I hate Retiro. I hate it. It's disgusting, unsafe and filled with 99% negative possibilities, with the 1% being that you're only there with the intention to leave to a much better location. We arrived 2 hours early after a $20/each cab ride (but hey, if you can't spend $20 on your own protection, what are you spending it on?). I wanted to tell my host family we didn't need to leave so early, but no matter. Luckily there were enough people there at that time of night that I felt some safety in the numbers. We found our terminal and gate almost instantly. Alright, well I guess we'll just sit here quietly while we wait for the bus...
Until we looked over at the shreiking door that was being opened and closed every 5 seconds by a toddler who of course derived great pleasure from the heinous sound and knowing that he was bothering every single person in the room. Yet nobody had it in them to tell him to stop--probably because that would just make him do it more vigorously. Where was his mother or father? We had no idea. Nobody at the gate was rushing to stop him when he started to play with the double door (perfect for crushing toddler hands...) so either his parents didn't care or they weren't there. Neither option seemed right. What if he was an orphan? It was hard to grapple with the idea that a child no more than 4 or so was orphaned to a ratty bus station. I felt bad. No child should have to live that way, playing with obnoxious doors when he should be coloring and learning to read. Yet part of me wanted to throw him out the door because he wouldn't cease his behavior. It was really the worst sound in the world that those doors emitted...
I didn't think things would get worse with this kid until I saw a little girl and her dad walk by and the boy immediately ran up to her and punched her in the face. I thought maybe they were siblings and he was upset with her until the father started screaming at the kid and pushed him away as they quickly walked away. So he just punched a random girl for no reason. It happened again with 3 different kids and I was starting to feel a little uneasy because I couldn't pinpoint why he was violent towards these random kids. He had learned this behavior somewhere and obviously had little concern for causing damage for seemingly no reson...there are probably millions of kids like this around the world that have been raised in such desperate situations as to have already been consigned to this type of life at such a young age. Part of me was ashamed that this is the reality of the world we live in, but part of me felt that even if anyone tried to help him, he was already a lost cause. At age 4...
I was uncomfortable with my calloused view. I'd never confronted something like this and couldn't tell if I was some kind of racist, imperialist, jaded American idiot that felt sad seeing kids like this, but continued to partake in my lifestyle that arguably contributed to their being there in the first place...but then again, capitalism or not, being a loving parent is a necessity that is priceless. And if you're willing to leave your child alone in a bus station at 2am while he hits children, I don't think you deserve to be a parent. The problem is that millions of parents worldwide didn't consciously decide...it just sort of happened, thereby punishing kids that had even less of a choice.
Meanwhile, I started to imagine exaggerated violent scenarios, because if he had no fear of being alone in a bus station at 2am at the age of 4 and enjoyed violence and bothering people, it wouldn't be surprising if he started doing something worse than opening a noisy door...Maybe that sounds judgmental, but those are antisocial behaviors that, if continually cultivated, cause serious psychological issues. Additionally, I've generally been told to especially distrust children and the elderly in this culture, as they're the most unlikely suspects, but can be the most ruthless. I was never happier when a raggedy mother came and grabbed him and he was carried out of my life forever.
The time of our departure was rapidly approaching and our bus had not yet arrived. We passed 2:50, and still it wasn't there. I couldn't stand the thought of being in this bus station for another moment. It was just Angela and me, and being 2 foreign women in this creepy bus station at 3am was looking worse and worse by the minute. Finally the double decker showed up and we took our seats in the front row on the top floor. Angela slept easily while I stared out the window, feeling like I was driving, but 50 higher than everyone else. We passed through countryside and I started to feel confused as one often does at 4am when they feel like they're floating above an Argentine province...Where am I? Where am I going? It was exhilarating.
I wanted to take a picture of the surreal feeling...but wouldn't you know it...the battery I had so responsibly charged for my camera was irresponsibly and accidentally left behind.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
No planes, no trains, just buses
Friday morning we had our appointments to begin the second part of our student visa process (and after this, they will be complete). This of course included a visit to the Immigrations office, which is located near the Retiro train and bus stations--arguably some of the sketchiest places in Buenos Aires. By 8am the office was already full of people waiting for whatever type of citizenship they were seeking. Luckily I was the 4th student in line and was in and out in no time. However, it was obvious that the Argentine bureaucratic process makes even less sense than ours does in the US. By this, I mean that there were 3 different cajas we had to go to. During our visit at the second caja, we had to fill out paperwork but go to a different window to pay, meanwhile while people waited in the line to pay, the guys in caja 2 didn't begin processing someone else's paperwork. So in theory, had I had to wait in the payment line for 10 minutes, that would be ten minutes the clerk in the window would just be waiting. How does that make any sense? And as I've mentioned before, if there are 10 windows with 10 employees supposedly working at them, chances are only 2 will actually be open while the 8 other people have a laugh, drinking mate and ignoring you while they perhaps dance to Kid Cudi...
And lucky us, we had to go back to Retiro to buy our bus tickets for our weekend in Mar Del Plata (a coastal city in the Buenos Aires province). The walk from the train station to the bus station wasn't that long, but it seemed so sketchy. Hundreds of vendors selling the same usual crappy kitsch were yelling to all of us in the street. The area is obviously busy with travelers with luggage (and presumably luggage with lots of goodies inside), making it a hotspot for being robbed or pickpocketed. We walked quickly, aware of who and what was around us. (The more this happens the more I get convinced that "it won't happen to me")...As for the station, imagine 100s of small kiosks all selling bus tickets in a grubby station. It reminded me of something they would have in China, where there are tiny shops filled with people trying to sell you some overpriced thing, springing to attention when you walk by. Of course, we couldn't find the window for La Tostadense, the company we had tried to book our tickets through online. So we settled for Chevallier, which is a reputable company. They offered student discounts, and despite having the documents for our student visas, we apparently needed our student ID cards from UB. What?! Those IDs only have our names on them. They're not official documents, yet they're somehow more valid than a government issued student visa?! Bye bye 20% discount...
The whole reason we had to go to the train station was what made it even more frustrating. We had tried to order our tickets from a website that ISA recommended to us. Everything was going well until it came time to process the payment. Lo siento, fue rechazado. Lo siento, fue rechazado. 3 different websites and we couldn't process a payment online. This seems to be standard in Argentina, where they are far behind in the world of online payment and payment with a card (despite the fact that they lack actual cash). Not only is this frustrating because it requires a person to go to the station or bus company every time they want a ticket, which is time consuming, but also we lost money and had to spend more than $60 pesos to buy in person than what we found online. Granted, we got reclining seats which proved to be invaluable for our 2:30am departure...but still...how did the world function before things like Pay Pal??
And lucky us, we had to go back to Retiro to buy our bus tickets for our weekend in Mar Del Plata (a coastal city in the Buenos Aires province). The walk from the train station to the bus station wasn't that long, but it seemed so sketchy. Hundreds of vendors selling the same usual crappy kitsch were yelling to all of us in the street. The area is obviously busy with travelers with luggage (and presumably luggage with lots of goodies inside), making it a hotspot for being robbed or pickpocketed. We walked quickly, aware of who and what was around us. (The more this happens the more I get convinced that "it won't happen to me")...As for the station, imagine 100s of small kiosks all selling bus tickets in a grubby station. It reminded me of something they would have in China, where there are tiny shops filled with people trying to sell you some overpriced thing, springing to attention when you walk by. Of course, we couldn't find the window for La Tostadense, the company we had tried to book our tickets through online. So we settled for Chevallier, which is a reputable company. They offered student discounts, and despite having the documents for our student visas, we apparently needed our student ID cards from UB. What?! Those IDs only have our names on them. They're not official documents, yet they're somehow more valid than a government issued student visa?! Bye bye 20% discount...
The whole reason we had to go to the train station was what made it even more frustrating. We had tried to order our tickets from a website that ISA recommended to us. Everything was going well until it came time to process the payment. Lo siento, fue rechazado. Lo siento, fue rechazado. 3 different websites and we couldn't process a payment online. This seems to be standard in Argentina, where they are far behind in the world of online payment and payment with a card (despite the fact that they lack actual cash). Not only is this frustrating because it requires a person to go to the station or bus company every time they want a ticket, which is time consuming, but also we lost money and had to spend more than $60 pesos to buy in person than what we found online. Granted, we got reclining seats which proved to be invaluable for our 2:30am departure...but still...how did the world function before things like Pay Pal??
