Unsolved mysteries: Argentines & stairs

After almost a year here, I'm pretty much convinced that Argentines have some genetic/cultural phobia of climbing stairs. Exhibit A: I've been here for nearly a year and I've lived in 5 different apartment buildings, always on a pretty low floor. During that time I have seen someone other than my foreign roommates & myself taking the stairs... 2 times. Ever. Seriously. Three if you count the time in Almagro when the power went out and the elevators weren't working. This just does not make sense to me since it actually takes longer to wait for the 17th century elevator in my current apartment building than to climb one or two flights of stairs.
And it's definitely not laziness or a relaxed cultural attitude towards time. Something hilarious I experience every single morning on the subte is that, as people approach the Florida metro stop, everyone stands up and clusters around the door so they can get off the train as quickly as possible (me included.) What's hilarious about this is that the crowd pushes out of the door, sprints to the bottom of the escalator, and then - stands still for the ride up. Yeah, you know how at home the non-walkers on the escalator stand to the right side so everyone else can pass them? Not here. You have to be the first person on that escalator if you want to actually walk up it.
Which is cool. It doesn't bother me because like there's anywhere that I really need to be 10 seconds earlier that desperately. But I mean, just totally out of curiousity... what is that??
I work in a 28 floor office building here, and I'm sorry, but really people? Can you not just take the stairs from the first to second floor? In the United States, it's kind of impolite, but moreover embarrassing, to take the elevator only one or two floors, unless you have a broken ankle or a heavy suitcase or something. No?

Mystery. But I love it. It's silly and endearing. Besooooooos!

Plastic Surgery: Why?

I've written about a lot of things on here, but never before about plastic surgery. Buenos Aires is the capital of plastic surgery, and keep in mind that I did live in Los Angeles for 4 years. Maybe the plastic surgery here is just more noticeable. But whatever it is, it's not pretty. I just don't get it. I'm not someone who judges people for wanting to look good and even for going to extreme measures to do so. Personally I hate even going to the doctor and so probably wouldn't have surgery for purely aesthetic reasons, but I think if something really bothers you, and plastic surgery can fix it, then go ahead. That said, a lot of the plastic surgery here is not good. The most common thing is a huge, stretched-out and often lopsided mouth. You'll often see this huge mouth on the same face as eyes that look like the extra skin has just been clipped away and then sewn back together. Yesterday I was in the elevator at the office building where my institute it, a huge office building that probably half the population of microcentro works in. I was standing next to an ex-famous Argentine actress from the 1980's and I could literally see the line in front of her ear where her facelift ended. Why, why, why? It's not about looking prettier, or younger. It's a really strange aesthetic that I don't understand. And what's more, when you're talking to someone with really obvious plastic surgery, it's so distracting and embarassing, and it's like a car accident where you don't mean to stare but you can't look away.
It's also pretty questionable that 15-year-old girls routinely get boob jobs as the ultimate quinceañera gift and that one of my students who is 21 just got liposuction. We think we're obsessed with looks in the United States but it just doesn't compare to here. It's strange and sad, and especially in a country with so many naturally beautiful people.

Photos: Argentina's most famous plastic surgery divas, Susana Giménez & Moria Casán

Before Sunrise

I stepped outside and into the city this morning, and something was different. The heartbeat, the flow, the mood and molecules of the city had changed.
All because of something that happened in the middle of the night, 7 blocks from where I was sleeping.
Last night was a big, big moment in Argentine politics & history. Whether it was good or bad depends on your point of view.
Here's some very, very condensed (and mildly one-sided) background information: in March, la presidenta CFdK wanted to raise taxes (from 35 to 45%) on the farmers, and they were like, no, we think we'll strike instead and she was like, well I'm not negotiating with you people, and they were like, fine, we'll just strike forever then, and also perhaps you should stop flaunting how crazily wealthy you are and how you never wear the same outfit twice while you are chastizing us for not wanting to redistribute wealth and help the poor. Or something like that.
So anyway, the proposed tax law, which was very unpopular and totally polarizing the country and becoming a very sad and seemingly deadlocked situation, was passed in Congress and went to a vote in the Senate last night. The Pro-K's were clustered in Plaza Congreso and the ruralistas in Palermo waiting for the results. The Senate debated for 18 hours and came to a tie at around 4 a.m., so it was up to vice-prez Julio Cobos to decide. No pressure there...
And then, in this totally heartbreakingly brave speech right out of some old Hollywood, Mr. Smith goes to Washington-esque movie, Cobos votes against the president, against his own party, and for the campo, saying, "Some say I have to go along [with the president] but my heart says something else. I don't think this is a reason to put the country, the government, and social peace in risk. This is one of the most difficult moments in my life... I don't believe it makes sense to pass a law that is not a solution to this conflict. History will judge me, I don't know how. I'm a family man like all of you and I have a responsibility in this case... this doesn't mean I'm betraying anyone.
May history judge me, my vote is against."*
*Which all sounded better in Castellano.
I don't pretend to know every detail, or even most details and information, about this. But I do know what most of my students and friends here have told me, and that is: this is democracy. They feel for the first time in awhile that democracy is alive and kicking in Argentina, and that the federalist system is working. Someone dared to speak out against los K. The mood on the street just feels a little lighter, a little happier, a little more proud.
Also, I totally have a crush on Julio Cobos now.

