Esperanza, lluvia, estrella, sonrisa, caramelo. Sarah, you’re right: some things are just better in Spanish. Spanish has a wonderful way of making the most explicit of words incredibly sentimental and romantic, one of the shortcomings of the English language. I’ve been able to pick up on an amazing amount of language, mannerisms, and taboos while living here, including that coger does NOT mean to take, but I have loved learning about all of the linguistic emotions. By now, I am speaking solamente en castellano, and oftentimes I will just sit back and listen to my friends talk, relishing the passion and sentiment that is so easily expressed through everyday words and phrases. That is how I would describe Argentina: romantic, emotional, and passionate. The most stereotypical of all Argentine cultural elements, the Tango, captures Argentina’s fondness of romance and passion. Overhyped, a little outdated, and uncomfortably romantic (it’s a little strange to be that close to someone I’m not romantically involved with), it is one of the many touchy-feely cultural divergences that we don’t find in the US. Personal space doesn’t really exist among Argentines; meeting someone for the first time and embracing them a kiss on the cheek is perfectly normal. In fact, it is considered rude not to do so.
Speaking of la lengua,
I have been having exceptional difficulty nailing the Spanish “rr.” I’ve
never been able to roll my tongue, but on Sunday, Meli, Lidi, and Lale made it
their mission to teach me how. God bless their patience, this was much
more grueling than my “speech therapy” with Anj. Using ejercicios para pronunciar la RR as the teaching platform, we spent the entire afternoon repeating/screaming words such as forro and borracho over and over again. (I hope the neighbors don't have any young kids…) It became more trial-and-error than anything else, but with lots of práctica I will hopefully have it down by January. Forrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrro.
I came across this article the other day, 20 awesomely untranslatable words from around the world, and it got me thinking about how—for lack of a better word—awesome the art of the language is, considering there are over 6 billion people speaking nearly 7,000 different languages. Did you know that there are more Spanish-speakers in the world than English speakers? Yet for some reason, I find that most Argentine’s knowledge of English is far more proficient than most American’s knowledge of any second language, let alone Spanish. A little embarrassing, no? Unfortunately, I know very few people who are proficient in a second language, and even fewer who are considered to be fluent. This may have to do with the fact that so many aspects of American culture are
incorporated into Argentine society.
At times, I forget exactly how far away I am from home, as I pass a
Starbucks or McDonald’s on my walk home, or turn on the television and flip to Friends or Grey’s Anatomy in English, with subtitles. But still, I do not find this to serve as much of an excuse, as we are just as capable of fluently speaking a second language as any European or Latin American (unless there is something in the water preventing us from doing so, which I doubt is the case).
Tomorrow morning I leave for my ten-day adventure in Bolivia. I will try to periodically while I’m there, but cannot make any promises...
¡Hasta el 26 de septiembre!
Chau,
audgentina.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
September 14, 2011
June 16, 2011
las cenizas
2012 may have come early for those of us in the Southern Hemisphere.
Last Saturday, el volcán Puyehue erupted in southern Chile, resulting in the evacuation of near 4,000 people in the area. However, the destruction didn’t stop there. The volcanic cenizas soon arrived to the Argentine Patagonia; particularly affecting the cities of Bariloche and Villa La Angostura, both located less than 100 kilometers from the volcano. Bariloche has over a meter of volcanic ash on the streets, and the techos of some houses have even collapsed because of the weight of the cenizas. But just a few days later, and some 1,700 km northeast from the eruption site, volcanic cenizas arrived in Buenos Aires. Zero visibility, a light layer of ash on the parked cars on the street, a musty overcast, and the pesky little cenizas even snuck their way onto my desk through my open window. Flights coming in and out of BA were cancelled for a good week, forcing Allegra and her novio to take a 40(!!!!!)-hour bus ride back from El Calafate. I think it’s safe to say that they’ll never set foot on a bus again for a very, VERY long time. 9,000 km west of the volcanic eruption, cenizas have arrived in Australia. AUSTRALIA. I mean seriously, what is happening to this world?!
Besides this little taste of mundial destruction, BA has been BA: busy, fun, and unpredictable. I have begun hacking away at my bucket list with Paloma since she leaves next Saturday…#depression. Our traditional post-cena wine dates last week included Möoi, sipping on our best friend, Santa Julia; and 878, where we stepped it up with some classier vino and some torrontés crème brûlée (which quite possibly may have been the greatest thing I have ever tasted...EVER).
