I'll be MSN you...

The sun was literally baking me. Having devoured yet another 3 dollar steak for lunch and now sitting on the beach under an unwavering heat lamp I felt like I was turning into an empanada. Warm and crispy on the outside and filled with juicy meat on the inside. I had to find some shade. This beach – like the others in this endless line of white sand around a point on the southern coast of Uruguay - was filled for the summer with wealthy vacationers from Uruguay and Argentina. Paradores, or beach huts, were ubiquitous and served up food, drinks, and thankfully, umbrellas to the beachcombers. I sat down under one and ordered an Iguana beer. I doubt anything has tasted so refreshing in the history of human consumption.

I was sitting with another guy I had met. Somewhat surprised to find an American in an area so dominated by Argentines, I was somewhat happy to be speaking in English again. As we nursed a couple of Iguanas, Jason was telling me about his exploits here in Latin America. Studying abroad for a semester while in college, he seemed to fancy himself a new age conquistador. Modeling himself on a Vince Vaughn character out of swingers, he graced me with countless tales of how “money” he was with the “babies” down here. His stories were interrupted frequently as he stared at someone walking by. “Wow, holy shit, um DUDE did you see her? Wait, where was I?...” It was 4:30 in the afternoon on a Sunday and the beach was filling up. While the sun would be setting in Boston it was still high in the sky here. Young people had probably been sleeping all morning after a late night at the discos. They tend to go all night and I informed that it was “social suicide” to ever arrive before 2am. Jason was a bit of an expert. “I was at Mint last night. I was so hammered. It was so cool. And Money!”

As his endless boasts continued, and one unnecessarily loud and graphic story unfolded, I started feeling embarrassed. I wondered whether he had ever actually talked to a woman. I could see that a girl at the table behind him was watching us. She was sitting alone and was not shy about making eye contact. At one point she smiled at me and Jason noticed me looking past him. Swinging around, he gave her a once over and turned back. “DUDE, she is HOT. Was she looking at us?” I hoped she didn’t understand English and started feeling somewhat embarrassed to be seen with this guy. “DUDE, she was totally looking” he panted, “I’m gonna invite her over here.” He then seemed to look me over and gave me what he likely considered a grand compliment. “You know, Brad, you aren’t so bad looking, and in decent shape still, I bet you could score here.”

Before I could say anything, he invited her over and started asking some questions in broken Spanish. “I speak English,” she offered. And with a bit of a smirk, “and I have a boyfriend.” I couldn’t help but smile. “But I’ll join you for a beer if its ok.” Jason seemed befuddled and sat there as if somewhat deflated, so I said of course and pulled up a chair. As she collected her things, he looked at me as if I had betrayed the team. “DUDE, that was dumb, now the babies are gonna think we are taken. I think I will go back down to the beach. She likes you anyway. Come find me when you are done.”

I may have betrayed the team but as he fumbled awkwardly with some money to give me and she gracefully sat down with a smile, I felt I had somehow gotten the best end of this trade. “I hope I wasn’t stopping the party,” she said in clear but heavily accented English, “but you looked like you might need my rescue.” I ordered another beer and asked how she knew English. “I studied my whole life … and my boyfriend is in New York.” I told her of course, I did need saving, and almost forgot that Jason was the one who initiated this. She acted as if she masterminded the whole thing. Soledad was from Argentina, north of Buenos Aires and now worked in the city. She had her dark hair cut in the current fashion with bangs over her eyes and long, unkempt waves down the back. She wore huge oversize avaiator sunglasses and seemed to have practiced her pouty face from glamour magazines. Like so many Argentines, she had vacation in January and descended on these fashionable beaches. “Punta del Este,” she explained, “is like the Hamptons for people from Buenos Aires.”

“I was chatting on the computer before, but then I heard you guys speaking English and wanted to meet you. I hope it was ok that I sat down – I miss speaking English.” I looked to the corner of the parador and saw a lone computer with a sign above it saying INTERNET and charging about a dollar per hour of use. “Don’t you talk to your boyfriend?” I asked. “Not much,” she frowned, “Maybe not for a month or two. Its way too expensive to call. But we chat on MSN messenger every day.” She went on to explain that she dreamed of one day moving to the states and starting a travel company sending tours to South America. “American people would love it here if they knew where to go.” I looked out at the waves rolling while the music played on the speakers and everyone mingled in a continual state of social interaction. I had to agree. Everywhere people were laughing, smoking cigarettes and passing around cups of yerba mate. It seemed strange to me that someone from here would idealize life in New York. She had had another boyfriend from America in college, she explained, but it didn’t work out because she never saw him after he left. “Messenger changes everything,” she told me, “because now I can know what is happening in his life. It is like he is so close. I just ... cant see him."

One café where I live has voice chat also – that is so great when it works.” It seems that in some ways the idea of the internet shrinking the world is true. People like Soledad in Argentina and her boyfriend in New York are now are communicating daily across vast distances and yet somehow still feel close. They feel that the real-time interaction allows a very different connection and closeness than even email and allows for the feeling of conversations at an affordable price. And they are not alone. She told me that many young people here use internet chat, or messaging, to communicate, even within the country. Its informal, casual structure is great for keeping in touch with all your friends. And of the services available? “Everyone uses MSN, although I think there are others.”

I have since noticed that this is true. In the internet cafés, usually over half the people using the machines are chatting on MSN. They are sipping café con leche and giggling at the little emoticons being sent back and forth. Some cafes do have voice chatting and it is somewhat funny to hear blurbs of conversation erupting intermittently from some computers. It is also not just for fun. At a local travel agent in Buenos Aires I asked if she could get deals on hotels in Brazil. After a couple minutes of MSN chat back and forth with a tour operator in Brazil she had found me a cheap hotel on the beach for under 30 dollars a night. I looked at the screen amazed. “Muchas gracias, besos” she had written … and a small yellow smiley face. “I want to go to New York,” Soledad sighed and pouted from behind her huge glasses. “People are so much fashion and exciting. But here is good too, I come every year. Its too bad it is so far for you guys.” We had finished our Iguanas and passed two hours in the parador. The sun was still high in the sky and the beach was full at almost 7pm. People were swimming and splashing, meeting each other and flirting, making plans for late night parties at discos and enjoying their summer. Soon, the masses of vacationers would recede and most would head back to their jobs or schools in Argentina. Most would probably spend the off season keeping in touch by MSN messenger, I thought, until next year when they all come back, donning their designer sunglasses of the moment, and start the fiesta again.