"Lo de siempre..."

About a year ago I wrote a paper for a scholarship with the title: "My life as a global nomad" ("Mitt liv som global nomad"). One part I remember writing about was that at one point in my life I want to be a local somewhere. I want to be able to go into a restaurant and say: "The usual please." I have never quite done that in all my life so far.

Until now. I never would have guessed that I would become "a local" to Buenos Aires. I put the term in "" because no matter how hard I try I will always be a tourist. Blue eyes and a Swedish accent. (I am a bit jealouse of my brother who, when he bought a movie ticket in Germany, was warned that the movie was only in English and not in German. I will never have that here or in Spain.)

Anyway... Every Friday for the last couple of weeks David and I have gone to the same small parilla to have dinner. It is no fancy place, but like most places here, the meat is fantastic. Our order is fixed: Dos chorizos, una cerveza grande, una ensalada mixta y un bife de chorizo a punto mariposa para compartir. (Two chorizos, a large beer, a mixed salad and an entrecote to share). We have now also made it our mission to finish the one bottle of potable Argentinian whisky that the restaurant owns. We are the only ones who drink from it. Last time we went there the waitor was about to give us the menus but then said: "Lo de siempre?" Haha! Finally! "Sí, lo de siempre!" I have finally become a local.

The fact of the matter is that there are plenty of other places where I have become increasingly "local":

The strawberry lady: the fruit vendor across the street who laughs at me whenever I buy a kilogram of strawberries and nothing else.

The flower lady: the one I bought a flower from once and who I way hi to everytime I go by.

Pedro: the guard at my building who works EVERY night from about 23 to 06.

The African: the salesperson who always comes to the restaurant to sell fake watches and gold bracelets.

The doorman: at Klara's place who always watches or listens to soccer and can't fix elevators though he tries, at the French people's place who never likes it when foreigners enter and leave the building and who doesn't like it when too many people ride the elevator, and at the other Swedes' place who is somewhat strange.

The Chinese: the local vendor at the small supermarket who is mad all the time.

The ham lady: the lady at the supermarket who I buy ham and cheese from.

Hector: the guy at the ice cream store downstairs.

The local cop: the street cop that once gave me directions and who still remembers me.

I'm sure there are more people, but I just can't remember them now. The fact is though, that all this helps me to feel at home here... and that's good.