P.s. just to clarify, not everyone in Argentina/Buenos Aires is happy about what happened - far from it. The feeling I have about what happened is just what I've gotten from talking with my students and other people and trying to understand a very complicated situation as best I can.

Espanglish is espectacular

Who doesn't love Spanglish? There's nothing better than a conversation between people who both speak Spanish & English fluently (or close to it) because you can pick and choose the best and most convenient words from each language - words like "cozy" or "upset" that don't have perfect translations in Spanish, or like "regalar" or "tener ganas" that lack a perfect equivalent in English.

Exstrangers = strangers + extranjeros
What pass? = awful direct translation of ¿Que pasa?*
*Popularized by Moria Casán on Bailando por un sueño (the Argentine version of Dancing with the Stars)
Milagrous = milagroso/a + miraculous
It has sense = tener sentido + it makes sense
Living = living room
Ejemple = ejemplo + example
Fashion = in fashion/fashionable (Ex. Starbucks is so popular because it's fashion here.)

9 months in Argentina and my Spanish is still not fluent, my English is increasingly stranger and less coherent every day. But my Spanglish is just perfect. So much so that it interferes with my teaching. I think teachers who don't speak Spanish are probably better teachers in some ways, because if their students say something incomprehensible, they will simply not understand. Whereas I now automatically translate it into Spanish and back into English in my head and often don't even realize I've done it or that what the student said was wrong. When 90% of the conversations you have in English are with non-native speakers, you get so accustomed to certain mistakes that they stop sounding odd.

The most common mistakes are little things like saying "career" instead of degree, translating directly from "carrera," or getting confused by other false cognates like support & soportar, sensible & sensible, assist & asistir, etc., which sound alike but have completely different meanings. There are some pretty funny ones, like molestarse, which means "to bother" in Spanish, and translates to sentences like "I don't mean to molest you, but..." or the confusion between earn and win, which are the same word in Spanish, so you hear things like, "He wins 15 pesos every hour."

I don't have so many good examples of the same thing happening with English speakers trying to speak Spanish... Except one beloved incident that occured with W while we were living in Palermo last year. We went to a restaurant and I ordered steak & mashed potatoes, and he ordered a milanesa with french fries. The waiter explained that that particular dish was actually meant for two people. W then gestured at me and said something like, "Bueno, lo mismo," as in, Okay, I'll have what she's having in that case. And then added, "Y con papas fritas." Doubtless, when our orders came, I got my steak and W got the Milanesa and french fries for two, with an extra side of french fries. Try, if you can, to imagine the hysterical laughter, to the point of tears, that followed, thinking about what the waiter must have thought. Like, Oh really? That dish is for two? Perfect. Could I have some extra french fries with that?

