Donde esta la Juana?

After surviving a near fatal taxi ride, with a driver who had to be absolutely nuts (it became very apparent when Julia called him out on endangering our lives and he asked us if we were afraid of death), we arrived in front of Ciudad Cultural Konex, Sarmiento 3131, to see Juana Molina perform.

The venue is quite remarkable. The building must have been an old commercial warehouse or something comparable. We entered into a large courtyard with Argentines hanging out, dangling from long swings which hung from the framework of the edge of the building and saw the huge industrial steel orange staircase, as if an installation from some modern art exhibit. After crossing the plaza/courtyard towards the bar, we walked into the open concrete building which holds the stage. Patrons were awaiting the next act, a fellow by the name of Gabo Ferro. We walked up alongside the stage and sat down next to our company to watch the show in the bottom level of this empty concrete parking structure. Ill skip Ferro, for he wasn't the reason we went.

Molina uses a crazy set up of three synthesizers stacked to one side, an acoustic guitar and multiple effects peddles-- the primary one is used to record and loop different sounds. Molina sings magically dreamy and uplifting songs. The amazing thing is being able to see her create these mini symphonies from her "wall of sound" right before an audience. Formally a successful actress in a sitcom/comedy bit, it's quite apparent why she left all that to pursue music. She is her music, and her music is her.

But dont take it from me. Watch her own explanation:

Molina deserves lots of recognition because of her ability to create and capture little snippets of life's beautiful moments and interpret them musically. I loved the concert and Im really glad to have found out about her. She can be a bit experimental for some, but I hope you all enjoy it. Check out her myspace as well.

The Thelonious

For the third time in the last three weeks that Sarah and I have been in Buenos Aires, we went to Thelonious Jazz Club last night, on Salguero and Guemes. And for the third time in the three weeks that we've been here, I'm glad we went. Thelonious is, quite literally, a hole in the wall; it's easy to walk right past the narrow staircase leading up to the first floor of the corner building. The place is dimly lit and slightly dingy in the sort of way you'd want a jazz club to be. The paint is starting to peel off the high walls in some places, and the streetlamps shine through the dusty windows. The club is long and L shaped with a bar running the length, opposite the seven or so small tables, up to the stage. The drinks are strong and the choices plenty. I cannot avoid the wonderful mojito, for $13 which may sound expensive, but after two of those, you're good. And that's a helluva lot cheaper than a drink in the states. The entrance is generally between $10 and $20, depending on who's playing.

Its also a good idea to reserve a table or bar seat, as there is fairly limited seating, unless you don't mind standing or sitting, either on the stairs up to the ladies room, or on the floor in front of the stage, which is where I situated myself last night to see and hear Guillermo Klein y Los Gauchos.

What a show! It began a bit slowly, easing the audience into the world of the composer. But after the first two compositions, things picked up a bit. After the intermission, the second half was even more open and free, with more of a sense of improvisation. The songs were full of feeling and seemed to float through the air; they pushed and pulled as the band slowed down and sped up, often within the same composition. Mark, an American we've met along the way, who joined us last night, later referred to the music as "cerebral jazz."

Guillermo Klein spent seven years in New York, and is now living in Barcelona (hey look at that, two of my favorite cities, not including Bs As of course) and has recorded four albums with the Gauchos over the last ten years or so. He also studied music at the Berklee College of music, in Boston. Klein, in addition to some vocals, plays the piano. The Gauchos are made up of alto sax, trumpet, some ocassional electric keyboard, drum kit, additional percussion, and the electric bass. You can hear what the NY Times wrote about him/them here.

Another fantastic show, and another reason for me to return to what has quickly become a favorite activity of mine, watching a live jazz show at Thelonious.
Stay tuned, Sarah and I are seeing another show, Juana Molina, a little-known phenom tomorrow night.

Politics & Sushi...

Are not really related. But before delving into the subject of Argentine politics, I wanna give a quick shout-out to the fabulous sushi we had last night at Moshimoshi (Ortega y Gasset & Soldado de la Independencia.)

We started with some delicious cocteles... mine included a list of ingredients that sounded totally dubious in combination - sake, green tea, apple juice, honey, and mint - but it was amazing. The sushi itself was fantastic, fresh, and creative (langostina tempura roll coated with cornflakes) and even the old Bs As standby, the Philadelphia roll, was exceptional. The restaurant itself was well-styled, both modern and warm, with a fashionable and groomed clientele that reminded me of my UCLA days and nights out in Beverly Hills. AND, the waitress actually asked us - on two separate occasions - if we were enjoying our food, an almost unheard of occurence here in Bs As.
As a sidenote, that is actually something I love about restaurants here, you can enjoy your food and chat without constant interruptions from a waiter/waitress asking if you're ready to order before you've even opened the menu, asking to take away your plate if you set down your fork for just a minute... But I digress.

The real point of this post was meant to be the presidential election tomorrow in Argentina. I really don't know enough about the politics behind each candidate to comment (the last time I tried to discuss the election with a friend from Argentina, it went something like this: "So who are you voting for on Sunday?" "I don't know, probably I won't go." "Really? What about Cristina?" "Uyy, it makes me sick, let's change the subject.")
So I'll stick to what I do know: how they look. The forerunner here is the current first lady, Cristina Kirchner (and by forerunner, I mean that by all accounts she already has it in the bag.)



