We look at three properties beginning with one priced at $50,000 - an apartment approximately 300 square feet - ideally located, but a sad little box; and ending with a $200,000 apartment, which doesn't resonate with my heart or my pocketbook.

The middle-range apartment, however, just over 1100 square feet with an asking price of $130,000 wins me over. It is loaded with french architectural details, beautiful wood parquet floors, leaded glass windows, arched doorways, 2 bedrooms and a maids quarters, 3 baths. I love it. It would cost almost nearly a million dollars in San Francisco. Will the owners take $120,00?  She's sure they will. It takes great restraint not to write a check right there on the spot. They have done their homework and tell me that after expenses, if the apartment is rented half the year, I will make 9% profit. It is hard for me to fathom how I will earn a profit on this apartment when the government levies a 21% tax on the monthly rent of only $800. And I have to remind myself that I already have a "city" apartment (in San Francisco). What I'm looking for really is beach property. There are no beaches in Buenos Aires.

On the other hand, I can't stop thinking about that lovely French apartment.

Dave can be skiing or golfing in 45 minutes (if he flies) at his favorite resort in the Patagonias, the Arelauquen Golf & Country Club in Barioloche." Argentina is a bargain right now. It's Europe on a Latin budget," he says.

Friday, Feb. 6

DREAMING OF PATAGONIA

Patrick is a contributing editor for Outside Magazine and author of the book Chasing Che, a book he wrote from research conducted during a motorcycle trip through South America. Patrick is headed home to New York tomorrow.  He has been in Patagonia looking at cabins - his dream home away from home.. Unfortunately, it is not the dream of his fiancée, whose work keeps her in New York. And his contacts too, are in New York. He can't get over the fact that an apartment in Manhattan will consume all their savings at five times the cost of the cabin and land he dreams of owning in Patagonia.

"DIANA" AND THE TANGO

"Diana" meets me at the door of her luxury apartment at 9PM in shorts, a tee-shirt, and bare feet. While stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese for her two sons she tells me that after her divorce in the states, she applied for a job with the US Embassy, and received her first assignment in Argentina. "This has been an ideal, cush, first post", she says. Here she and her sons, ages 13 and 16, can live a lifestyle they could only dream about in the States. The children are driven to and from private school each day, and their off-hours are filled with activities and excursions around South America. Anything she wants from groceries to cleaned laundry can be delivered to the apartment with just a phone call. A multi-story cinema is around the corner, so when she wants to see a movie, she buys a ticket for a reserved seat in advance. As for social life, there is something to do every night and weekend. "It's a matter of turning down invitations", she says.

We slip out leaving the boys immersed in video games to walk two blocks to a restaurant she passes everyday, but has not yet tried.  She already knows  what will be on the menu although she's never dined here. Argentine food is always the same she says. Meat, salad, and desert. When she and her friends want something different, they go to an ethnic restaurant, of which there are hundreds in Buenos Aires. 

Felix, who at one time lived in Manhattan, is the Argentine owner of Le Petit Bistrot, as well as chef, waiter, and piano player. After he has served our dinner of asado chincharron, grilled cheese with fresh oregano, bread, sausage, salad, and a bottle of wine (I was delighted to discover that Argentina has great wines), he sits down to play Beatles tunes on an electric piano. There are three tables in the charming restaurant. The bill including tip is 50 pesos, or less than $20.

I ask Diana how she explains to family and friends in the States moving her two sons so far away from home. "I don't even bother," she says. "My ex mother-in-law looks at my boys and says things like, 'Now where is this Argentina place where you're living?' and 'When are you boys going to start having a normal life? Nobody really gets it, so I don't bother trying to explain anymore. The boys love it here."

On the drive to Diana's earlier that evening my taxi driver had told me about a milonga where he and his friends have been dancing the tango for 20 years. He invited me to come, and scribbled the name and address on a scrap of paper. "What do you think"? I ask Diana showing her the address after dinner. She wrinkles up her nose and says, " I don't know that neighborhood, and a recommendation from your taxi driver?"

"Yeah, I know, but there was something genuine about this old guy. I think we should go."

We find ourselves at  La Grisela, an authentic milonga which is one of many local tango dance halls which never make it into the tourist guides. We stand waiting to be seated and are politely ignored. Maybe it has something to do with the fact we are single women, or maybe its our pants and flat shoes in this tight dress, stockings, and stiletto heel environment. Or maybe it's the fact that we stand out like beacons as foreigners in a milonga which belongs to the residents of the barrio.

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