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Carnivanimals
Monday, February 20, 2012
Before we made our second attempt at carnival, we headed to
the zoo to channel our inner party “animal”. Not really. We just wanted
something to do. And a heads up to travelers—don’t fork over the $40 pesos for
a “full” entrance. Just get the $25 pass and opt to miss out on the small
little critter cages. There wasn’t really anything remarkable about the zoo—although
it did have some interesting architectural features as well as animals I’d
never seen. Namely this little guy:
Carnival is the biggest party of the year in a lot of places
of the world, so you’d think we could have found a sizeable event in one of the
biggest cities in the world, right? Wrong. After forgetting the directions
AGAIN, we wandered down Honduras searching for that ‘rr’ street. We found it
when we heard people laughing, screaming and a barrage of loud percussion. We
arrived at Honduras and Gorriti only to find that for being Palermo’s Carnival
location, this was probably the lamest thing ever. There were maybe 100 people
and that’s a generous estimate. As for entertainment, there were hardly any
exotic costumes and people going wild. No naked women, barely any foam and it
hardly encompassed more than 200 feet. Sure the percussionists were good I suppose,
but this would probably make a Brazilian laugh. Pitiful.
(That's all, folks...)
I can’t believe I missed Carnival. How does that happen that
I’m in South America and missed it? Alright well, I guess I could have gone to
the blowout celebration in Gualeguaychú, but I was unable to book a hostel and
despite every single other person in my program going without any reservations
anywhere, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. While I might have a lot of Ferris
Bueller in me, I also have a lot of Cameron Frye too and sometimes I won’t take
risks like sleeping on the beach or at some random person’s house in a city I’ve
never been to during the craziest time of year. My friend Garrett told me I’d
make a good Natalie Holloway and while that was some sick, dark humor on his
behalf, it had some validity…Of course as soon as I found out that nothing bad
happened to anyone in our program, I instantly regretted not going because I only
heard stories that were the types you’d remember forever.
But isn’t that kind of the thing about traveling? Often
times you’re required to make a risky choice. Often, things turn out fine…but
other times you get lost, mugged, kidnapped or worse and there’s millions of
these travel experiences out there. Either way it could be the night of your
life, for better or for worse. Unfortunately, for being a small
American-looking woman, this puts me at a lot more risk—the feeling of which I’m
unable to shake sometimes, meaning I miss out on carnival…
The good news was that we ate gnocchi for dinner with Toshy
and you just can’t be sad when you’re filled with potato pasta with a texture
to die for.
Notes on Porteño Culture #7: La Universidad ≠ a University
True, the translation of “la universidad” from Spanish to
English IS university. Linguistically they conjure the same idea, but socially
and fundamentally, they are different. Imagine yourself, on campus, strolling
about the quad discussing politics and last night’s party at Delt. After class,
you’ll walk back to your dorm and have a snack at the caf before you start in
on your mountain of homework. Are you imagining this? Yes? Ok now just throw
that out the window. In Argentina, being a university student is quite
different than it is back home. While many of us have part time jobs, usually
working for the bookstore or a university operation, many Porteño students have a
completely separate life. Going to college is a part time thing for most
students, as they need to work while they attend school too. In addition, they might have dorms, but this isn’t a
typical situation and only a small percentage of students actually live in
them. Most students continue to live with their families because despite what
nasty things you have to say about your apartment and landlord, those look like
options from the heavens compared to getting real estate here. Even if it’s
just an apartment...The campus doesn’t include acres of rolling hills, picnic
benches and Greek row—it’s high rises that might be scattered in a neighborhood,
or throughout the city. You don’t wake up 5 minutes before class and show up in
your sweats—you’ll probably have to take the Subte or a colectivo or do a fair
distance of walking. While there is some sense of camaraderie amongst students
about their school and studies, it’s not the kind you see at your university’s
homecoming game. It’s totally different. This is what I’ve gathered from my
daily observations as well as talking to some native students and my host
family. But school hasn’t officially started (I’m in an intensive month of
Spanish before school starts) so maybe it will seem even more different when I
begin…
I’m not a vegetarian. I’m an Argentarian.
Sunday, February 19th, 2012
After an embarrassingly late wake-up at 2:30 (hey I stayed
up til 5AM!!!) I had no idea what to do. Not wanting to get out of bed, I
picked up my Buenos Aires guidebook and started making note of interesting
things to do that were free or pretty cheap. While I wouldn’t say Buenos Aires
lacks entertainment (you could do something fun and different every day for the
rest of eternity), it’s definitely a little different than a tourist experience
in Paris, which is a city that knows it’s a tourist destination. Buenos Aires
has seen a big rise in tourism, but it’s still not the most tourist-friendly
city in that some locals treat tourists badly or places of interest seem to be
closed arbitrarily (and not like “we’re closed on Mondays” but like “we’re open
but nobody can actually come in”). It’s not that I’m necessarily only looking
for tourist stuff, but I figure it’s a good place to start so I can get better
acquainted with the neighborhoods and places of interest here. I think a lot of
places will be found simply by stumbling upon them—but on days when I’d rather
let somebody else do the stumbling, I’ll head to a museum or place of interest.
A few lazy hours had passed and my host family invited me to
go to the feria in San Isidro with
them. Anything sounded better than sitting for 5 more hours so I jumped in the
car with them. San Isidro is the area outside of Capital Federal, which is Buenos Aires proper. While there are some
sketchy areas, there are also a lot of very nice houses (houses, not
apartments). We arrived at a huge cathedral and suddenly I thought maybe I’d
misunderstood Juan. We’re not going to mass are we? He looked at me and
laughed. No way. It’s just a cool cathedral, so we popped in for a look-see.
While many Argentines are devout Catholics, there are many that aren’t
affiliated at all or are “Catholic”, and luckily my host family fits in those
categories. It’s not that I have anything against Catholics, it’s just that after
21 years of not being non-theistic, I would prefer to not start now.
Despite the feriado
(long weekend), the feria was
somewhat deserted probably due to the possible impending rain shower, so we
left to have a snack at a restaurant on the river. The Río de la Plata is the widest river in the world,
and you can certainly tell this because when you’re eating on its banks, it
feels as though you’re looking into the ocean—especially when you’re watching a
palm tree’s silhouette growing darker against the sunset. I thought I might
have been in paradise. There is nothing better than eating sweet potato fries (batatas fritas) while listening to
ambient music during the sunset. In addition to that, I continued to enjoy the
company of my host family who never ceases to make me completely carefree and
happy. But apparently there was something better than that, because we left to
have dinner elsewhere.
We were ironically (but unsurprisingly) looking for La Escondida parilla grill (escondida means hidden…) which is quite close to our apartment in Nuñez. In addition to the perfect outdoor ambiance, the food was to die for. I could have eaten an entire meal of small rolls that came with dinner, but found myself thoroughly stuffed with perfect cuts of beef that we had ordered that we washed down with a nice Malbec. It was the best dinner I’ve had in a long time and there’s tons of parilla grills in BA, but I definitely want to come back to this one.
I should probably stop and explain that after months of
learning about the food/meat industry in the U.S., I read the book, ’Eating
Animals’, and became a vegetarian in July of 2011. Everybody told me it was
stupid to be a vegetarian in Argentina because they are known for their beef. Yeah,
I know. But the beef industry in Argentina is different than how it is in the
U.S. and if you don’t believe me, read the book—you’ll refrain from meat
guaranteed. I felt like a hypocrite because in the last month and a half before
my trip I did eat meat—but this was
mostly due to the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to eat this type of food
for who knows how long. Plus, when your hot Alaskan boyfriend offers to cook
you salmon from his home state, you don’t refuse. You ask for seconds (of both…).
But in my defense, Ana never cooks with meat so I never eat it unless I’m
dining out with the intent of tasting the culture of Argentina. So I’m not a
vegetarian…I’m an Argentarian.
Fully loaded with beef, wine and bread, I was a satisfied
Nikki. While I digested my great feast, I watched the movie ‘Nueve Reinas’ (9 Queens) which is about
an Argentine con artist getting conned. It was all Argentina, as many people
here are big scammers, in addition to all the lunfardo (Porteño
slang) tossed around in the dialogue. Plus it has Ricardo Darín, and he’s
pretty much the only Argentine actor I know…
Looking
back on the day, I decided it was perhaps one of my best days yet, because in
addition to eating great food and being with my incredibly gracious,
interesting and funny hosts it seemed like the perfect day of all things
Argentina that I might not have found otherwise.
Notes on Porteño Culture #6: More food
1.
Chipas—OH MY GOD. These are little balls of
bread with the cheese baked in. THEY ARE PERFECT.
2.
Parilla/asado—These grills have all different
kinds of meats (predominantly beef). If I understood the cuts and had a menu, I
would explain them, but I’ve only eaten at one once. Best beef of my life.
Argentine beef isn’t a myth.
3.
Provoleta—Grilled cheese. Not like a grilled
cheese sandwich though. Just a straight up hunk of melted cheese that’s still
kinda solid too. It’s not that it’s gross…it’s just…why? So greasy. And you can’t
even ignore the greasiness because there’s no bread or sauce or crackers that
comes with it.
4.
Alfajore—This is perhaps Argentina’s most
deliciously sinful creation. In addition to their carb-centric diet, their
national sweet treat is the alfajore. An alfajore consists of a basic shortbread
cookie with a thick layer of dulce de leche in the center (see #2 for an
explanation of this) topped off with another cookie. Some stop there, but many
are coated in chocolate after. They are delicious. And dangerous…
5.