One of my favorite places to go out at night is Club Cultural Matienzo. It is in Colegiales, very close to Belgrano, and every night they have a different event going on. Whether it is live music, tarot readings, or a local art exhibit, each night provides me with a fun time meeting new people and doing something new. On the first piso is the stage and some seating, where the events generally take place; second piso is the art exhibit with some more seating; and on the top piso they have this awesome outdoor terraza, covered with murals of crazy things only starving artists would think of drawing. Thursday night I went with Paloma, Rana, and Cassie, where we sat on the terrace, sipping on cheap, alternative cerveza while attempting to blend in with the starving artist community of Buenos Aires. I think I have found my people.
Friday afternoon Paloma and I went to Parque Tres de Febrero, BA’s Central Park. Lunch consisted of many empanadas from our favorite empanadaría, Tatú, and torrontés that we bought in Cafayate. There was a great deal of overcast due to the high concentration of cenizas in the cielo, but we had fun relaxing in the park and running away from a particular man shouting piropos at us. We did a little shopping afterwards, where I FINALLY bought a few things to add to my nonexistent winter wardrobe. Friday night we met up with Danny, Jay, Luisina, Lale, Mauri, and Noe at Noe’s apartment for a previa, and then heading to Mandarine Club for some boliche time, where La Champions Liga happened to have a little concierto! After our minor situation last weekend with the ladrones, Paloma and I were EXTREMELY cautious (and possibly borderline paranoid) when it came to guarding our bags, but didn’t let it ruin our night. I believe we got home around 6AM…totally normal. Muy buena onda esa noche.
Saturday was the first cloudless (and ceniza-less) day since the whole ceniza fiasco began, so Paloma and I went to Tigre. (It was my primera vez!) It’s about a forty-minute train ride from Belgrano, but once we got off I felt like I was miles away from the city. Tigre lies on the Paraná Delta and is a popular weekend destination for many porteños. Upon our arrival, Paloma took me directly to Waffle Mundo, where we each snacked on a delicious waffle, topped with dulce de leche, frutillas, crema y bananas. So. Delicious. We spent the remainder of the day wandering around the markets along the port, enjoying the semi-clean aire. As we headed back to the train station, a thick, grey cloud began to take over the beautiful pink/purple/orange…welcome back cenizas. Saturday night Luisina invited us to a birthday party, which pretty much consisted of drinking some Malbec and Fernet, lots of dancing, and of course choripan at the end of the night. Typical.
We struggled to drag ourselves out of bed on Sunday, for we had to get a relatively early start (…around 12) to get to la Feria de Mataderos. Mataderos is a barrio a little over an hour from Belgrano by colectivo (very close to Liniers, where the barrio boliviano is), and on Sundays they have this fantastic market that puts Recoleta and San Telmo to shame. Last Sunday also happened to be the 25th anniversary of the Feria de Mataderos, so there were even more vendors, performances, street food, and people than normal. Wonderfully overwhelming is how I would describe the market. There is literally EVERYTHING there, including a dulce de leche liquor. (Is this real life?) We did some shopping, took some pictures with a donkey/mule/pony-like creature (pictures to come), and obviously wound up eating some choripan. (Seriously, I don’t know what I’m going to do without chori in my life.) I finally gave in and bought my first leather bag for $80 AR! I love this place…and my new bag.
This week has been relatively uneventful as it marks the beginning of finals. Two classes down, two to go. Yesterday I grabbed lunch with Sara at Mark's where I had my first filling sandwich in a very long time. (Chicken, guacamole, tomatoes, and brie cheese…there are no words.) Afterwards I headed to Dada, a restobar in Plaza Serrano that turns into a fashion market in the early evening. Got a few winter essentials as well as some knock-out turquoise earrings. True life: I am a market junkie. Tonight I leave for Mendoza with Cassie and Paloma (hopefully the cenizas won't get in our way!), where we will be drinking LOTS of vino, horseback riding (our little Kentucky girl has never ridden a horse before! The irony will be epic), eating lots of asado, exploring the Andes, and maybe becoming a bit of a daredevil!
Chau,
audgentina.
Besides this little taste of mundial destruction, BA has been BA: busy, fun, and unpredictable. I have begun hacking away at my bucket list with Paloma since she leaves next Saturday…#depression. Our traditional post-cena wine dates last week included Möoi, sipping on our best friend, Santa Julia; and 878, where we stepped it up with some classier vino and some torrontés crème brûlée (which quite possibly may have been the greatest thing I have ever tasted...EVER).
One of my favorite places to go out at night is Club Cultural Matienzo. It is in Colegiales, very close to Belgrano, and every night they have a different event going on. Whether it is live music, tarot readings, or a local art exhibit, each night provides me with a fun time meeting new people and doing something new. On the first piso is the stage and some seating, where the events generally take place; second piso is the art exhibit with some more seating; and on the top piso they have this awesome outdoor terraza, covered with murals of crazy things only starving artists would think of drawing. Thursday night I went with Paloma, Rana, and Cassie, where we sat on the terrace, sipping on cheap, alternative cerveza while attempting to blend in with the starving artist community of Buenos Aires. I think I have found my people.
 |
| My two Argentine loves: Fernet y choripan |
Chau,
audgentina.
