense, because it's Semana Santa, they're closing the whole weekend, and they're not sure when they're closing today.

But it was 12:30 afternoon, and I had plenty of time.

I go back to the hostel, to get my ATM card and take out some cash. Along the way, I see two more shoe stores, not for tango, but I wander in, and I find a couple of pairs I like. Like the others, I think about it, and head towards the hostel.

Meanwhile, I was supposed to call the tango instructors at noon to arrange for a 2pm lesson. I found only one phone in the street, it didn't work. I got back to the hostel at exactly 2pm, and send them an email that the afternoon is not good for me. At 2:30, a woman approaches me asking be about tango lessions. It takes me a good minute to realize that it was the couple I made an appointment with, and they had been waiting.

Now all I want is to look at tango shoes. But I do the right thing, and had my lesson.

OMG, it was awesome!! I'm slightly retarded, but I must be a lot less retarded than people who have never danced anything. That's what they told me, anyway. It was particularly great because while I was dancing with Ramiro, Luciana would position my body in the proper way.

There are a ton of tango shoe stores, evidently. About 5 on one block, walking distance from the hostel. It seems that here, at least, popular tango shoes are made in crazy color combinations. The shinier and crazier, the better. One place called 'Darcos Magic Shoes' makes them in the back of the store. You specify the style, the style and height of the heel, the color and fabric. It takes 12 days, although they can make it in 6 hours. one man was not so eager to help me, but there a creepy close talker who I suffered talking to in order to get some help. Incredible store, though. A lesson was taking place in the corner.

So I finally decide that I must have those crazy shoes which the Porteña called 'divine' so I start walking. I still haven't taken out any money (ATM booths are not as plentiful here as at home, and there seems a 50% chance that the machines don't function...) so I try to take out $, get diverted passing by some tango show which I decided to buy tix to for tomorrow night (it's USD 20 so if it sucks, who cares) and hail a taxi. It takes forever. I get to the store and they'r still open. I tell her to get the shoes while I get some money. I have to walk 2 huge blocks to get it. I'm pooped.

I get the shoes, and two more. A cute pair of nude-colored with dark brown leather trim kitten heels at 'Viviana Valdez', Talcahuano 1184, and a pair of peep-toe grey leather wedges at Mandarine (address currently missing...). I pick up a little surprise for some folks along the way (not telling what yet).

And then I walk into a leather store, which are a dime a dozen, but this particular store called out to me. They had some pretty grey leather (to go with my new shoes??) in the front, and the man wasn't pushy like the others. They'll make me apair of leather pants, cut to my measurements, in a day. A DAY! About $150.

Just call me Carrie Brashaw. How decadent.