The first thing you notice about Cristina is - well, the copious amount of mascara she wears. Does she not have a team of handlers and stylists to say, "Che, Cristina, take it easy on the mascara"? But, en serio, I think it is very cool that in Argentina female politicians are allowed to look feminine and even sexy, and not forced into the obligatory Janet Reno haircuts and bland powersuits of the women of Capitol Hill.
Although, as a feminista, I have to wonder: Is it just two sides of the same coin?
There's a lot more to be said on that topic... I find myself wondering how we can casually discuss the machismo in South American cultures like it has nothing to do with us, while we are the ones who devote entire articles in serious newspapers to Hillary Clinton's cleavage.
But I'll save that tangent for my master's thesis, or something.

Here's a final thought on politics, courtesy of an anonymous Buenos Aires street artist:

Ride Of My Life

Last night, we celebrated Sarah's birthday. We began the night at our friends hostel, drinking and sharing travel stories with other wanderers such as ourselves. At the stroke of midnight we all sang happy birthday in at least three different languages. I made a speech too. Something about how I've known Sarah since we were 12 and how she's becoming a woman.

Sarah had ganas to dance to some hip-hop at a club, and so, our adventure unfolded. Our crew (me, Sarah, the three Swedish ladies, Julia, and a gang of five Swedish dudes) caught taxis all the way out to Puerto Madero, to go to Asia de Cuba club. Unfortunately, the entry was like $50 so we all vetoed that idea, and instead headed back over to Palermo to check out hip-hop night at Lost (Club Araoz). We hailed three taxis, Julia (in her fabulous Spanish) instructed all three drivers on how to get there, we split up and hopped on in. Thus began the ride of our lives.

We sped off into the Buenos Aires night--I think I had Ellie, Sarah, and Julia in my cab, but I was squished in the front and couldn't turn all the way around to see. The driver, in celebration of Sarah's birthday asked us if we liked to sing. Of course, we said. So, he deejayed the best cab ride of my life. We were singing "I can't get no satisfaction, no no no" at the top of our lungs, dancing and waving around, and each time we pulled up to a light, alongside our compatriots in their own cabs, we would roll down the windows and rock it, baby. We sang along to many greats, including Superfreak, I Will Survive, Sex Machine, probably more. What a riot. All whilst driving 120 km down broad city streets. We brought the party with us, and that by far, was the greatest cab ride in my 23 years.

The rest of the night was a success too. Sarah got that craving for some rowdy hip-hop taken care of, and like every night here, it was unforgettable. Tonight, sushi?
Happy Birthday Sarah )

Moscas en la casa...

I think I have discovered a downside to wonderful Buenos Aires - the mosquitos. These are not really your average, run of the mill North American mosquitos that you occasionally see while camping or barbecuing in the backyard in the summertime, the ones that keep away at the hint of a citronella candle or a little spritz of Off. No. These are huge, crazy, aggressive mosquitos who would feel right at home in The Birds or When Animals Attack, etc.

We basically live in fear of them and when one of us spots one inside the apartment, we get a half-crazed, intent look in our eyes and disregard whatever conversation/activity we were previously involved in. Then we stagger around, climbing on furniture and throwing whatever happens be on hand at the wall/ceiling in an attempt to kill the mosquito, shouting frantic instructions and encouragement to each other.
I know this is a really boring blog post, and I promise more exciting ones to come, but I am seriously confused by this. How the heck do so many mosquitos live in such a completely urban environment? AND how do the Argentines deal with it so well? You never see them with huge ugly welts all over their legs, swatting crazily at the air at sidewalk cafes, or jumping up after two minutes of sitting in the grass at a park only to discover you have 17 new bites to show off.

I know it's only going to get worse as Spring turns into Summer, so I have to know - what is the secret for surviving the mosquitos of Buenos Aires??

P.S. Cheers to you if you know & love the song "Moscas en la casa..." Shakira Shakira!

The Swedish Thing

Last night we went out with some of my favorite people in the whole world, the Swedish girls I met in Chile last summer. We went to Niceto Club (5510 Niceto Vega in Palermo.) I don't know if it was the American dj, Diplo, or if Niceto is always like this, but it was overflowing with expats and tourists. The only ones speaking Spanish (it seemed) were behind the bar.
The club itself was nice enough, good music, a friendly crowd, BUT we were definitely charged the "tourist price" when it came to ordering drinks... a vodka tonic for $17 pesos!?!
It was a very fun night anyway. It ended in perfect Latin American style, with a guy from Costa Rica telling me and Angie that he was really un buen chico and we should let the other Swedish girl, Elly, go home with him - while he put a hand on our asses. Ah...

On another, totally unrelated, note: We went to the Rose Garden in Parque 3 de Febrero yesterday and it was AMAZING. So beautiful and serene. Sweet old couples sharing mate, teenagers kissing, dogs, babies, paddleboats and of course breathtaking roses. It was lovely.
It immediately brought out the little girl's wedding fantasy I didn't know I had and unconsciously the thought popped into my head " I want to get married here!"

d. de leche...?