May 30, 2011
coca, consuela y chachi
Sometimes, things don’t exactly go as planned. In Argentina this happens a lot but I have learned to go with the flow, as long as my life is not put in danger.
On Tuesday Paloma and I left for a 6-day trip to northwestern Argentina, in the provincias of Salta and Jujuy. There was a little miscommunication and our flights were booked arriving and departing from opposite cities, but we quickly resolved this minor dilemma and thought that everything from that point forward would go smoothly.
Pero nos equivocamos.
Tuesday was a wet, rainy, windy, and all around gross day. I couldn’t even anticipate the turbulence that lay ahead, but my flight took off on time and besides the occasional bumps and drops, everything was going relatively smoothly.
An hour into the flight—just as we’re getting out of the intense turbulence zone—the captain announces that there is a gas leak in the plane and that we would be returning back to Buenos Aires. Yes, we were halfway to Jujuy so we could have just continued on to our final destination, furthermore there are several large cities in between Jujuy and Buenos Aires where we could have landed, but regardless the plane turned around and brought us back to the zone of deathly turbulence.
Gripping onto the side of my seat, palms sweating, heart racing, I was ready to just fast-forward to Jujuy. There was a plane crash in Patagonia less than a week beforehand, so that didn’t exactly help calm my nerves.
Coming in over the Costanera, the dirty Río de la Plata beneath us, passing the River Plate stadium, we were basically back at Jorge Newbery so I thought I was able to finally breathe. As we were coming in to land, just as the wheels are about to screech against the damp pavement of the runway, the plane starts to take off again. The pilot comes on the loudspeaker only to tell us that another plane was coming into land right behind us and that we had to loop around again to land. Sitting by the window, I curiously peer out the window to see if I could see the plane behind us. Not only could I SEE the plane, but it was just a few hundred feet behind the tail of our plane.
Hey Courtney, don’t you wish you had been on this flight?
Planes just don’t crash in the air…that is something that you can bet on NEVER happening. However, a lack of communication with the ATC tower may result otherwise. Seeing the nose of the other plane behind us, I was hit with a wave of nausea and felt like I was going to pass out. The woman next to me sees my panic and immediately takes my hand in an effort to calm me down.
Todo bien, todo bien.
And yes, everything was okay. I mean, the Jujuy airport was closed because of weather so we had to land in Salta and then be shuttled two hours in a combi to Jujuy, but I made it in one piece. (And only seven hours after I was supposed to arrive!)
Well, things can only get better from here!
Paloma and I went out to dinner at an empanadería with two French guys that we met in our hostel. I got empanadas de llama…¡increíbles! Northwest Argentina is known for their delicious regional food, such as tamales, humitas, sopa de maní, empanadas, llama, locro…and it actually comes picante!
The next day was May 25th, not only my beautiful mother’s birthday but also El Día de la Patria in Argentina. All stores were closed in the morning and the entire city of Jujuy assembled in the central plaza for a big desfile. We were in a sea of celeste and Soles de Mayo. Young school children, gauchos on caballo, members of the ejército, and veterans, among many others, filed down San Martín as they were presented to the observing jujeños. The sense of national pride, even in this city of less than 300,000, was tremendous and contagious. Instead of throwing candy to the spectators, alfajores and empanadas were handed out. The plaza was filled with pancho stands, mobile kioscos, and vendors selling Argentine flags, flag pins, flag ribbons…pretty much flag-anything. The marching band played some of Argentina’s national songs as the jujeños sang along. The orgullo argentino that was so simply and modestly revealed in the little city of San Salvador de Jujuy made me recognize my own orgullo argentino…I am an Argentine resident after all!
We spent the rest of the day exploring the city, wandering the street markets of pirated movies and imitation Nike products, trying new regional specialties, and munching on hojas de coca. Coca leaves are legal in the provincias of Jujuy and Salta, traditionally used for medical or religious purposes. I basically relied on coca leaves when I was in Peru in 2008, as they are very effective with fighting altitude sickness. Las hojas de coca saved me again this past week, as we were between 5,000-13,000 feet above sea level at different points throughout the week. The coca leaves also awesomely numb your mouth when you chew on them…which you know, is always fun.
