Happy gnocchi day! Feliz ñoquis del 29!

In case you didn't know, the 29th of each month in Argentina is Gnocchi Day! Can you imagine a better holiday? It comes once a month, not just once a year, and the whole purpose is to celebrate food. More details & quite a nice little article here. The bottom line is that we eat ñoquis on the 29th because of something having to do with payday, either that on the 29th you are poor and waiting for your paycheck, and flour & potatoes are cheap, or that you're celebrating that you got your paycheck, or that you put money under your plate because it's financially auspicious. Something like that. Somewhere along the line all the supersticions mixed in my head and I started to believe that you are actually supposed to put gnocchis under your pillow on the night of the 29th for good luck and prosperity, but I'm pretty sure that's not true. It sounds messy.
Anyway, E & I are going to Las Violetas, my favorite favorite old school BA café, for my last Gnocchi Day in Argentina. ¡Buen provecho!

And some more pictures of gnocchi to get you in the mood...

I ♥ Argentina, reason #5,786

The schedule.

So, this morning I stumbled out of bed at 9:30 a.m. and slunk into the kitchen to make a cup of life-saving mate cocido. I don't do well in the mornings. I don't really even like to talk to anyone until I've been awake for at least an hour. Anyway, the Argentine mom in the apartment where I live was in the kitchen, took a look at me, and said, "It's way too early to wake up, isn't it?" (Although in Spanish.) Now. It wasn't sarcastic. What a nice, nice thing for an adult to say. Yeah, I still don't think of myself as an adult, maybe because I don't think I'll ever reach the age where I like to wake up early and give younger people a hard time about sleeping late. I love that about BA. At home if you look tired in the morning, or whine about waking up early, people will probably tease you or make you feel lazy. But here it's like, duh, no one likes to wake up in the morning. It's a given. Isn't that how it should be? Does anyone really like waking up early everyday? I think I've met like two of those people in my life and I felt kind of uneasy around them.
The schedule here is just so much more perfect for how I like to live - waking up late, working till late, eating dinner late, having long lunches and long coffee breaks. You have time to relax when you get home in the evening, because you don't have to go to bed at 11 p.m. to wake up at 6 the next morning. Of course, it can get a bit out of hand with the nightlife, and it's a problem when the only moments of daylight you see are in the cab ride home at sunrise. But having a job kind of prevents that problem from happening during the week.

Up next: I also love Argentina & Argentines because the whole country seems to have a crazily intense sweet tooth. And they are not apologizing for it. I think you need to be raised on loads of dulce de leche from a very young age to have that kind of tolerance for sugar.

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

101 National Holidays

Good God, Argentina has a ridiculous amount of public holidays. It seems like at least every other week there is some holiday either devoted to one of the big names in Argentine history (Belgrano, San Martín, etc.) or something Catholic. Tomorrow is Día de la Bandera (Flag Day.) So are there really more national holidays in Argentina than the United States? Yes. Thanks to Wikipedia: The United States has 10 national holidays, while Argentina has 15. The UK has only 8 and Israel, apparently, has 24.
I know, you're thinking, that's awesome! Lots of holidays = good! But. First, I get paid hourly, not on salary, so a public holiday means either a day of missed pay or that I have to somehow arrange with my students to squeeze that day's classes into my schedule for the rest of the week. Second, holidays are usually spent with family in Arg, and these are the days that being an expat is kind of sad. Even my friends who have Argentine boyfriends/husbands, and therefore are much more integrated into Argentine family life, say they find these days more or less sad and depressing. On these days, you miss being around people over the age of 25, who have some semblance of stability in their life, and you remember the little miscellaneous comforts of home like having baking ingredients around all time (not just buying them each time you decide to make cookies) and having a newspaper delivered. You know, a real home.
I guess I've been feeling extra transient lately, both because I just got back from a trip home, and because another group of friends has left - the life of an expat is cycling through people who come here on vacation or travel and leave after a few months. After a while, you get a bit jaded and don't really want to invest time into these people, because as cool as they may be, they won't be around for long. And Argentine friends are fantastic, but don't really understand what it's like to live here as an extranjero.
Well. Off to commiserate with a fellow expat chica from Canada. You'll find us drowning our sorrows in locro and Malbec somewhere in Palermo.

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.

