Termotanque: (n). a hot water heater

What to do when the "termotanque" explodes:

The first 15 hours of my next 3 months in Argentina went something like this:

My chic little kitchen par-boiled.

1.  Pause your Skype conversation when you hear a little "wind" / hissing and then a little "rain" / pouring hot water.  Shut off the pot lamps that are dripping with hot water.

2.  Run out of your apartment in your worst flannel pajamas and race down four flights of stairs to the empty desk of the daytime "portero" / "doorman".

3.  Run back up the stairs.

4.  Attempt to call your landlady with an inactive; uncharged cell phone.  A dozen times.  It could work, right...

5.  Run to the next door neighbor and attempt to convince them to let you call your landlady with their phone.

(They refuse twice before agreeing to come to your apartment and see what is going on).

6.  Run back to your apartment and grab every dry towel; dish rag; wash cloth; sponge and bath mat you can find.  Attempt to stem the flow.

7.  Run back to the neighbor and ask them to come see the horrific waterfall of steamy water running down your overhead cabinets and into the sink; down the cabinets pooling on the hardwood floor below.

(Phone rings)

8.  Pick up. Your downstairs neighbor is calling to tell you that water is dripping through his ceiling.  Calmly explain that your "termotanque" / "hot water heater" has, more or less, exploded.  Intrigued, he comes up to see it.

9. Admit that you do not know where the "llave" / "water valve" is and that you didn't ask either.  You were only coming for six weeks, after all.  

(In your defense it wasn't under the sink, or beside the toilet even if you had looked.  Luckily, the downstairs neighbor finds the valve artfully hidden in the bathroom and shuts it off.  Even if the tank is already almost empty).

10.  Thank your downstairs neighbor profusely by saying, "Sos un dios" / "you're a god" and politely introduce yourself to the adjoining neighbor with a smile.  Accept her motherly advice to always ask where the electrical and water shut-offs are and admit to yourself you're still a little bit of a child.

11.  Then, pick your jaw up off the floor when both neighbors shrug and calmly say good night leaving you to await the arrival of your landlady, ankle deep in wet pajama bottoms.

12.  Mop up as best you can and sit down for another glass of wine.

13.  Admit to yourself that your first night would have been downright boring without this little snafu. 

14.  Take a sip.

15.  Give yourself a proverbial slap on the back for having articulated your entire emergency in Spanish with musical "rioplatense" pronunciation and all the proper (and improper) gestures.

The dry half of the kitchen and dining room.

Useful emergency phrases: 

• "Es una emergencia" - "It's an emergency!" 
• "Ayudáme, por favor" - (Vos) "Help me, please!" 
• "Hay agua por todos lados" - "There is water everywhere."
• "Mil gracias por ayudarme" - "A thousand thanks for helping me."