Polenta—This is hard to explain because it comes
in many different forms. It is a corn powder that you can cook with water to
create a paste from which many dishes can be created. It has a very mild corn
flavor and as long as you’re ok with its somewhat grainy texture, it’s pretty
good. You can have it plain (kind of like mashed potatoes), with cheese, sauce,
grilled, fried…it’s the chicken of corn.
Notes on Porteño Culture #5: Random Observations
1.
Breast-feeding isn’t a big deal here. Women just
pop it out and the kids go at it right then and there. There’s no blanket and
virtually no fuss (except maybe from the kid). While I’m not that person who
thinks it’s “wrong” to breastfeed in public (and if you are, can I remind you
of what breasts are actually for?) for me personally, I could never just expose
my entire breast in public...that and I’m still reeeeeally unconvinced I’ll ever
have kids.
2.
Unlike South Korea, makeup is really expensive
here and for no reason—it’s the same Maybellene stuff as anywhere else. Maybe
it’s imported, which =REALLY EXPENSIVE. Maybe that’s why few Porteños wear
it…and I’m not a cakeface, but jeez sometimes I feel like one here.
3.
On that note, if you have waning self esteem,
don’t come here. Tons of women are beautiful without any makeup, they have perfect
unstyled hair, incredible bodies and are really naturally tan. None of this
seems to happen due to their trying hard at it. (Well…Argentina has a lot of
issues with physical appearance in the form of eating disorders and plastic
surgery…) Meanwhile, I think about calories all day long, spend too much money
on makeup and clothes and am pasty as a Swedish princess. It’s really good for
my level of stress, which the department of homeland security would put at red.
4.
There is animal excrement everywhere. People let
their dogs ^%$# and piss everywhere—and maybe that sounds uncouth to use such
words, but it’s not pooping and peeing, because that implies that maybe it was
dignified and somebody cleaned it or it was in the grass. Nope. Whenever and wherever that dog wants to drop the load, you let
him. Nobody picks it up afterward. Nobody. Every territory is marked. Even the
tires of a car (which I witnessed a dog whizzing on). Watch your step!
5.
On that note, Argentines are washing their
sidewalks all the time. Wonder why…
6.
There is also graffiti everywhere. It doesn’t
matter if it’s a famous, fancy building. Porteños seem to view their city as an
infinite canvas. And while I’m not a fan of stupid random scrawling, there is
some pretty incredible graffiti here.
7.
You never pass the salt mano a mano—you always
set it on the table then whoever wanted it grabs it. A superstition I hadn’t
heard of.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
We've found Nemo--but where am I?
Sunday, February 19th, 2012
My alarm went off at 9am. Normally I’d hate that anyway, but this morning it was especially horrendous as I’d gone to bed at the illness inducingly late hour of 5:30am. I sludged out of bed and reluctantly woke Angela up so she could let me out of the house and we both hoped the doorman would be downstairs, otherwise she’d have to come down and let me out again. I guess that’s the downside about having doors that make it impossible to forget your keys—it traps anyone who doesn’t have their keys…
I waited for bus 59 once again (59, you are my bus indeed!). After what seemed like an unbearable, greasy, eyes-glued-together and hungover 30 minutes, I arrived home and immediately crawled back into bed (after taking out those contacts). But for some reason I couldn’t fall back asleep. I actually felt wide awake. Like I could start my day now on only 4ish hours of sleep. WHAT?! WHO IS THIS PERSON?! Anyone who knows me knows that I need a minimum of 9 hours of sleep. I am completely useless without sleep and have an embarrassingly difficult time waking up.
I thought maybe now would be a good time to watch some Family Guy, but then realized that Netflix Argentina doesn’t have it. Alright maybe Spongebob—god, just something that I don’t have to think about that will take me to my happy place. I settled on Finding Nemo. Because in addition to being a big sleepy baby, I am a big sleepy baby that likes big baby movies. The beginning always makes me cry, so I cried as I was curled up happily in my blankie. I thought I’d pass out in the first 20 minutes, but I stuck with Nemo, Marlin and Dory for the full 90 minutes. After the movie finished, I realized, hey, if Marlin, the uptight over-protective wet blanket he is can go on a huge journey and roll with the punches, I can too. I’m going to go out on more limbs here because while I’m not trying to find my kidnapped son, I am trying to find culture, adventure and my home away from home while finding friends to share this with, and spaces to share it in. And then I immediately passed out until 2:30 in the afternoon.
My Romantic Toothbrush
Saturday, February 18th, 2012
As if we hadn’t gotten enough Palermo from the day before,
we decided to make this our headquarters for the Carnival celebration,
accompanied by Angela’s “host brother” Andy and his friend Fendu. The only
problem was that we forgot the directions—knowing only that it was somewhere
along Honduras…Honduras and something with rr? But, we didn’t search all that
hard and I would assume it would be hard to miss one of the biggest parties of
the year—but we did. Instead of wandering around aimlessly or trying to ask
somebody, we just went and sat in one of the given restaurant/bars of Plaza
Serrano. While it was only about 8, we decided it was time for a beer—or rather,
8 liters of beer…
As we drank, the conversation ebbed and flowed over too many
topics to tell, and as we drank a little more, the conversation seemed to get
better and better with arbitrary, instantaneous switches from Spanish to
English (though I tried to stay mostly in Spanish mode). In my pocket of
conversation with Andy, we breached the subject of Argentine guys.
Stereotypically, Argentine guys are painted as machismo
womanizers who will stop at nothing to get you to swoon (and maybe a little
more than that…). But to their defense, can’t we agree that this is pretty much
just how men in general are sometimes…? And while I’ve heard things that
confirm this, I think it should also be noted that this isn’t the end of the
story. I got a much different picture from Andy. He indicated that it was
indeed possible for guys and girls to be friends here, as many people are worth
befriending—especially if you’ve known them for a long time, outside of the
setting where you met them in a bar. Argentina now seems to be in a place where
many guys don’t want to be machismo,
but the women distrust this. Andy told me that if, for example, he met a girl
that he thought was funny, he would try and talk to her—not for the sake of
trying to hit on her, but merely to acknowledge that she was funny and worth
talking to (because “before she is a woman, she is first and foremost a human”—says
an Argentine guy!). The woman, however, frequently feels like this is just
another attempt at sex or a piropo in disguise and has what Andy called a “supermodel
attitude” about it—even if you’re just trying to have a conversation, many
girls will assume the worst and blatantly reject you, when really, you might
just be seeking a conversation. Inadvertently, this means that women here are
objectifying themselves by jumping to that conclusion. Sure you might be an
attractive female, but you are an interesting human, too—not everybody is
trying to sleep with you, so don’t let your ego get the best of you. This was something
I’d never thought of before—women objectifying themselves by trying to prevent
being objectified by men. I think every woman has done this at some point or
another.
During this conversation, however, I had to get up and go to
the bathroom, as is the standard procedure when drinking. Things were going as
always until I noticed there was a toothbrush dispenser in the bathroom. Ok,
well, they do stay out late so I can see why a toothbrush might be handy—but these
toothbrushes were different. There were different colors of toothbrushes, each
of them meaning something different, as you can see below. No wonder everybody
is thinking about sex and romance all the time when even a toothbrush has been turned into a romantic fantasy.
After another 8 liters of beer, we knew we were hungry for
some pizza, so we headed to a pizza joint named Kentucky (what!?). While I’m
more of a thin crust person, the big doughy slices went down perfectly and
absorbed some of my sins. But then probably deposited other sins because it’s
not as though pizza is a health food by any means…
Drunk and happy filled with pizza, we laughed our way over
to the stop for colectivo 59 to take us back to Angela and Andy’s house. We
arrived to find that Angela/Andy’s host parents/actual parents were still
awake, despite that it was almost 2 in the morning. We passed the time eating a
squishy coffee/chocolate-y dessert. I began to realize my head was throbbing
somewhat. But in between moaning that we all wanted to go to bed, we
deliberated what else we should do, and decided to take the dog (aka Angela’s
boyfriend…) for a walk. The night air
was thick with a cooler humidity and had a salty air to it as though maybe I were
about to jump into the ocean…or an avocado…I’ll curl up in the void where the
seed used to reside…
And so we did go to bed—but only in the sense that the 3 of
us were merely laying on Andy’s bed while he dictated the music. Being a
proclaimed metal fan, I was surprised when he put on an IDM mix video which
started with μ-ziq’s “Hasty Boom Alert”, which was a monumental song in my high
school years. It kind of makes you wonder what a song you love means to someone
who also encountered the song, but in a completely different context, in a
completely different place. But the incredible thing about music is that has
the overwhelming ability to convey a universal message that we then personalize
into our own lives. http://youtu.be/cUBVPckOr2U
Tired of our music session we somehow found the energy to
walk to Fendu’s house where we ate some squishy Toblerone and basked in the
cool breezes of 4am. By 5 am we came back and not wanting to walk to, wait for
and travel in the colectivo alone, I stayed at Angela and Andy’s. That romantic
toothbrush came in handy after all! Now if only they’d had contact lens holders
in the bathroom too…
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Stop trying to get me fat and drunk!