Anyway. I love Spanglish. On another note, I also love winter in Bs As if for no other reason than the vendors on the street selling hot sugared almonds - I've never tried them but it has to be the best smell in the entire world.

xoxo

Love, hate, & tango

Last night I went to a lovely party thrown by a friend who is a tango dancer. The party was mostly women, a handful of men, and several Siamese cats. Since about half the people there were tango dancers (sadly, not including me) we got to watch dance after dance of beautiful tango right there in the living room. It was much nicer than seeing it at a tango show or in the street in San Telmo - this was the real thing, people who closed their eyes when they danced, who danced with the same lust and sadness in their movements whether their partner was young, old, beautiful, someone they just met or had known forever. Tango is an amazing dance - beautiful and sexy and tragic. The man leads and provides the foundation of the dance and the woman adds drama with her little kicks and turns. At times, she leans into him on the tips of her toes as if she will fall if he does not catch her.
Tango was not always a well-respected dance. One of my students, who is 17, said his mother told him that her mother, his grandmother, made it well-known that if any of her daughters knew how to dance tango she would kick them out of the house. There is a myth, I don't know if it's true, that tango was created in the brothels of Buenos Aires.
Besides beautiful tango, I saw something else very Argentine last night - fighting and jealousy between women. One was a potential love interest of my friend, who had recently told me she was playing games with him, playing very cold - he was amused by it. The other was a beautiful tango dancer who may or may not be interested in my friend, or she may just hate the mala onda created by woman #1. Either way, they were really doing everything possible to make each other jealous and bringing new meaning to the expression "if looks could kill." It was very overt and created an almost palpable tension between the two women.
Here I'm obligated to say that competition between women exists in all parts of the world, and that there are, of course, exceptions in Argentina. But there is something here that I really haven't found in other places I've been, an essential sentiment of hostility, competition and jealousy between women. Usually I'm exempt, being a foreigner, but sometimes I do become aware of it and it has a real viciousness that I haven't felt at home. Of course there are so many Argentine women are not like that, who are laid back and strike up conversations in the bathrooms of clubs and laugh at the chamuyero Argentine men.
Anyway, last night left me thinking about it. The vast majority of my students are women here and they are almost all very bright, engaging, kind, ambitious, eloquent people. But is that because we met in a classroom and not at a bar? Really, what is with the interactions between women in this country? I feel like it has something to do with the status of feminism here, that there never really was a women's movement à la Women's Lib in the 1970's USA, and gender roles are still very strictly defined. Could be something with economic dependence too. I think it's complicated, and really, ¿qué sé yo?

The good, the bad, & the cheto cheto cheto

Cheto means "snobby" in Argie slang. Which brings me to restaurant review number one. (The Buenos Diaries is moonlighting as a food blog for this post.) Anyway, on Saturday I was feeling a little homesick and went in search of cafe comfort food. I had heard a lot about Mark's Deli in Palermo - like that there were real sandwiches, even brownies and lemonade! I was sold. Well... it was... okay. I actually feel uncomfortable even writing that but I don't want to criticize Mark's too harshly. Bottom line - the food may pass for upscale and interesting in Buenos Aires but it was pretty much just your basic "trendy cafe" fare - sandwiches on olive bread with smoked salmon or goat cheese or roasted red peppers, etc. The coffee was very good, and the pastries looked good. But it was simply not buena onda. I should know by now what I'm getting myself into when I go into that part of Palermo, but as I was sitting in Mark's I couldn't help thinking two things. First, if I wanted to live in Brentwood, I wouldn't have left LA. And two, am I on the set of The L-Word? Basically, it was just ridiculously trendy and not in an effortless way, either. The customers all rocked the same deliberate bedhead and this month's issue of Vogue makeup (bright lips, bare eyes) and variations on the same outfit. It was very see and be seen. I guess I still haven't learned that what is casual comfort food at home is sometimes sold as very hip and modern here. And the waiters were pretty but rude. I actually had quite a nice time at Mark's, but mainly because Jamie & I were able to make fun of the cheto-ness and focus on planning our next great adventures (to Colombia and Israel. Possibly living on the beach in Costa Rica.)
When dinnertime rolled around I was very ready for some down and dirty street food. Actually, I literally googled "dirty street parrilla buenos aires" and it came up with La rosalía, the one in Palermo, not San Telmo. First things first, go there. Just go. You will not regret it. It was awesome for several reasons. The grill faces the street (always a good sign), it was packed with locals, the waitress was exceptionally friendly, and it was very no-frills. Restaurants are always better when the focus is on the food, no? We tried to order a few things before coming up with something on the menu that was actually available. It was morcilla sandwiches (slathered with chimichurri) and mollejas. And they were AMAZING. All in all, with a bottle of wine thrown in, the bill came to 30 pesos (for 2 people.) Not bad.