On Thursday we went on an excursion to Las Salinas Grandes. I visited some salt flats in Córdoba, but the ones in Jujuy (and Salta) are known for being pure salitre that extend for miles and miles, so we decided to check them out. Our guide first took us through some small indigenous villages (one of the villages only had one telephone for the entire community!), up through the autopista panamericana, and into Purmamarca where we hiked in the Quebrada de Humahuaca through the Cerro de los Siete Colores. The different colors on the mountain are a result of different sediments, each color signifying a different time period. The air was thin, we were huffin’ and puffin’, but it was such an extraordinary view that our inability to breathe seemed trivial. The reds, oranges, purples, and greens of the mountains were so unlike anything I had ever seen before, and I can’t even illustrate the radiance of the quebrada in words nor in photos.
While some of us grabbed lunch at a deli in Purmamarca (this means jamón crudo!), others opted to have a more regional dish in a small village on the way to the salt flats. After trying two closed restaurants, we arrived at one that had lunch but only for three people. Some had to ration, but we left with panzas llenas. After lunch we went up to Las Salinas Grandes…sunglasses necessary. We spent an hour roaming around the infinite flats, taking pictures of ourselves in the palm of someone’s hand, standing on people’s shoulders, ninja-fighting, eating our mini-friends, and with our dancing Bolivian people. The blinding reflection from the purely white salt left us sunburned, tired, dehydrated, and partially blind (for those without sunglasses), but we all still had smiles on our faces. Before heading back to Jujuy we stopped back at the Purmamarca market where we all loaded up on llama sweaters, scarves, and other cosas artesenales. Jujeños are predominantly indigenous with dark complexions, so they are immediately drawn to my light green eyes. ¡Qué bellos ojos! I may or may not have used this to my advantage when it came to haggling prices. Winnnnn.
Paloma and I went to Tilcara on Friday, a small town nestled in the Quebrada de Humahuaca, about an hour and a half from Jujuy. We got there in the early afternoon and had a long (two hours!) lunch at a cute little restaurant, where we stuffed ourselves with empanadas, chorizo, and morcilla. We were seated in front of the window…ultimate people watching. A woman walked by selling indigenous dolls made out of seeds in a colorful dress…so naturally we both had to run out and get one for ourselves. We named hers Chachi and mine Consuela…and they are our new best friends. (Peep them lovin' each other to the left.) After lunch we began wandering the streets of Tilcara, hoping to make our way to the ruins or Garganta del Diablo. Well, we got sidetracked at the market (again, using my ojos verdes to my advantage), and ended up buying some pretty badass converse, woven with colorful, indigenous cloth. Don’t know how well these shoes will be accepted in the US, but I’m in Argentina for over six more months, and I plan on getting as much use out of them as possible. We headed back to Jujuy, stopped at our hostel, then went back to the bus station and hopped onto our bus to Salta. Paloma and I arrived around 10:30, and although we had a long day, we were still ready to hit up a peña. We got to La Vieja Estación around 11:30 (acceptable time for dinner in Argentina), getting one of the last seats in the house. Lots of folklore music, empanadas, tamales, and vino…buena onda.
On Saturday we woke up early and got on a bus to Cafayate, about four hours south of Salta. Sara and Devon met us at the bus station and we immediately began our wine-tasting adventures. We started at Bodega Nanni, an organic, family-run vineyard. We were introduced to Torrontés, a dry white wine and Cafayate’s claim to fame. At Bodega Nanni we started talking to our tour guide who is actually from Boston. She was telling us about how she moved to Argentina for sustainable development in La Plata and then wound up working at this vineyard in Cafayate. She didn’t care that she was earning Argentine wages because she was so happy where she was. Talking with her really inspired me to do what I love. Right now, owning and running a vineyard seems to be my calling, but I’m still working out all the details. Walking around Cafayate, I fell in love. It is surrounded by gorgeous mountains, a similar landscape to Tilcara but much more green. The pink mountains in the distance make the beauty of Cafayate so incredibly unique. We went to three other vineyards, but I enjoyed the wines at Bodega Nanni more. They were much smoother than the others (especially Bodega Vasija Secreta, whose wine was a little too bitter for my liking), plus they’re all organic! After we vino-ed our way through Cafayate we wound up at an ice cream parlor that has Torrontés and Cabernet Sauvignon flavored ice cream…MAJOR win. Cabernet was my favorite, but they were both delicious. I mean…it’s WINE ice cream. A pretty ultimate fusion of life’s essentials, if you ask me.
Paloma left early Sunday morning so I spent the day with Mya and Kirsten. We had awesome luck with the weather all week; every day was sunny without a cloud in the sky. But on Sunday it was a bit gloomy, so we went to the supermercado, got some Malbec, cheese, crackers, and chocolate, and had a huge snuggle session in the hostel. LOTS of laughing, obvio, and before I knew it I was headed back to BA.
I’m off to Mendoza next! Bike-wine tours…here I come! (Watch out pedestrians.)
Chau,
audgentina.