Thursday, February 16th, 2012
Just like Monday, I really didn’t do that much other than
mail a letter and walk the long distance down Cabildo back to my house, so I didn't think it was worth a post, but then I remembered something worth mentioning!
When I was studying for my test, Juan poured me a
beer and I started laughing—what am I, studying like a frat guy now? Then he
realized why that was funny, but we agreed it was good so I would stop being so
stressed out and overthinking everything. His logic is flawless.
During our polenta “pancake” with unbelievably delicious
sauce dinner, he forced me to eat another pancake, which I reduced to half,
then to a quarter (then saved the rest for my lunch the next day). Sure, I would
love to have about 5 more and a bucket of that tomato sauce, but I gotta keep
up with these tiny Argentines, so I’m gonna keep it to one portion. Then after
that, he offered me a piece of chocolate. Thus I have concluded that Juan is
trying to get me fat and drunk. And you know what? I love it. He’s the coolest
non-dad dad ever. Viva la vida argentina.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo? No—The Girl with the Fork Earrings
Friday, February 17th, 2012
Today was my first exam in my Spanish class. It wasn’t hard,but it was definitely much different than what I expected, which was a boatloadof the same sentence 50 times, but in 50 slightly different versions, which isa nightmare because then everything starts to blend together. Sometimes I hategrammar, but I didn’t mind this test which was more just to see if you werepaying attention and could write a mini-essay, which I presume I can—but Iguess we’ll see about that next week.
To reward ourselves for a long week of class, Angela and I metat the Plaza Italia station to do some shopping in Palermo SoHo. We didn’treally have any particular destination in mind—we just started walking from thesubway station.
As you may have noticed, Palermo SoHo has the “SoHo”attached—this is because it is much like the SoHo neighborhood of NYC in thatthere are lots of artsy lofts here in addition to trendy boutiques and restaurants.Thus if you’re a 20 something in Buenos Aires, Palermo SoHo is the way to go.
There were countless stores filled with interesting clothes(the kind that I wouldn’t really wear and that I haven’t seen really anybodywear…). In addition to the boutiques, there are stores where thedesigners/makers of the clothes have space to sell their stuff, so each sectionof the store features a different designer. This can make trying on clothestedious, as every time you move to a new section, you have to keep track of whoseis whose and generally when you look interested in a piece, the seller willmake you try it on then or hold it for you until you’re just trying on theirpiece so it doesn’t get lost or mixed up. I didn’t have much luck until I wasin an open-air store. I got a dress, 2 skirts and a pair of earrings for ~$33USD. YEAHHHHHHHHH!!!! They’re all handmade, adorable and presumably notof a poor quality. Plus the earrings? They are forks. No pair of earrings has ever been more Nikki...
After more walking, we saw countless graffiti masterpiecesdown the alleyways (can one of you come spraypaint my house someday!?). Therewas music and chit-chat echoing throughout the streets and in the perfectlycool but thick air, the sun began to set and I thought maybe things weren’t sobad after all. And for the rest of the night, they were practically perfect asfar as I could tell*.
*Except for Angela’s dinner. Fried cheese and a “salad”comprised of 2 sun-dried tomatoes and maybe 6 pieces of lettuce drizzled withoil. Definitely not the Mediterranean masterpiece she was expecting…
Drinking in the Afternoon
Tuesday, February 14th, 2012
I forgot to mention the best part of Valentine’s Day! After
school, we had a cultural excursion to Teatro Colón—the oldest and biggest
opera house in Buenos Aires (and one of the largest in the world). We just got
a tour of it, but even seeing it makes me want to see a show there someday, no
matter the cost. It is so beautiful. I would say the photos could do it more justice
than my description, but unfortunately due to the bad lighting and my not bring
my Rebel with me, my photos are just as poor as my description, but still worth
a look.
After we parted ways with our tour guide (who looked like a
guy I know from home—Angus, do you have Argentine roots!?), Angela, Toshy and I
had a spot of munchies. We were really close to the 9 de Julio avenue and my
friend Alex had told me about a great restaurant across from the huge McDonalds
near the obelisk. So we arrived at La Rey and suddenly I felt like I was
somewhere in Times Square, not only because there was a giant McDonald’s and
traffic outside, but because this restaurant was very spacious and had huge sizes of
everything.
Looking in my wallet as I looked at the menu, I realized the
only thing I could afford was a slice of pizza and beer…classic. We all ordered
a slice and our respective alcohol choice (because alcohol was cheaper than anything
else on the menu). Being that we hadn’t eaten since lunch 6 hours ago, we
started to all get a little buzzed—especially because Angela shared her $5 USD
bottle of wine with us. We shared stories about home and had some laughs as we
felt the alcohol infiltrating our veins. This is the kind of drinking I like.I
felt warm all over because of the booze, humidity and good company. We somewhat
drunkenly staggered back to the subway station and felt a little more drunk
amongst the rush-hour crowds. It was the complete wrong time to be drunk and
giggling, but no matter. Rock me to sleep in your arms, Buenos Aires.
Later Juan had a beer with dinner and asked if I wanted some, but I told him that I'd already been drunk earlier and him and Ana looked at me like I was crazy, but happy that I finally got drunk because I still haven't gone out yet. I love having 20-somethings for my "host parents".
Later Juan had a beer with dinner and asked if I wanted some, but I told him that I'd already been drunk earlier and him and Ana looked at me like I was crazy, but happy that I finally got drunk because I still haven't gone out yet. I love having 20-somethings for my "host parents".
‘Agua y sal’, y dos medialunas
Wednesay, February 15, 2012
Today was maybe the best day of class I’ve ever had since
the days of elementary school when you still took field trips. While I am
enjoying my 6 hour days of straight Spanish (on the days when I’m not
struggling for life) it was nice to take a cultural excursion through the city.
Our professor, as I’ve mentioned before, has just as much passion for helping
us learn Spanish as she does helping us learn the culture. I found out she’s a
lit teacher, so clearly that explains it.
We waited forever to catch the colectivo and after the
longest bus ride of my life, we arrived at Los Angelitos café, which is a
historic example of the classic Argentine café. It was an exquisite,
wide-windowed place that made you stop and ask yourself where you were exactly
(Paris, NYC, LA?). The walls were covered with “old Hollywood” photographs of
Argentine celebrities. Perhaps they used to eat there. I can’t really know for
sure. In addition to the rich history, the café had some rich food too. I
ordered the equivalent of a cold submarino (chocolate was hard to stir into
that…) and 2 medialunas which are lightly grazed croissants that are just absolutely
exquisite. If you thought you liked Pillsbury’s flaky pastries, then multiply
that by 10, subtract the fake ingredients for homemade ones and add a nice
glaze. I propose that Gamma Phi Beta change its symbol from the crescent moon
to the medialuna. You still get all the moon metaphors AND they’re just so insanely delicious. Oh my god. Café con 3 medialunas is a common breakfast here—begging
the question once again, HOW IS EVERYBODY SO THIN HERE!?!?!?!
Frrom Los Angelitos, we went to a theater that showed indie
flicks. I expected to have to shell out at least $25 pesos for my ticket and
almost devolver-ed my medialunas when I heard the woman say $6 pesos. SIX PESOS
FOR A MOVIE. That’s LESS THAN $2 USD! I know we have dollar theaters back home,
but we don’t have dollar indie theaters so I was completely stoked. Hey, American theater association—if you’re wondering why everybody pirates movies
it’s probably because you charge 10x this amount. Everybody would go to the
movies again if it was $5. But I digress…
The movie we saw was an Argentine independent movie called
Agua y Sal. It’s the kind of movie whose plot is hard to explain, but the
chances of you seeing it are quite slim, so I’ll try (if I can do it in
Spanish, I think I can do it in English). The movie begins with a couple (Javier
and Micaela) on vacation, living their perfect wealthy life. Clearly they
should have little room for discontent, but that’s exactly what Javier suffers
from and he dreams of living someone else’s life. Fernando on the other hand,
works for a fishing boat and has just knocked up 17 year old Milena. He wouldn’t
mind getting out of his life either—which he presumably does after he “dies”
and his spirit somewhat comes to occupy Javier. Unable to have children, Javier
and Micaela look towards adoption and are set to adopt Fernando’s
soon-to-be-born child. Javier sees the life Fernando left behind, and while he
is enticed by the young Milena, he comes to realize that his own life is worth
living. The real kicker is that Javier and Fernando are played by the same
actor. It’s almost like Inception (a life within a life?) and especially
because at times it’s hard to know what actually happened. The metaphorical use
of the ocean was intriguing as well. A lot of people in my class seemed to
dislike the film (though admittedly because they didn’t understand it literally
because of the Spanish or metaphorically), but I found it refreshing,
interesting and it caused me to reflect upon life and I think that’s what good
movies should do. It is possible to have “the perfect life” but still be
discontented by it. I certainly feel that way in Buenos Aires sometimes. But
then again, maybe that’s how I felt when I was back home sometimes, too
(definitely not my last month though—that was just a perfect life with no
strings attached). I really hate that taking things for granted is an implicit
part of being a human no matter where or who you are.