So, I just want to know, what's the deal with Dulce de Leche? It's in every dessert that I've eaten here. I'm not complaining. It's really good. And for those of you who have tried Haagen Dazs brand Dulce de Leche ice cream back at home and think you know what I'm talking about, I'm letting you know that you don't. It's different here; it's much thicker and sweeter.

Sarah would be the first to agree. She says it's much sweeter here too, to the point where she won't eat it. When I show her a cookie, oozing with delectably delicious dulce de leche, she literally shudders because she knows how her mouth/body react to eating something so sweet. Of course she's trying to keep her aversion to Dulce de Leche a secret. She's afraid her distaste for one of Argentina's national pastimes (eating d. de leche) might get her deported. Well, hopefully the Argentine government doesn't know about this blog because, if we haven't already made some typically ignorant American remarks, we're bound to cause a stir eventually. "Que me dices? Es verdad? A ella no le gusta dulce de leche? Dios mio, que lastima! Es Americana, seguro." Wait until we start talking about futbol and the soon-to-be president, Cristina Kirchner. When we leave for Uruguay intending to get our passports re-stamped they won't let us back in.

At any rate, our main goal Saturday morning was to return to Sarah's old stomping grounds, and enjoy some cafe and a few fine treats at Las Violetas on Rivadavia. So we set out walking towards the Almagro neighborhood with big eyes and empty stomachs. Las Violetas is one of the older cafes in Buenos Aires, dating back to the 19th century. The cafe, which has a grand salon-like interior with large windows and a very high ceiling, is run by waiters wearing white jackets and bow ties and thick black moustaches. At Sarah's recommendation we ordered the Maria Cala breakfast, which for only $30 (pesos) would make Corky, my beloved lab, full. The tray came piled to the brim with ham and cheese sandwiches, toasts, jams, and, of course, a selection of eight different ways of eating dulce de leche. It's in everything here.


Yummm! We struggled to finish as much as we could. This included a cafe con leche and some freshly squeezed orange juice. But, alas, it was just too much. Plus, half of the deserts were filled with d. de leche and I was on my own. We did a good job though. The toughest part was leaving food on that plate. God I wish I could have some of those desserts right now.

Sarah kept begging me to eat the little dulce de leche taco, which was essentially 96% d. de leche. We have a small photo sequence to demonstrate the struggle to finish that little candy. Keep in mind, this was after a plate full of d. de leche candies and ham sandwiches.




That was hard to swallow! Overall, it was a great day, good food, good coffee, and shared with a good companion.

I got an ice cream sundae yesterday, and to avoid sharing any, I had it topped with dulce de leche. That's my secret. All this chat about dulce de leche is making me crave it. I'm going to go look for some.

Stand under my umbrella

Ella Ella, Ay ay ay...

Yes it would be nice if it stopped raining here. Ever. But c'est la vie, I'm still loving it. Fun things to do in the rain include: watching Entourage on Will's laptop, trying to go to museums but somehow not making it, working on eating our endless supply of jamon cocido y queso casero, having fun with the Metric System (Will is 1.88 tall; I am 1.70)... and learning how to convert Fahrenheit into Celsius, which you do by first subtracting 32, then multiply by 5/9, run around the block and do a little dance. If you're lucky, you won't come up with an answer that even people with mathphobia know is ridiculous... ("So the boiling point of water is... negative 5? Wait...")
Anyway, we haven't gotten to see as much of the city as I'd like with this Seattle-esque weather, but we DID make it to a true cultural landmark on Wednesday:


Yes, that's right, the ONLY Kosher McDonald's in the entire world outside of Israel. (In the Abasto mall at Corrientes & Anchorena.) It didn't seem much different than other McDonald's except for the noticeable lack of cheese on the menu and the fact that cashiers tried to guilt you into eating more than you wanted.

More fun & adventures with culture shock coming soon. Although I have to say, there hasn't really been too much of that. The people here are just as friendly & helpful as I remembered... I keep waiting to meet someone who is rude/ unhelpful/ impatient with my broken Castellano, but it hasn't happened yet.

& if we ever get homesick...

Where am I?

Ya hemos llegado! Alive and kicking, Sarah and I have moved into our quaint (read: cute but very small) apartment which lies on the border of two lovely Bs As neighborhoods: Palermo and Recoleta. Our neighbors are a middle-aged couple named Pancho and Delfa. They take care of the details for Don Juan Giovonni, the owner of our flat. Delfa and Pancho are soo kind! They keep giving us damn good cheese, and telling us that we should think of them as our parents. I imagine by the end of the month, I'll be talking Argentine politics over a game of chess while eating lots of yummy cheese with my boy Pancho.

It has been rainy and wet the last two days; perfect weather for days at the museum. So that's what is on the agenda for today.

Is it just me, or do they over-prescribe neck braces in Latin American countries? In Barcelona, I couldn't walk ten meters without seeing a neck brace. I saw three, the first day I was here, but none yesterday. Ill keep you posted. That wasn't a pun.