On Tuesday Paloma and I left for a 6-day trip to northwestern Argentina, in the provincias of Salta and Jujuy. There was a little miscommunication and our flights were booked arriving and departing from opposite cities, but we quickly resolved this minor dilemma and thought that everything from that point forward would go smoothly.
Pero nos equivocamos.
Tuesday was a wet, rainy, windy, and all around gross day. I couldn’t even anticipate the turbulence that lay ahead, but my flight took off on time and besides the occasional bumps and drops, everything was going relatively smoothly.
An hour into the flight—just as we’re getting out of the intense turbulence zone—the captain announces that there is a gas leak in the plane and that we would be returning back to Buenos Aires. Yes, we were halfway to Jujuy so we could have just continued on to our final destination, furthermore there are several large cities in between Jujuy and Buenos Aires where we could have landed, but regardless the plane turned around and brought us back to the zone of deathly turbulence.
Gripping onto the side of my seat, palms sweating, heart racing, I was ready to just fast-forward to Jujuy. There was a plane crash in Patagonia less than a week beforehand, so that didn’t exactly help calm my nerves.
Coming in over the Costanera, the dirty Río de la Plata beneath us, passing the River Plate stadium, we were basically back at Jorge Newbery so I thought I was able to finally breathe. As we were coming in to land, just as the wheels are about to screech against the damp pavement of the runway, the plane starts to take off again. The pilot comes on the loudspeaker only to tell us that another plane was coming into land right behind us and that we had to loop around again to land. Sitting by the window, I curiously peer out the window to see if I could see the plane behind us. Not only could I SEE the plane, but it was just a few hundred feet behind the tail of our plane.
Hey Courtney, don’t you wish you had been on this flight?
Planes just don’t crash in the air…that is something that you can bet on NEVER happening. However, a lack of communication with the ATC tower may result otherwise. Seeing the nose of the other plane behind us, I was hit with a wave of nausea and felt like I was going to pass out. The woman next to me sees my panic and immediately takes my hand in an effort to calm me down.
Todo bien, todo bien.
And yes, everything was okay. I mean, the Jujuy airport was closed because of weather so we had to land in Salta and then be shuttled two hours in a combi to Jujuy, but I made it in one piece. (And only seven hours after I was supposed to arrive!)
Well, things can only get better from here!
Paloma and I went out to dinner at an empanadería with two French guys that we met in our hostel. I got empanadas de llama…¡increíbles! Northwest Argentina is known for their delicious regional food, such as tamales, humitas, sopa de maní, empanadas, llama, locro…and it actually comes picante!
We spent the rest of the day exploring the city, wandering the street markets of pirated movies and imitation Nike products, trying new regional specialties, and munching on hojas de coca. Coca leaves are legal in the provincias of Jujuy and Salta, traditionally used for medical or religious purposes. I basically relied on coca leaves when I was in Peru in 2008, as they are very effective with fighting altitude sickness. Las hojas de coca saved me again this past week, as we were between 5,000-13,000 feet above sea level at different points throughout the week. The coca leaves also awesomely numb your mouth when you chew on them…which you know, is always fun.
The peña at La Vieja Estación in Salta
Paloma left early Sunday morning so I spent the day with Mya and Kirsten. We had awesome luck with the weather all week; every day was sunny without a cloud in the sky. But on Sunday it was a bit gloomy, so we went to the supermercado, got some Malbec, cheese, crackers, and chocolate, and had a huge snuggle session in the hostel. LOTS of laughing, obvio, and before I knew it I was headed back to BA.
I’m off to Mendoza next! Bike-wine tours…here I come! (Watch out pedestrians.)
Chau,
audgentina.
May 23, 2011
dale dale dale
Studying abroad, I feel like everyone is entitled to one crazy, radical thing that they would never do in the US. You can become anyone you want to be when you’re abroad, so this is the time to be able to pull off that lip ring, even though you wear Topsiders and seersucker pants at home. Whether it is dying your hair dark brown, piercing your eyebrow, or getting a tattoo of the sol on the bandera argentina, I think everyone deserves this chance to be a little loco. As for me, I got my nose pierced. No, my parents are not too pleased about it (I believe my mother’s exact words were “EW! Gross!”), but I like it and it’s kind of goes with my Argentine persona.