El día de los enamorados
Tuesday, February 14th, 2012
Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!!!!!! Ok, well, I’m in Argentina,
so not really but kind of. They do celebrate it here in that they push you to
buy more flowers, some stores promote it and everybody seems to be going out to
dinner—it mostly seems like an imported holiday that isn’t very important. And
this is much to my chagrin because Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday of
all time.
EW BUT I HATE VALENTINE’S DAY BECAUSE I’M SINGLE AND YOU
ALWAYS HAVE A BOYFRIEND. VALENTINE’S DAY IS JUST AN EXCUSE FOR GREETING CARD
COMPANIES TO MAKE PEOPLE FEEL LIKE CRAP! Wrong. Yes, maybe because everybody
seems to have a boyfriend but you on this day, you feel alone and unattractive.
But that sounds like a personal problem. You have other people in your life
that you love (maybe your friends and family??) so why not take time to show
them you care? Alright, maybe nobody will show up at your doorstep with flowers
and chocolates, but that’s what you hate about this clichéd holiday anyway, so
you don’t want those to begin with. Or do you? Open your heart a little!
Everybody likes to know that they’re loved and appreciated including your best
friend and your grandma. So if you don’t have a boyfriend, put that effort to
make or write little valentines for them. I think that’s what this day is about—creativity,
thoughtfulness and love. Admittedly, I hardly put any effort into my favorite holiday this year, but I think I have a pretty good excuse and you'll be getting your postcards soon enough. Maybe it is cliché and forced, but that’s kind of what
holidays are (have you SEEN Christmas lately?!). But what do I know. I’m just a
flaming hopeless romantic.
The other crappy part of spending Valentine’s Day in Argentina
is that the person I’m completely in love with (in addition to all my friends
and family) is, oh…7000 miles away. Skype can cut this distance for 2 of the
senses, but taste, touch and smell are left to hang stagnantly on each end of
the conversation. And even sight and sound aren’t 100%. But I will settle for
the pixelated, rebuffering you because even this is more stunning than most
people I’ve ever met in real life. Distance may make the heart grow fonder, but
it also makes it a crazy, hysterical thing sometimes. So happy IreallywishyouandeverybodyelseIlovewasherebecauseeventhoughit'sgettingbetterIstillreallymissyou Day.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
MONDAYS ARE SO COOL
Monday, February 13, 2012
Today I came home and fell asleep until I was woken up for
dinner, where I ate a tarta de pasquelina (tarta with egg, pepper and a spinach
paste—so good). And then I went to sleep. That’s it. You’re thinking oh maybe
she pressed enter a bunch of times and there’s gonna be more information below.
Well there’s not. I was on level 1 in Maslow’s hierarchy. What more do you want
from me?
Ok, I lied. I bought a rose and wrote a note for my family
for Valentine’s day on the proceeding day. There, happy?
Notes on Porteño Culture #4: The Subte, colectivo and SUBE card and taxis
I’ve been to enough places now that I’d like to consider
myself an expert on riding the subway*. I have actually come to find subway
maps to be artistic and really, when you look at the names of the stops, where
they are (where they aren’t) and who’s at them, you can find out a lot about a
city and the culture of the people there. It’s a tie for best subway system
ever between Hong Kong and Korea, but I’m going to go ahead and say Asia wins
the transportation contest—they have the cleanest, most up to date and logical
subway systems I’ve ever seen. So how does BA stack up?
The Subte is the subway system of Buenos Aires. It has 6 (or
7 if you count E2) lines, of course denoted by color, that span through the 48
neighborhoods of BA. It's very comprehensive and you always know if you're going to the right train as there's lots of signage and maps. People without Spanish skills could easily find their way--and I give it a lot of credit for that. Most of the stops are conveniently located (or at least
I’m sure they’ll seem like it once I get used to where they are) and service is
fast—but if you do miss the train right after it leaves, it seems like you wait
an eternity before the next one shows up. Depending on the stop and the time of
day, the trains can be completely empty or completely full—but usually they’re
on the full side. A-line is the original line and spits you out at some of the
city’s most historic spots. Additionally, it still features some of the
original trains from back in the day, so it’s like you’re walking into a time
machine as you try and get to the Plaza de Mayo. D-line is the line I use most,
as its stop is closest to my house and gets me to most of the places I want to
go (school, Palermo, PDM, etc.). While I wouldn’t say the subway is safe
(nothing in BA is truly safe…), I think it’s a fine means of transportation
assuming the stop is conveniently located to where you’re trying to
go—otherwise, prepare to walk. I wanna say it costs around $2.75 for a one-way
trip, which is just over .50 USD. That’s pretty cheap—but at the same, if
you’re making 4 trips a day (which one often does), then you’re burning through
a lot of money. Additionally, unless you buy a lot of one way ticket passes at
once, you have to wait in line each time you travel, and often times there are
3 people working in the cajas, but
only one of them feels like being open (BA, I think it’s time for you to invest
in some ticket dispensing machines as well as more accessible multi-trip
cards…).
And this is where the SUBE card comes in. But ask any Porteño how they feel about the SUBE
card and you could get a smile or a drawn out explanation of why they hate it. Some
like it because they think it’s better than the Monedero card (I think that’s
what it’s called…?) which is a card you can put money on, thus lowering your
travel time and making everything more convenient because you never have to
worry about those pesky coins that are so rare and precious here. But they seem
to be phasing these out for the SUBE card. If you can get the elusive SUBE
card. And this is why some people hate it—not only did they just make ordering
the SUBE card a viable option in that you can order it online (before it was
that you could order it online, but when it would arrive exactly…well that was
a mystery) but really, por lo menos,
you have to wait at the post office to get it. And Correo Argentino, just like any governmentally owned institution,
is slow, there’s 1000 people in line and they all have a huge problem and when
you finally make it to the front, they run out of what you need. Also, people
have a beef with the SUBE card because you have to give personal information to
obtain one, as opposed to just getting it at the Subte station anonymously and
supposedly, some peoples’ information was leaked. But it did seem to alleviate
the coin shortages that were reeeeeally bad
in 2008 and 2009—and this is why I like it. I usually never have small change
because Argentines are freaks about change (if they saw my old coin jar back
from when I was a kid, they’d probably just die). Thank god Juan had the card
and never uses it, because he gave it to us to use. No stupid post office line
for me! At least not the SUBE line…
Theeeeeen you have el
colectivo which is a bus in BA. There’s 482 bajillion lines in the
colectivo network and unless you’re a true native, always make the same trip or
carry around your Multiguía
like a bible like I do, it’s a little more difficult to just “take the bus”.
Similar to the amount of lines in the network are the number of buses in each
line—that’s gotta be in the billions at least! The colectivo system functions
all day every day, meaning you’re never SOL at 5am and they really go
everywhere in the city. The colectivo is cheeeeeeeap. It costs $1.20 (so about
.30 USD) for my trip to school every morning—but the price of your trip depends
on how far you’re going up to $1.25 pesos, which is the maximum cost. Thus,
when you get on the bus, you have to tell the driver where you’re going so he
can charge you accordingly—and this is different than anything I’ve seen where
they charge you a standard fare. At first it seemed tedious (wouldn’t there be
a line of people waiting to say then pay?) but I’ve never seen this happen…yet…Another
thing that amazes me about the colectivo is the way they drive these things. We’re
talking 1000s of pounds of fast-moving metal filled with people weaving in and
out of traffic—that would be hard enough on an empty road—but add in cars that
don’t obey the lanes and people deciding at the last second they wanna get off
so you have to pull over and in fast—it’s incredible! The most fun part about
the colectivo is that you get to hail it the way you do a cab. “Yeah, that’s
right, bus, come get me”. It makes me feel like I’m a real Porteño.
Finally there’s the taxis. They’re yellow on top, like a NYC
cab, but the rest of it is navy blue. There are 3 types of cabs here: radio
taxis, regular taxis and taxis that are driven by “people that pretend they’re
in a taxi” according to my program advisors. Radio taxis are owned by a company
that you can call and the taxi will come get you wherever you are at whatever
time and they are regarded as the best taxi. Regular taxis are the ones you can
hail off the street and are probably legitimate, too. Pretend taxis are driven
by scam artists that try and take you on a wild goose chase, in addition to
disseminating fake $100 peso notes. I generally avoid the taxis because for
one, they can’t understand me and vice versa and for two, why the hell would I pay
a minimum $7.30 when I can take the subway or colectivo!?
*Ok, except the NYC
subway, because this is how it was built: “But sir, how will the people know if
they’re truly getting on the northbound or the southbound train?” “They’ll just
know.” “And what if they don’t speak English?” “Even if they do, it’s still
gonna be difficult.” “How many lines will there be?” “A lot. And some of
them will have 6 parts, and depending on what day and time it is, the route
will change.” “Are you going to put up lots of signs and maps in the stations?”