Nuttier than a fruitcake

Hey porteños - could you please stop making me feel like a raving lunatic when I tell you that I chose to live in Argentina for the simple reason that I like it here?
Let me backtrack a little. I've had so, so many versions of this interaction:
Argentine: So you're on vacation here? Or you're studying?
Me: No, actually, living and working.
Argentine: Oh, I see, you fell in love with an Argentine and came here to be with him.
Me: No... well, not yet anyway...
Argentine: Why then?
Me: Because... I like it here?
Argentine: Why?
Me: Um... the city, the people, the culture, the language, the nightlife, I always wanted to live abroad, I don't know...
Argentine: Out of all the countries in the world you chose Argentina? Are you CRAZY?
(Actually, I'm really not making that last line up. It's word for word from a conversation I had with a student of mine.)
Okay, I know Argentina has problems, that become more and more apparent the longer I stay and the more I see. But doesn't every country? (Especially the good old US of A?)
And where is the stereotypical Argentine arrogance that you always hear about? Is it really sooo crazy that someone would want to live here just for the sake of living here? Dale, porteños, stop looking at me like I lost my marbles. I just like it here.

And here's something else I like, a quote from Welcome to the World, Baby Girl by Fannie Flagg:

"Poor little old human beings- they're jerked into this world without having any idea where they came from or what it is they are supposed to do, or how long they have to do it in. Or where they are gonna wind up after that. But bless their hearts, most of them wake up every morning and keep on trying to make some sense out of it. Why, you can't help but love them, can you? I just wonder why more of them aren't as crazy as betsy bugs..."

Boy Meets Girl

Has it ever been easy? Dating, relationships, sex, love, broken hearts - it's really difficult. Romantic and exciting and worth all the pain, yes, but so difficult. And if it's hard in your own country, where you speak the language fluently, understand the culture intimately and are well-schooled in the intricacies of social interactions between men and women... Try figuring it out in another country. For example, Argentina. The way men and women interact here could fill many, many books. Luckily, I haven't had any broken hearts yet, but I have had a few interactions that left me scratching my head. Por ejemplo:

Exhibit A:
Last time I was in Argentina, I met a guy. We'll call him A. We hit it off, hung out a few times, and then I had to leave. I told him I would probably be moving back, and we kept in touch for the 6 months I was working at home in California. When I got back, he seemed pretty excited to see me. We met up and had a great time together. The next week, I got a flood of enthusiastic "Tengo muchas ganas de verte" and "I only want you" very Argie type text messages. Then, nothing. I still haven't seen him again. Mysterious, no?

Exhibit B:
On Wednesday, I went out to a bar with friends. I met a guy and we chatted for about twenty minutes. We exchanged numbers. Later that night, he called and asked when he could see me again. I told him I was really busy but maybe on the weekend. The next day, on Thursday, I received no less than 8 missed calls within 3 hours, and 4 (increasingly desperate) text messages.
Yeah. What?? Was he being psycho or just being Porteño?
He violated two major taboos in United States dating & social codes. First, the Three Day Rule (a guy should always call a girl three days after they met/ had their first date. Earlier is creepy. Later is rude.) Second, the No Double Contacting Rule. This rule dictates that you should never contact someone you are beginning to date twice in a row without hearing back from them first. Maybe a text message and one missed call are okay, but you don't want your potential new boyfriend to check his phone and see 7 missed calls from you.

I guess it all goes back to that we are trying play hard to get and to give the impression that we are too busy living our cool, interesting lives to be worried about someone we just met. It's a weird social custom, isn't it? Why not just be upfront about how you feel?

But, así es la vida...

Another thing I don't understand: everyone you talk to here says the people cheat all the time and it's very common for both the man and the woman in a relationship to have other people on the side. Yet when I was teaching my English class the second conditional this past week, and my class had to complete the sentence "If I found my girlfriend/boyfriend cheating on me, I would..." Almost all of them said "I would kill him/her."

I wonder how long I'll be living here before I begin to understand how Boy Meets Girl works in Argentina, or if I ever will... Pero por lo menos, la vida nunca será aburrida!

Yanqui Doodle Dandy

All of us have to deal with unpleasant things in life. Sometimes, as expats in Buenos Aires, those unpleasant things in life are other Yanquis. There are, of course, also many wonderful, cool Yanquis here. Here are a few types of Estadounidenses you may find in Buenos Aires.