Money Money Money

First, go to Los Alfajores' Myspace and listen to Money is Stupid while you're reading this.
Second, if you're reading this from Argentina, you already know all about it and probably don't want to be reminded.*

For everyone else - all of a sudden it seems like all I talk/think/worry about is money. It's really damn expensive to live in Buenos Aires, especially when you are paying rent prices designed (with love from our landlords) especially for us foreigners. Who in theory have loads of dollars/euros/pounds in the bank. Well, not those of us who teach English. Anyway...

The point is, I'm so sick of talking and thinking about money all the time, but it keeps coming up. Today I had a break between classes and went to go lie on the grass in lovely Plaza San Martín in Retiro. I decided to buy a magazine on the way. Well, I ended up buying Vogue Latinoamérica, but not because I was being good and trying to practice my Spanish reading skills. I bought it because English Vogue was... drumroll please... 69 pesos (over $20 USD.) (The Vogue I bought was 10 pesos.) Well, some economists may measure how the economy is going based on staples like milk, bread, and eggs, but I'm judging based on Vogue. When I was here in March of last year, I bought Vogue in English for 15 pesos. Which brings us to...

Inflation.
The government says the inflation rate is something like 8 to 10%. My highly scientific research that is based on actually living in Buenos Aires and functioning as a person here, buying groceries, etc., tells me that this official inflation rate is total bullshit. The actual inflation rate is supposedly closer to 20%.

In certain parts of Buenos Aires, the parts that are all most tourists ever see, it's easy to forget where you are. With the stylish, cultured, well-educated people, European architecture and avenues, overt leisure (people sitting in cafes all day, rush hour around 10 am in the morning), etc., etc., you forget about the recent and not-so-recent history of instability and lack of stable economic infrastructure, the sense that crises are always just around the corner. But as my students remind me all the time, this is Argentina. There's still a lot of fallout from the 2001 crash and the horrible damage that Menem did to the country.

I don't know that much about it so I'll shut up at this point, but it's enough to say that I am having a hard time keeping my head above water financially. It's not like my life is about to turn into a Dorothea Lange photo shoot, but it's not easy. And if it's hard for me, with this being my cute little 'escaping the USA idealistic twenty-something expat' social experiment, having lived here for all of 5 months, what must it be like for the real residents of the city?

*The picture on the left was not taken by me - I don't have that much money! It also isn't the current Argentine currency.

Exhaustion/ Estoy loca?

I got into a really interesting conversation with one of my students last night. She was saying that she's always confused by the young people from the United States she meets living in Buenos Aires - we always say we came here because we love the country, the culture, we wanted to live abroad, go to new places and see new things, etc. She said it's perplexing to her for two reasons, first because in Argentina it is very rare for people to go so far from their families and friends on a whim, and second, because while a lot of Argentines are interested in going to Western Europe or the United States, they mostly want to go for work. Sure, an interest in the culture and being adventurous comes into it, but it isn't usually their only motivation. She also brought up the economics of it - while people from Argentina may leave the country to make more money, we inevitably come to Argentina to make less money (if you come to teach English.) Much, much less.
This was the first week I had a full schedule (20 hours of teaching.) That doesn't sound like a lot but it is seriously exhausting. Like, too tired to do anything but crawl into bed at the end of the day exhausting. Because for every hour of class you also have prep time and commute time, so it ends up being a full day from about 10 am to 8 or 9 pm. The time spent with students is, of course, the best. But it's an exhausting job. It's not a spacing out in front of your computer type of job - you have to be engaging and energetic with your students and you're constantly thinking - what's the difference between during and while? Why do we say it that way? That's wrong, but why is it wrong? And unlike 9 to 5 jobs at home, you don't get paid for every hour you work.
So am I totally crazy? Making myself really, legitimately poor for the first time in my life? To live as far as possible from everything that's familiar?
Well. Looking at numbers it doesn't make sense to be here, but I've always hated math.
So for now, I'll keep being one of the crazy young idealistic Yanquis who comes here because of esoteric ideas about seeing the world and an even stronger fear of the restlessness and eventual settling that comes with staying at home.

And let me tell you, it's all worth it for one of my students who wrote an entire essay using the word "younglings" in place of the word "youth."

Cortázar anyone?

The Buenos Diaries goes literary!

Sorry for the lack of real posts lately, I've been pretty busy, but it's always good to learn about writers and culture and stuff, right?