“No. Too much money. Make people buy the maps instead.”
¿Cómo se dice, “that is a buttload of trinkets!”?
Sunday, February 13, 2012
Sunday is a great day for ferias (fairs). Last Sunday, we’d visited 2 fairs briefly on our city tour in San Telmo and Recoleta so Angela and I made plans to return to these places and see what treasures we could find. But before we met, I had to take the subway. And while they are great for fairs, Sundays are also great for the streets and subways to be completely empty.
Congreso de Tucumán is the last stop on the D line, and while it’s still a 15 minute walk from my house, it’s the closest one to me. After just narrowly missing the train while coming down the escalator, I had to wait for a very lonely 7 minutes for the next train to come. When the train finally did come, all its passengers disembarked (because it’s the last stop), leaving me free to pick whatever seat I wanted amongst the few other people getting on the train too. Thus I found it incredibly odd when a younger woman sat down right next to me. Really? An empty train and you’re gonna sit right there? I got that leery feeling that I seem to carry with me all the time in this city. Because if somebody is that close to you, it’s either because your mode of transport is packed, you’re having a conversation, or something fishy is going on. She asked me for directions to somewhere and the feeling grew stronger as we’ve been told to never stop when someone asks for directions. We look like foreigners—why would you ask us for directions unless you weren’t actually looking for anything but our wallet? (Do you see how they’ve brainwashed us?! I can’t even give anyone directions…even if I did actually know where anything was, which I don’t). But after that, she kept to herself. The feeling grew again, however, when a man got on the trainand sat across from me, simply reading a book. This wasn’t strange until, out of nowhere, he came and sat next to me. Again, the train was still mostly empty and we were mid-transit, so it was completely nonsensical. Despite the fact that he was reading Foucault, I was about to get up and scream. This had to be a scam. WHY DID YOU JUST COME SIT NEXT TO ME? I deliberated getting off the train and switching cars, but then the Foucault-reading fellow got off at the next stop. STOP PLAYING GAMES WITH ME, ARGENTINES!!!
I finally arrived at my meeting place with Angela just as she was coming across the intersection. We walked towards the Plaza de Mayo and decided to stop in at the Casa Rosada because we saw that there were tours going on. But it wasn’t so simple. We had to buy tickets and wait in line and all the nonsense that comes with tourism and or bureaucracy. So we merely enjoyed the front lobby area and took some pictures with some abundantly "flirty“guards”.
We finally arrived at the San Telmo fair on Calle Defensa and it was literally all trinkets as far as the eye could see. Arts and crafts,jewelry, food, clothing, accessories, toys, antiques, books, strange and useless junk—everything you’d imagine a fair to have. We walked for what felt like a hundred blocks amongst hundreds of tourists and artisans alike. And while there were a million things to buy, I hardly felt like buying anything. Not because they weren’t “worth it” or I didn’t find them appealing, but merely that I’m going to be here for so long that unless something really struck me, Iwasn’t going to buy it—I need to save my money. I know for sure this will bethe place to get my souvenirs for people before I leave, but until that time, I could hold off. Plus, after visiting South Korea, I think I got a little jaded with accessory offerings at street fairs, so I'm pretty hard to impress…
The one purchase I did make was my mate and bombilla. Mates are sold everywhere, but I’m not really a fan of their classic look and I’m still surprised the mate market hasn’t exploded, offering hundreds of styles and colors to suit everyone’s mate attitudes (think of the water bottle market in the US—there’s millions to choose from!). But the stand I purchased mine from had a unique spin on the drink holder, and I couldn’t resist. I named him Boo, as the word for owl in Spanish is búho
I still needed a bombilla, however, and spotted a leather/mate store whose owner couldn’t have been a bigger fanatic about leather and mate. Perfect. He enthusiastically told me about each of the bombillas they had and why only about 2 of them were actually worth buying. Hewas the type of guy you’d wanna talk to for hours and would probably invite you to his house so you could do so; he was the type of guy who’d ask you your sign—and he did. Before leaving for this trip, I used to think about the type of people I’d meet, and for some reason I think I imagined lots of Porteños being like this guy. In away I was right, because all of them are nuts—just not always in the good way sometimes…
We finally reached the end of the market (400 blocks later…) and came to the conclusion that we probably needed to head home before it got dark. We consulted the map and realized that we were close to the last station on the C line, so we headed to what we thought was the obviously placed station. We stumbled around looking for the station and had trouble finding it. While I wasn’t freaked out, I was noticing that this part of San Telmo wasn’t the type of place you wanted to be in past dark. It was the kind of place even pigeons might say “I don’t wanna land there!”. The Constitución station was pretty sketchy too, but we stuck to our bags and conversation in Spanish and todo pasaba bien. No weirdos reading Foucault this time…
El Tigre, La Langosta...
Saturday, February 11th, 2012
Today was our first excursion to the river delta to an area
called El Tigre. We ferrocarriled then ferried for about an hour and a half to
get to our bayou-esque destination. The whole time on the ferry I felt like I was
in the south and I had that strange, but giddy feeling that any other traveler
knows: “WHERE AM I? Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m traveling”. We all
found it strange that this seemed to be a “vacation from a vacation” and that
we’d only been in Buenos Aires for a week, yet we were already dying to get
out.
We docked and within 20 minutes I was squishing around in
the brown water. Though it’s not brown from pollution (merely the fact that it’s
in a delta as well as the constant churning of the shallow water mixing with
sand) I wouldn’t say it was entirely clean, but I tried to ignore this as the
water washed over me. The “ocean” floor was very very squishy and I realized
quickly that this was because the bottom of it was mostly a clay-like material.
We dug up a big ball of it and coated ourselves in a mud bath. Maybe there were
only heavy metals in there, but I’d like to pretend that it cleansed my skin…The
perfect weather was cleansing too, and I can’t remember the last time I’d been
in such perfect weather in a perfect place. I could spend paragraphs describing
the environment and ambiance, but I think only a photo can do it justice. And
so the day unfolded as such:
Bur our time in paradise was shortlived, and by 3:30, we
were leaving, heading to Puerto de Frutos. Puerto de Frutos can best be
described as an outdoor trinkets market as they have everything ranging from
toys and jewelry to home décor. There’s a little bit of everything there. But
nothing seemed to be for me and I refrained from purchasing anything, hardly
exercising any restraint. Ok, fine, I bought a lemon popsicle. And oh how the
sweet chill tickled my tongue. And it was a good thing it was so tasty, as by
this point in the day I was so sunburned, I really considered holding the
popsicle on my red lobster-colored shoulders.
While I’d thought the day couldn’t get any better, when we
stopped for our merienda, I realized there was even more to look forward to. We
ate our snack at an adorable restaurant that looked like a perfect lodge on the
coast. We could see the ocean from where we ate, in addition to a grassy park
filled with palm trees, Argentines enjoying mate, and the soothing sounds of
people strumming on guitars. Additionally, we had a stunning (albeit hazy) view
of Buenos Aires, as we still weren’t back in the city. While it might not be as
famous or distinguishable as the New York skyline, it still inspired a lovelorn
stare and I paused to reflect upon the fact that somewhere in that collection
of buildings, my life was unfolding and would continue to unfold for the next few
months. I wish this place was closer, as I gained a piece of mind there that I haven’t
found anywhere else in this city yet.
As we rolled back into the city, tired and sunburned, all I could
think of was how strange it seemed that a perfect day was so jam packed with
activities, yet I really felt as though I did nothing at all—save for enjoy myself
and soak up some sun.
Nikkilude #4: Didn't this already happen freshman year?
Everybody in my program seems to be going out to the bars
all the time. I have yet to go to one because every single day since I’ve
gotten here I’ve had to wake up at 8am or earlier, I have class and we’ve had
an excursion every weekend so Friday and Saturday were shot and those are my
going out days. Perhaps you’re thinking, well hey, that’s still maybe 6 hours
of sleep, live a little! Ok, ok, in due time. I’m still a little cracked out on
sleep, and in case you forgot, sleep is right up there with eating, breathing
and getting enough water (and I’m actually a real life version of sleeping
beauty so I’m all about sleep). Not to mention the whole culture of going out
is radically different in Argentina.
While you kiddos are cracking a beer and pouring your
chasers, the Argentines are eating dinner. While you get more intoxicated, the
Argentines get a little sleepier and take a nap until 12ish. While you get
tired, too drunk and people start leaving the party, Argentines are just
starting to show up. By the time you’re asleep, the party is just getting
started. And that’s not just because of the time difference here. If you go out,
you may be committing to an evening that doesn’t end until upwards of 5 to 6 in
the morning. I’m a night owl, so sure, I could probably do it. But on a school
night? I don’t wanna sound like a nerd, but I just don’t see how that’s gonna
happen. I already wanna puke when I wake up as it is, and I know for a fact I’d
be skipping class to keep sleeping. With or without drinking. I’ll let it
happen once or twice, but just like college back home, I’m paying good money to
do this and academics are probably my top priority of all, so skipping isn’t an
option. The good news seems to be that Argentines aren’t all about binge
drinking—sure they emborrarcharse, but I don’t think there’s as much puking,
blacking out and crying here…They seem to be more concentrated on dancing and
having a good time amongst friends, enjoying the social atmosphere of the club.