Also, I am a teacher now (jaja) so here is your vocabulary lesson for today: Yanqui, obviously, means Yankee, as in someone from the United States. But ¡ojo! it is NOT pronounced Yankee like in English. It is pronounced with a Porteño accent like "Shankee."

Study Abroad Yanquis
There are many lovely, buena onda people who study abroad in Buenos Aires. But we're not talking about them, are we? The Study Abroad Yanquis I'm talking about don't seem to realize they are in another country, and get irritated when they notice that they are. They may as well be in Cancún for spring break. They like empanadas and dulce de leche, but that's about as far as it goes.

Love Yanquis
Here because of love... These Yanquis usually have better connections than the rest of us, lots of Argentine friends and family, and a definite advantage when it comes to dealing with bureaucracy, etc. Sometimes they are victims of Homeland Security's ridiculous immigration policies, and sometimes they are just old-fashioned romantics.

TOEFL Yanquis
Well, this pretty much describes all of us, doesn't it? Also known as TEFL/ TESOL Yanquis. ¿Qué haces aquí? is a complicated question for us TOEFL Yanqs that usually takes several sentences to answer... "Well, I teach English, but I also work sometimes at an office, and sometimes I volunteer in a Villa, oh and I also have this side project..." You can find us wearing totally inappropriate clothes to job interviews because it's all we have with us, and trying to explain "supply chain management" in Castellano.

Hostel Yanquis
Fun, friendly, always down for a good time. They're stoked to chat about their travels with you over a litro of Quilmes and a porro. They're up for whatever, enjoy meeting new people and generally have fun wherever they go. The only problem with Hostel Yanqs is that they move on within a few weeks.

"I've been here for 8 years and I still don't speak Spanish" Yanquis
Enough said.

Tango Yanquis
They exist in a different world than the rest of us. One I don't know much about, but it seems cool. I like the shoes and the music.

Loud & Proud Yanquis
You will find the Loud & Prouds at Plaza Serrano or the San Telmo street fair on Sundays. You may hear them comment how cheap everything is, because they don't earn money in pesos. They are either Study Abroad Yanquis subsidized by their parents, or tourists. Or oil company execs earning money in dollars.

Idealist Yanquis
Idealist Yanquis are good people who volunteer in Villas, do internships in the North, and give any extra monedas they have to the kids in the Subte. It can be hard to sustain this idealism for long, but it's good while it lasts.

Quarter-life Crisis Yanquis
This is the nearest and dearest Yanqui category to my heart, because I am one. Usually overlapping with the TOEFL Yanqui type, Quarter-life Crisis Yanquis are twenty-somethings who don't know what the heck they're doing with their lives. So they run away to a foreign country. Suddenly, life is exotic and challenging! Law school and 9-5 office jobs can wait!
You can recognize us by our answer to the question, ¿hasta cuándo te quedas? (How long are you staying?) We may first look at you in confusion, because we try not to think that far into the future. Our answer will be something like: "6 months? A year? ¿Por siempre? ¿Quién sabe?"

Taxi Cab Confessions/ I heart Buenos Aires

Yes, we realize this is the third post in one day. But it can't be helped, because of the hilariousness of what just happened. After a totally unsuccessful attempt to find vegetarian restaurant Bio, we settled on panchos (hot dogs) and beer at Plaza Serrano. We were going to a bar later so we hailed a taxi back home to get ready. There begins the adventure. The taxi driver was playing lovely tango music and immediately struck up a conversation. I'll translate:

Taxi Driver: "Are you boyfriend & girlfriend?"
Me and Will: "Oh, no, no..."
Taxi Driver: "Oh, husband and wife?"
Me & Will: "No no no, just friends! Just friends."
Taxi Driver: "Are all the girls in the United States so pretty?"
Will: "Yes, always."

A few minutes later...

Taxi Driver (to me): "You're very beautiful... you remind me of my daughter. I also have a son. He has nice clear eyes like you. He's an engineer here and has a job at a very important company. Give me your number, I'll give it to him. He's a very good boy."

Taxi Driver (to Will): "And you... He'll invite you to a party."

Well, it actually ended with me giving the taxi driver my email address to give to his son. That guy had some game!!!

It made up for the bad time we had earlier with a different taxi driver and definitely made my night. Only in Argentina.

Will wants to make sure I don't end the post without expressing his undying love for Super Panchos. So there it is.