Paloma and I have discovered this great bar in Las Cañitas called Soul Café, a retro-themed bar with ginormous dice hanging from the ceiling and oldies music posters on the wall. (The music clearly contrasts this retro theme, as most every other song is reggaeton, hip-hop, or something of the like, but it’s a great vibe nonetheless.) We often find ourselves beginning our nights there, since we can walk there from our apartments. Last Thursday after going to Soul Café we headed to Jet Lounge, a ritzy boliche on the Costanera. Really cool and legit people go there; cover is apparently around fifty pesos but somehow Paloma and I managed to land ourselves on some list that got us in for free. Sweeeeeeeeet. Yes, we may or may not have forgotten the password and ended up playing around with words along the line of DJ Fuego (the actual password was Farside)…but got in free nonetheless. Great music, great dancing, plus we scored a free bebida or two. Needless to say, this was definitely a dancing-til-6AM kind of night…
Tuvimos resaca the next day. Obvio. I met Emi at Starbucks around 6PM, which really turned my day around. Turns out ice-cold dulce de leche frappucinos are the perfect cure for resacas.
Last Saturday we were invited to a UBA (Universidad de Buenos Aires) party in San Isidro, a small town in the provincia of Buenos Aires. Every semester, the student government of UBA hosts this party in San Isidro on an estancia-like property. (I say estancia-like because I believe it is actually a property that is rented out for big events like so.) All we knew was that there would be drinks, asado, music, lots of Argentines and very few extranjeros. (I didn’t come across a single foreigner the entire night!) A short thirty-minute train ride away, we arrived in San Isidro not knowing what to expect. We met a big group of Argentines on the train up, so they helped show us the ropes. All the taxis are unmarked, so it would have been quite difficult for us to make our way from the train station to the party. Nothing anyone could have told us would have prepared us for this fiesta. The taxi dropped us off a few blocks before the entrance because there were so many people in the street (tailgating outside of their cars and whatnot), that the taxi couldn't go any further. The entrance into the party was HUGE and wrapped around the block a few times. Joining the party in the street, we had no idea what we were in for. There were bouncers (…BOUNCERS!) to get into the party, and…like…actual organization. (Like…what?) At least 4,000 people were there, and I would not be surprised if there were more. We met a ton of Argentines (=¡mucho español!), danced a lot, and had a sip or two (or three…) of my beloved Fernet.
One thing to keep in mind: lines mean nothing in South America. I learned this to some extent in Chile, when picking up our will-call tickets…the best way to get to the front of the line is shove, push, or cut. Paloma and I, considering this crucial piece of information, refused to be walked over like naïve extranjeras. We butt our way into the entrance line (although we wouldn’t have minded staying in the street party for an hour more…), (humiliatingly) obviously cut the bathroom line, and pushed our way to the front of the bebida line. But there must be some sort of organization to this disarray; if everyone else is cutting/pushing/butting their way to the front, there must be SOME order, right?
Getting home was an ordeal in itself. As trains stop running at 2AM, we had to figure out where the colectivo picks up. Not really knowing where we were (nor in which direction we wanted to go), we just followed the masses of people in hopes that they knew where they were going. Lucky for us, they did. Not so lucky was the colectivo driver, who went from a completely empty colectivo to one completely packed with loud, intoxicated jovenes. But I mean, it was 5AM on a Saturday night, what did he expect?
On Sunday we attempted (key word: attempted) to go to the Boca Juniors v River Plate fútbol game…also known as the Superclásico. Paloma and I thought we were too naïve and, well, AMERICAN, to attend such a chaotic sporting event, so we found it more suitable to go with a group, which I will leave unnamed. Needless to say, this “organization” (quotation marks necessary) proved to be the greatest disaster of my time thus far in Argentina. Let me just give a concise play-by-play of our unsuccessful venture:
13hs: We arrive at the general meeting place, a bar in Palermo. No, we did not receive a complimentary drink/shot as promised, but we got over it.
14.30hsWe leave in our transporte privado from the bar to the stadium. Granted, thirty minutes behind schedule, but we did not see this as a problem.
15hs: We arrive, and begin making vueltas around the cancha.
15.30hs: Still making vueltas.
15.45hs: We arrive at what we think is the right entrance, along with many, many other angry Boca fans. Mass gente, but we continue to wait. There is a line of policía blocking us from entering, supposedly because they are River fans.
15.50hs: Boca fans están hartos of waiting, so they casually begin a street riot. I wish I were exaggerating. They pushed over the police blockade and legitimately began storming towards the cancha. I had no idea where to go/what to do, nor did I have enough bodily strength/force to fight against the riot, so I was basically carried with the mass of people. The riot then casually ended with riot guns (I hope…) firing off, people seeking refuge, crying, etc. All of this happened in a matter of seconds that I had no time to appropriately react; I just ran with the crowd.
16hs: After all of that excitement, we were informed that Boca sobrevendió tickets to the game, thus we would not be able to get into the stadium. So, great.
16.10hs: We hear the kick-off whistle. Hearts are breaking all over La Boca.
17hs: After hopelessly haciendo vueltas around the cancha trying to find an entrance that would let us inside, we finally give up and find a park with a radio and choripan; almost the same thing. This actually turned out to be really fun, as we got to see what the común Boca fan did during games. Their excitement and energía was very contagious!