Here's one of my favorite pieces of writing ever, by Julio Cortázar.

(English translation below)

Instrucciones para llorar.
Dejando de lado los motivos, atengámonos a la manera correcta de llorar, entendiendo por esto un llanto que no ingrese en el escándalo, ni que insulte a la sonrisa con su paralela y torpe semejanza. El llanto medio u ordinario consiste en una contracción general del rostro y un sonido espasmódico acompañado de lágrimas y mocos, estos últimos al final, pues el llanto se acaba en el momento en que uno se suena enérgicamente. Para llorar, dirija la imaginación hacia usted mismo, y si esto le resulta imposible por haber contraído el hábito de creer en el mundo exterior, piense en un pato cubierto de hormigas o en esos golfos del estrecho de Magallanes en los que no entra nadie, nunca. Llegado el llanto, se tapará con decoro el rostro usando ambas manos con la palma hacia adentro. Los niños llorarán con la manga del saco contra la cara, y de preferencia en un rincón del cuarto. Duración media del llanto, tres minutos.

Instructions on how to cry.
Putting the reasons for crying aside for the moment, we might concentrate on the correct way to cry, which, be it understood, means a weeping that doesn’t turn into a big commotion nor proves an affront to the smile with its parallel and dull similarity. The average, everyday weeping consists of a general contraction of the face and a spasmodic sound accompanied by tears and mucus, this last toward the end, since the cry ends at the point when one energetically blows one’s nose.
In order to cry, steer the imagination toward yourself, and if this proves impossible owing to having contacted the habit of believing in the exterior world, think of a duck covered with ants or of those gulfs in the Strait of Magellan into which no one sails ever.
Coming to the weeping itself, cover the face decorously, using both hands, palms inward. Children are to cry with the sleeve of the dress or shirt pressed against the face, preferably in a corner of the room. Average duration of the cry, three minutes.

“Anyone who doesn’t read Cortazar is doomed. Not to read him is a serious invisible disease which in time can have terrible consequences. Something similar to a man who has never tasted peaches. He would quietly become sadder… and, probably, little by little, he would lose his hair.”
-Pablo Neruda

Sunday/ Domingo/ Vasánap

Back home in Yanquilandia, I never felt like Sunday was anything special. It was a day to sleep late, hang out at home, get ready for the coming week, do laundry, homework, or whatever, get over your hangover from the night before, and dread getting up for work on Monday.
Not so in Buenos Aires. Porteños take their day of rest seriously. Most shops are closed and good luck finding an ATM that has any money left in it. The streets are finally quiet and (relatively) empty. Sunday in Buenos Aires in the summer is a day to be spent outside, sipping mate in a plaza, going on a picnic in the park, making out with your novio/a, playing fútbol, working on your tan like it's a job. Above all though, it's a day for family.
So what is an expat to do? Well, there are some very nice street fairs - San Telmo, Recoleta, and especially Mataderos (folk-dancing, helado artesanal, very few tourists, Northern Argentine food...)
But this Sunday I tried something new and went to the Reserva Ecológica Costanera Sur in Puerto Madero. It's basically a long boardwalk, lots of sunny, grassy areas, a little crafts fair, some random carnival rides for kids, and a huge nature reserve/ bird sanctuary. For a nature reserve, yeah, it's not spectacularly pretty. But it's a lovely scene anyway, lots and lots of families, little kids running around, dogs, a parrilla stand every 10 feet and ice cream vendors on bikes.
Sophy and I made it our mission to try as much food as possible and between us ate a choripan (chorizo on bread), a homemade alfajor, and a bondiola (a sandwich made with grilled pork), all delicious and very fresh. I could tell you other nice things about Costanera Sur but really, aren't the 700 parrillas enough reason to go?