The Americans, on the other hand, seem to act like loud, drunk idiots…In
addition, Argentine guys (just like most other guys…) can be really gross and
aggressive, so I don’t look forward to the horrible pickup lines (called
piropos) and constant requests (indirect, but also direct) for sex. It’s funny,
because in the US, we counteract this behavior by saying “I’m not a piece of
meat!” but the Argentines are so obsessed with beef, that’s exactly what they
compare you to. Literally.
On a personal note, this is basically the same problem I faced
freshman year—everybody was going crazy and making friends based on going
out, while I was on the opposite spectrum looking to get educated, cultured and
make intimate friends. Call me a loser if you want, but I just don’t like to
“party” all the time. For me, it’s usually a redundant form of entertainment
and it’s just not that interesting to me night after night. I only like to
party with people I know in smaller environments because I’m too bothered by
how people behave at large parties. I know with alcohol you’re supposed to let
go, but I don’t have very many inhibitions as it is (if you couldn’t tell by this
blog). And all the inhibitions that I do hold onto when I’m drinking are things
that I’m not willing to compromise on. I’m never going to be the girl that went
home with some guy and doesn’t know what happened. Not only that, but this isn’t
a frat party culture, so I’m not about to get totally drunk when people who
live here aren’t really doing the same thing when they go out. It’s week 2, and
I’m already hearing stories of people getting into cars with drunk, random
Argentine guys and inviting them into their host family’s house. Nothing bad
happened, but still that’s probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard and it’s a
good way to ensure that something awful does happen. Don’t get me wrong, I do
enjoy a good inebriation session and you guys know what fun I am when I’m drunk…but
I’m not about to go out with a huge group of American students. But I think I’m
honing in on my going out group and we’ll see about our adventures soon…
Monday, February 13, 2012
Queen and Quilmes
Friday, February 10th, 2012
The last block of Cabildo before my house looked strange.
Then I realized it was because there was a power outage. These are standard in
BA especially during the summertime when everybody is blasting their AC. I came
home and started writing (gotta feed my baby birds back home!), but realized
that the battery on my laptop was going to last no more than an hour. Once I powered
down, I heard Red Hot Chili Peppers coming from the living room and knew that
Juan was up to something (Juan is my host “dad”—he would have been 7 when I was
born so I’m calling him “my Juan” from now Juan—get it, cause it sounds like “from
now on” and his name is Juan!? Sorry, I’m not fluent enough in Spanish to make
puns and play with the language like that yet, so I’m taking it out on you).
His laptop was full of life and he was blasting some good tunes to pass the
time since we were without power. He poured us each a glass of Quilmes and we shared about what
types of music and artists we liked, as well as him noting some important
Argentine artists. It was the classic scenario where you’d want a beer and it
was absolutely delicious. I showed him some classic liquid drum and bass (my
favorite type of music) and the token “chill” music I listen to as well. He
seemed intrigued by it as dnb isn’t actually popular anywhere except the UK
(sometimes I fear it will take the same ill-fated course as dubstep, but I think
dnb isn’t simple enough to do that). The last song we listened to was Queen’s “Bohemian
Rhapsody”, which has held a special place in my heart since my days of watching
Wayne’s World every day after school in kindergarten. Freddie Mercury, you are
loved everywhere.
At some point during our conversation about music, the power
came back on and we ate some of the best pasta I’ve had in a long time. The
sauce was pre-prepared like we have in the US, but it was 100% better than
Prego. The pasta had the perfect texture in that it was firm, but soft all at
the same time. But there was some ‘crema’ on the table too, and I was a little
confused as to what to do with it. But then I saw my host family drop a few
spoonfuls onto their pasta so I followed suit. OH MY GOD. We have every other
type of sauce in the US, so why do we not have this!? It’s cream, to be sure,
but not like the cream you’d put in coffee. It’s way more watered down. Plus,
Argentines seem to incorporate it into dishes all the time, like they did
tonight. Once again—how is everybody not fat? Que rico. My host family gave me
the “uhh…it’s just pasta with prepackaged sauce…calm down” face, and didn’t
seem to believe that I thought it was so good, but I could eat that every night
for dinner and wouldn’t mind eating it again soon…
Friday at Freddos
Friday, February 10th, 2012
TGIFF (you can figure out that extra ‘f’ I’m sure). While Friday’s class was actually
functional, it was an even longer day than Thursday, as we had our “cultural
orientation” with a guy from the US embassy as well as a talk with a
psychologist who has strong roots in BA and the US, so she actually understands
how we feel and the cultural discrepancies.
The presentation from the embassy was exactly what you’d
expect. Lots of Q&A about the foreign service. On a side note, everybody I’ve
ever met in the foreign service always talks about how complicated and nearly
impossible it is to get in---yet they’re always the “average Joe” kind of guy
and say, “I dunno how I got in!”. Maybe I should join the foreign service,
because it seems like all the narcissists obsessed with how smart they think they
are about politics, foreign culture and diplomacy (see my entries from NYC last
April…) don’t actually get in.
Something else that struck me about the presentation,
however, was how much emphasis was placed on how at risk we really are to be
mugged. Every slide was basically a reinforcement of our risk and what we
needed to do in that situation. I was already horribly terrified because everything you read about BA makes huge
note of the fact that you’ll probably get pickpocketed at some point either
directly (“mustard trick” and “See the knife? Now give me the money”) or
indirectly (you weren’t paying attention on the subway). I’ve “traveled a lot”
and despite all the horror stories I’ve heard, I’ve luckily never had to deal
with any of that anywhere I’ve been. But I think BA really has the potential to
change that. Crimes against tourists have increased 30-50% in the past 6 months
alone. Not to mention that BA still just isn’t a huge tourist destination. You
can’t blend in with other tourists the way you can in NYC or Paris. They seem
to not want tourists to come here. On that note (sorry to tell you this, mom),
a French tourist resisted when he was being mugged and he was stabbed and died
on Wednesday of this week as a result of his injuries. Luckily 95% of incidents
are non-violent here. The embassy emphasized that resisting in an economic
crime is never worth it. And while this only gives criminals more power (if you
knew your victims were highly encouraged to submit to your whims, wouldn’t you
get a little more ruthless?) it gives some relief to know that most people
really only want your wallet—they’re probably not going to rape and kidnap you
for an outrageous ransom.
But the thing is, you can’t really predict what you’d do in
a situation where somebody was mugging you. In theory I’d of course give up the
wallet and be terrified, but at the same time, I think everybody’s first
instinct before that is to resist a little. Also, there’s the fact that
resisting can be OK sometimes. A few girls noticed they were being followed by
a man, so they went into a store while he was waiting for them outside. The
girl made a really bold move and told him to f--- off and he ended up leaving right
then and there. The same girl got accosted at a bus stop, and her roommate
yelled “levantate!” (which means “stand up!” in Spanish, and clearly is not
what you’d say to somebody robbing you) because she was so freaked out she
messed up her words, but he actually ran away. Said girls have been here for a
month and they’ve already dealt with this problem twice…And in these
situations, it’s hard to say what could have happened had they not taken a
stand. I’d like to think I would have pulled off some slick move, but I
probably would have just panicked. And while both men and women are victims of
this behavior every day, being a small, foreign female makes me a huge target
and I hate that because of factors I have no control over I’m automatically at
risk. Even using the buddy system is no guarantee. All I can do is be vigilant,
try and blend in and minimize attention drawn to me (that’s why I dyed my hair
brown). That being said, I really hope nothing will ever happen to me, or if it
does, it’s the kind where I get mugged without noticing—because were someone to
pull a knife on me, I wouldn’t get over it for a long time.
The discussion with the psychologist was a good one, as we
voiced our concerns and asked questions to understand what to do or feel in situations
we’ve encountered here. Additionally, she responded in a really straight-up and
informal matter, so it felt like specific, honest information instead a bunch
of vague mumbo-jumbo. Much of what I learned from this discussion was expressed
in my entry, Notes on Porteño
Culture #3. Read it if you’re interested.