17.45hs: We begin to make our way back to McDonald’s, the designated meeting place for the transporte privado.
18hs: We arrive at McDonald's on time, but the bus isn't there yet. We wait.
18.30hs: Nothing.
19hs: Still nothing. A little fed up, I call the guy who organized this whole ordeal. He then informs me that he has returned to his house because “hubo demasiados problemas” but that the bus should be there soon.
20hs: NOTHING. At this point I’m starting to get a little angry, and I give he-who-shall-not-be-named a call. His only response to my telling him that the transportation had not arrived was: “ayyy, ¡qué problema!”
20.30hs: Two and a half hours have passed, so we have officially given up waiting for the transporte privado. That’s right; Paloma and I are stuck in La Boca. Alone. At night. With five pesos between the two of us. At this point panic should have start to set in, but we were too exhausted from our entire day of distress that we didn’t exactly grasp our dire need of transportation out of La Boca. We begin wandering the streets to hail a colectivo, but because of the game there were too many people so the colectivos hadn’t started running again. (A concept that to this day I’m not sure that I fully understand…but okay.) We’re positive that it would not be a good idea to walk a few blocks to an ATM to withdraw money (for obvious reasons…), so we wander between McDonald’s and the colectivo stop, unsure of what we should do next.
21hs: Even though we only have five pesos between the two of us, we give in and call a taxi. We would be able to get out of La Boca and stop at an ATM to get money at least, plus we had no other option.
21.30hs: Two taxis have already bailed, and we are running out of options. McDonald’s has to close sometime, and we are literally stranded.
22hs: Our last resort. Paloma’s cousin, Marcelo, lives in Palermo. We didn’t want to call him at first because he works and is busy most nights (and has a life), and because La Boca is basically on the other side of town from Palermo, but we had no other choice. He immediately came and got us, brought us back to his apartment, and gave us some vino to calm our nerves.
Yes, that all happened. An interesting experience and great story, however from now on I am going to plan my forthcoming pursuits on my own…without said “organization,” as they claim to be. (I prefer to use the term man-who-has-no-office-and-steals-plata-from-yankees.)
I have made such amazing friends this semester (hi Paloma), but unfortunately most of them are leaving within the next month. A month may sound like a long time, but in Buenos Aires it is not. Time flies so fast here, and before I know it we will be saying our tearful goodbyes. I have been making every possible effort to make friends that will be here next semester. I have joined CouchSurfing, which has helped me meet people in Buenos Aires who are looking to grab a drink, go to a fútbol game, or explore a town in the provincia. In the past week I have already made four new friends—three colombianos and one peruano—and I can already see the tremendous improvement in my Spanish.
New favorite place: Club Cultural Matienzo. I went with Erika and Paloma on Thursday night. It is in Las Cañitas, very close to my house, and they have different local bands and artsy bands every night. It is three stories; first floor being the bar and live music, second floor a mini, local art gallery, and the top floor is an outdoor terrace with a bar where everyone hangs out after the show is over. After the show we went up to the terrace, where we met some Brazilians who taught me my first Portuguese word/phrase: filha da puta. (I’m going to go ahead and take the liberty of not translating that…)
Because our attempt to go to a fútbol game last week was such a fail, we decided that we had to try again this week and go to the River Plate v San Lorenzo game yesterday. It was a very rainy and feo day outside, but that did not discourage us! We met Christian in Plaza Armenia and wandered in the rain, searching for a lugar with promociones. (It was a sporting event, after all…) Fed met us there, and a few jarras later, we began to make our way to Ivan’s apartment in Nuñez, just a few blocks from Estadio Monumental Antonio Vespucio Liberti, the River Plate stadium. Fed dropped off his bag, and told us that we ought to leave our keys and monedas as well, for security might think that they could be used as weapons or thrown at one of the players.
Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?
I was told that Argentine fútbol games are unlike any other professional sporting events in the U.S., but I had no idea. There isn’t even a comparison; heading to la cancha is like being thrown in the middle of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. The fact that I am alive and in one piece, able to recall the energy, vigor, and zeal of the River Plate fans, is in itself miraculous. And just to think: this was a tranquilo game.
A few things about Argentine fútbol games: fans are ruthless, and testosterone is high. The authorities do anything and everything in their power to attempt clashes between the home team’s fans and the visiting team’s fans, however they can only do so much. There are separate routes designated for each group of fans, and there is a small area of the stadium where only visiting fans can sit. If you are not sitting in the visiting section, then you better be routing for the home team. No alcohol is sold inside the stadium, another attempt to keep fans calm and complaisant, but again, this is just an attempt. At the end of the game, the home fans are not allowed out of the stadium until all visiting fans have left the cancha; another effort to avoid street fighting. People have died at these games…just to put it into a little perspective.