Miniature Disasters...

is the name of a song by KT Tunstall and also sort of a perfect way to describe the day I had today. Obviously this blog is usually filled with lots of Argentina and Buenos Aires love, but today... Well, there are some times I don't love EVERYTHING about living here. Like for example when I have to pay a $300 peso (that's $100 USD) customs tax on a package of Christmas presents that someone sent to me from the states. Or when everything in the apartment is broken or in the process of breaking and the landlady won't do anything about it. Yeah, tenant's rights? Not so much here. Not when you're living illegally on a tourist visa and can't get a garantía to save your life.
Or when you try to pay for something that costs, say, $8.50 pesos with a $10 peso note and the guy at the Kiosco/ Chinese supermarket STILL doesn't have the correct change for you, so he gives you a piece of candy instead. Not that I blame him on that one - we're all hoarding our monedas like crazy.
I know, annoying little things happen no matter where you live, it's just easier to resolve them in your own language and culture.
But, I usually try to be optimistic and look on the bright side of things, and in that spirit, there is one thing we have here in Argentina that makes up for some of these ridiculously annoying situations, and that is the best word ever to describe them - quilombo.
Originally it meant brothel but now it just means "a mess" and can be used to describe almost any ridiculous, annoying, complicated, or frustrating situation. ¡Qué quilombo! I got a lot of use out of that word today.
Anyway, the moral of the story is, DON'T ask your friends or relatives to send you things in Argentina. In fact, don't let them, because you will have to pay whatever obscenely high customs tax the Argentine officials deem is appropriate for your country of origin. I can just imagine them sitting around, Che, this girl is from the United States, should we charge $500 pesos? No no, the dollar's falling, there's no way she can pay that much. Better make it $300.

What a quilombo.

Buying a fan in BA

Well, first of all, let me say that laid back customer service is one thing I really like about Buenos Aires. A lot. Especially in restaurants and clothing stores. I am not one of those Yanquis who has a hard time adjusting to the slow pace here - I love it. I feel like at home we all run around with this frantic sense of deadlines and impending doom and anxiety over what will happen if we don't get our soy latte RIGHT NOW. But here in Argentina (and much more outside of the capital) you are forced to mellow out, relax, walk slowly, eat slowly, take life as it comes.

That said, as far as customer service goes, Buenos Aires has really cornered the market on excessive employees in stores and restaurants. It's not uncommon to see 8 people clustered behind the counter in a small café with maybe five tables. It will still take 45 minutes for you to get your café con leche.

For example, yesterday my fantastic new roommate Sophy and I went on a mission to buy fans for the apartment. Spring is turning into Summer here in Buenos Aires, and we have three sweaty months of excruciating heat in front of us. We went to a nearby electronics store called Frávega. There were so many salesman it was hard to walk around the store, but eventually we decided on two floor fans ($89 pesos each, or less than $30 dollars.) I told the salesman who had been helping us that we wanted to get the fans. Because we were paying with credit cards, he needed to enter all the information from our Driver's Licenses into the computer and print out several forms, which we took to a different counter, where we paid for the fans and received more paperwork. We took the second paperwork to another counter where someone else (three people actually) were in charge of retrieving the fans from the back storage room. The illusive fans were brought out and another employee opened the boxes, I guess for us to inspect them. An older Argentine lady next to us seemed to be inspecting the fan she was buying quite carefully, but Sophy and I just wanted to get on with it at that point. Then we had to sign two more pieces of paper to prove we had received the fans. Finally, the fans were bagged up and we could leave. I think it was less work when I bought my first car.

It was an experience, and now I have a fan in my bedroom, which I'm pretty sure is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

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!

De aquel amor

Sarah and I just moved into our new pad and its very saucy, more to come on that.

I decided it was time to post about Soda Stereo, only one of the most important bands of South America. Soda Stereo was, apparently, big in the 80's and 90's and part of a movement for musica nacional. After the dictatorship, when presumably there was no rock and roll allowed, Argentina had a surge of national rock bands singing in Spanish, which is important when most rock and roll is sung in English.

At any rate, neither Sarah nor I had ever heard about them back in the States (where we are subjected to listening to the same corporate rock music over and over and where music that's not in English is non-existent), but Soda Stereo reunited for a tour of South America. They just finished playing here, and, being the national heroes that they are, sold out four shows at the stadium.

The thing is, there was this commercial that intrigued us, and quickly became Sarah's favorite, before we even knew who these guys were. We kept watching it, loving it and trying to figure who these musicians were all covering. Anyway, with Julia's help we sorted it all out. But, in honor of Soda Stereo's sold-out shows this weekend (and because we no longer have a TV), I thought it would be a good time to let you see Sarah's favorite commercial for yourselves:



I know its probably disrespectful to Soda Stereo but I thought I'd just include my favorite commercial as well, if youre interested, which im sure you all are. This one has a famous Argentine musician as well, my man Axel. Enjoy.



Beautiful, isn't it?

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.

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.