Fiiiiiiinally,
after hours of feeling absolutely terrified, we reluctantly took to the streets
to walk to Freddo, an “authentic” Argentine ice cream parlour. After we figured
out the somewhat confusing menu (ok, we still didn’t really figure it out,
because I have no idea what their policy on toppings is) we ordered. Mine
immediately started melting and I made a fool of myself—especially because it
was double chocolate. But I didn’t mind having to lick it off my hands and
fingers because it was really delicious. Argentine ice cream is in this happy
medium between gelato and American ice cream. It’s not totally squishy and soft
like gelato, but it’s not icy and hard like American ice cream. I gotta get a
gym membership if I wanna keep eating this shit…HOW ARE ALL YOU
ARGENTINES SO THIN!? And there’s literally 10 things to eat here so it’s not
like “oh, eat some empanadas in moderation”. Every meal seems indulgent,
especially when it comes to sweets. I’m walking a lot and I hope that will be
enough until school starts and I can play some sports…
Angela
and I parted ways and once again I had errands on Cabildo for Tupperware and
flip flops. After an incident where both my yogurt and peach spilled all over
my backpack, I decided it was time to invest in some lunch materials. I still
have yet to encounter sandwich bags, plastic wrap and tin foil so Tupperware it
is! But before I bought the Tupperware I had to get some flip flops. After
dishing out $12 USD for some Havaianas (I don’t care if they’re
Brazilian—they’re FLIP FLOPS and there’s nothing special about them at all. At
least put some rhinestones or something
on there), I stopped at a kitchen store. I had to put my backpack in a locker
and after I paid, I got my backpack and continued up Cabildo. Something didn’t
feel right…THE FLIP FLOPS!!! The bag they came in was red just like the
locker, and because I’d owned them for exactly 5 minutes, they didn’t register
in my “things that I should be carrying” checklist. I’d already walked 3
blocks, but I turned around and ran back to the store, knowing there was a 100%
chance they’d be gone. Argentines steal from you directly, so why the hell
wouldn’t they take flip flops sitting in a locker? I said a breathy hello to
the security guard “nos vemos de nuevo” I saw that #8 was unlocked, so maybe
nobody had used it in the time I’d been gone. I opened it and THE FLIP FLOPS
WERE THERE! QUE SUERTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That seriously never happens. Even in
the US, you’re usually SOL if you do something like that. I was pissed off at
my own stupidity and forgetfulness (good thing my head’s attached to my body…),
but so relieved that they were still there even though I resented them. I’m one
lucky pretend-Porteño!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Tangled in Tango
Thursday, February 9th, 2012
Spanish class today passed like frozen molasses. For some
reason casi nadie understood anything at all and we fumbled for words more than…idk
some football player that fumbles the ball at lot…I don’t watch sports…it was
awful. Usually, I would say my daily Spanish is about at a 70%, in that I understand
that much and can express myself 70% of the time, but today that 30% was
reeeeeeally apparent. Most of the rest of the class had gone out the previous
night and were hungover, but what was my excuse? The only solution was a siesta
that I didn’t want to come out of.
Luckily Tonya politely woke me up for our tango lesson and I
pulled myself together in 10 minutes. It’s not that I don’t care what I look
like here, because I definitely do—it’s just that all my attempts to prove this
seem futile and I feel very unattractive most of the time because my hair isn’t
cooperating (and it’s brunette—sorry, but Nikkiness is blonde), my skin
is greasy, all my makeup rubs off and I feel 20 pounds heavier than most women
here even though I’m small. Ok, and sure I could rely on my personality, but
that is even harder to express because of the lack of my language skills to do
so (plus I haven’t figured out how to speak Spanish in my Brooklyn/Jersey accent…and
if you know me, you know this is a problem). I know I sound like such a self-conscious
“girl” right now, but this society (and every other society) is incredibly obsessed
with appearance and I have little control over mine versus the way I do back
home. And I’m not necessarily telling you this because you need to know, but
because I’m trying to document my entire trip—and many parts of this trip have
dealt with my preoccupation with my unflattering appearance and how I struggle
to be myself 100% because I don’t look like myself, don’t talk like myself, don’t
think like myself and don’t feel like myself. I don’t feel lost, I just feel
dissatisfied.
We showed up in style at La Viruta milonga (tango club). Our
teacher was an unbelievably tiny woman that danced like a flexible leaf and her
comical counterpart who seemed just as small as she did. Tango works like this:
you start with a slide to the right on your right and move back left-right then
cross the left leg over the right, then slide left with left then close with
right. Sound confusing? Eh, it’s simple enough. Every step is with the opposite
foot, just like when you’re walking. In addition, there are specific placements
for the hands of each dancer in relation to their partner’s body. Like all
other dancing, the man leads so if you don’t know what you’re doing, just find
a guy that does know. None of the guys in ISA knew, so it looked like a bunch
of drunk 7th graders trying to dance for the most part. I think I’d
much rather dance with someone who knew what they were doing, or just leave all
the dancing up to some pro tango dancers at a show or a popular milonga. More
on tango later…
After tango, Angela and I wandered around Palermo “SoHo”
(yeah, like SoHo in NYC because it’s the “cool” area of BA). Palermo Soho is
adorable. Every shop is photoworthy because of its cute logo, cool merchandise
and interesting decoration/layout. It also looks expensive, but we didn’t
really have the time or money to explore too extensively, as our sights were
set on getting empanadas. More on Palermo Soho later…
ME GUSTAN MUCHO LAS EMPANADAS CAPRESES! If you like Hot Pockets,
you’d absolutely have a foodgasm over these things. No wonder they’re
everywhere. Another foodgasm inducing item for me is Nutella—which I happened
to finally encounter at a large grocery store in Palermo. If you kept up with
my previous grocery adventure, you know I was quite dissatisfied with the
selection and size of grocery stores. This store, however looked like a real
grocery store from the US and I thought maybe they would have PB or Nutella…of
which we found both…for $28 pesos (~$7 USD) which is soooooo expensive. But I need
something for my sandwiches during the week, so $7 it is. My hopes for the rest
of the store were not met, however. Somehow this grocery store was exactly like
every other one—the only difference was that instead of having 2 kinds of
cookies, pasta, salsa, yogurt and crackers, they had 10 kinds. The diversity
was still low, meaning my quest for the perfect lunch was still a lost cause.
But the grumbling in my stomach was nothing compared to the
crumbling in my heart. Against all the rules I made a long time ago about this
trip, I left the country hopelessly in love with someone that I can only
describe as my love at first sight; someone I was always oddly destined to be
with despite how the timing always seems to be wrong. This was no fling or
something I was willing to throw away. Living with him the month before I left
didn’t help either. Before I left, we’d decided that we’d stay in touch but not
“be together” so as to not limit my experience or create the potential for a
volatile situation between us. Easier said than done. Because we forgot that in
order for it to be so casual, we’d have to not be in love in the first place.
And I don’t know if you’ve ever had to make yourself, tell yourself, force
yourself to fall out of love with somebody that, other than being 1000s of
miles away, has absolutely no flaws, but it’s completely impossible. This in
addition to the effects of culture shock and general homesickness made me
somewhat hysterical when I laid in bed at night. Each day was a new scenario
where we’d want to be together, but somebody was unsure if that was right and
we’d say we had to stop but then keep talking. And this was probably even more
unbearable than the culture shock. We had to make our final decision and I was
terrified…But we decided to try it. Being together under extreme circumstances
sounded better than being apart under the same circumstances. And I couldn’t be
happier.
The fact remains that I probably will end up here for 10
months, it will be difficult, Skype will get old, we might question if this is
right, we could meet other people—but the other fact remains that each day is
only a day and that every relationship has the potential to face hardships no
matter where its occupying couple resides (together, apart, in Buenos Aires and
Middle of Almost Nowhere, USA…). Maybe you think this is a silly decision, that
it will hold me back, but then I’d
have to ask you just what exactly do you think I’d be missing out on? For one,
now that I’m not miserable without him, I can spend time having fun, rather
than being depressed in my room. And I know that when I do come back home, he’ll
be “there” and I can tell him about my adventures or simply just know that he’s
existing out there somewhere in the world and I love him. There’s a significant
time difference and we’re both really busy so it’s not like Skyping all the
time would be possible; we both know that we’ll have separate lives that may
encompass activities or people that the other isn’t entirely sure of, but we’ll
have to trust in each other and we do. And as alluring as making out with
random foreign strangers sounds, it actually sounds gross, dangerous and stupid—especially
given the bad rap Argentine guys have on this front—I’m not interested in this.
I definitely want to see this part of culture and figure out Argentine guys and
give them a run for their money, but I don’t think sacrificing
something I want to have for a long time for something insignificantly “cultural”
is worth it at all. You can judge me all you want or criticize my decisions and
think I’m stupid and that we’ll break up in two weeks. You could be right—but you’re
fighting an uphill battle against my heart, and I must warn you that while the
rest of me may be weakened by my situation, it only pumps harder and has been
acutely aware of its predisposition to love from the first day of Kindergarten
(you know who you are, N.A.); not only that but you’re fighting against my
feelings for this particular person. Good luck. Because I adore him;
consequently I’m coming to adore BA. I used to think I couldn’t travel and love
(my two greatest passions) at the same time, but then I realized trying to
predict anything about travel or love is futile.
All day long I worry about getting my purse stolen, but I try
not to worry about you, because I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my
heart). I am so in love with you no matter where I am. Though certain locations are better than others...
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