En route to the stadium from Ivan’s apartment, the streets were blocked off and taken over by a sea of red. Flags flying, arms waving, men and little boys shouting the lyrics to one of the many passionate (albeit crass) River canciones. As we got closer to the stadium, you could feel the stomping and shouting coming from the populares section. It was clear that we were in River territory. The policía are well equipped for this chaos, with police on horseback, military vehicles, some bizarre looking weapons, and even crowd-control shields. They know what they’re in for.
I was speechless when we arrived in the stadium. And just to think that this was a tranquilo game. On the opposite side of the stadium from the populares section, you could still hear them screaming, feel them jumping, and see them waving their arms all over the place. Red and white balloons and shredded newspapers were thrown in the air as it came closer to kickoff. We were sitting right under the San Lorenzo fan section, but if you ask me, no one was even there. I didn’t hear a peep coming from their fan section, so either their lack of enthusiasm is shameful, or the craze coming from River was so overpowering that I could hear the fans across the stadium better than I could hear the pansies above me.
We were able to snag great seats right behind the goal about ten rows in (don’t you love the lack of organization and general seating?), so we were really IN the game. Throughout the entire game, the fans were shouting the same lyrics of the River chants in unison, led by the populares of course. The energy was so powerful and really got me going. Intoxication would be the perfect word to describe the vigor of avid fútbol fans. The end of the game had high intensity, as River and San Lorenzo tied 1-1. It’s safe to say I’ve developed a new love (or obsession) with Argentine fútbol. I’ve never been a sports enthusiast (although I do love a good Cubs game), but Argentine fútbol is something different.
Tomorrow Paloma and I headed to the northwestern provincias of Jujuy and Salta, where we will (attempt to) immerse ourselves into their indigenous culture, become fluent in Quechua, and perhaps even ride a llama! (One can only hope…) I'm all packed (thanks Nina), so after my (self-determined) half day of school tomorrow, I'm off!
Chau,
audgentina.
PS HAPPPPPPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY IRENAAAAA I LOVEEE YOUU MY BABY GIRLLLLLL!
Tuvimos resaca the next day. Obvio. I met Emi at Starbucks around 6PM, which really turned my day around. Turns out ice-cold dulce de leche frappucinos are the perfect cure for resacas.
One thing to keep in mind: lines mean nothing in South America. I learned this to some extent in Chile, when picking up our will-call tickets…the best way to get to the front of the line is shove, push, or cut. Paloma and I, considering this crucial piece of information, refused to be walked over like naïve extranjeras. We butt our way into the entrance line (although we wouldn’t have minded staying in the street party for an hour more…), (humiliatingly) obviously cut the bathroom line, and pushed our way to the front of the bebida line. But there must be some sort of organization to this disarray; if everyone else is cutting/pushing/butting their way to the front, there must be SOME order, right?
Getting home was an ordeal in itself. As trains stop running at 2AM, we had to figure out where the colectivo picks up. Not really knowing where we were (nor in which direction we wanted to go), we just followed the masses of people in hopes that they knew where they were going. Lucky for us, they did. Not so lucky was the colectivo driver, who went from a completely empty colectivo to one completely packed with loud, intoxicated jovenes. But I mean, it was 5AM on a Saturday night, what did he expect?
On Sunday we attempted (key word: attempted) to go to the Boca Juniors v River Plate fútbol game…also known as the Superclásico. Paloma and I thought we were too naïve and, well, AMERICAN, to attend such a chaotic sporting event, so we found it more suitable to go with a group, which I will leave unnamed. Needless to say, this “organization” (quotation marks necessary) proved to be the greatest disaster of my time thus far in Argentina. Let me just give a concise play-by-play of our unsuccessful venture:
14.30hsWe leave in our transporte privado from the bar to the stadium. Granted, thirty minutes behind schedule, but we did not see this as a problem.
15hs: We arrive, and begin making vueltas around the cancha.
15.30hs: Still making vueltas.
15.45hs: We arrive at what we think is the right entrance, along with many, many other angry Boca fans. Mass gente, but we continue to wait. There is a line of policía blocking us from entering, supposedly because they are River fans.
15.50hs: Boca fans están hartos of waiting, so they casually begin a street riot. I wish I were exaggerating. They pushed over the police blockade and legitimately began storming towards the cancha. I had no idea where to go/what to do, nor did I have enough bodily strength/force to fight against the riot, so I was basically carried with the mass of people. The riot then casually ended with riot guns (I hope…) firing off, people seeking refuge, crying, etc. All of this happened in a matter of seconds that I had no time to appropriately react; I just ran with the crowd.
16hs: After all of that excitement, we were informed that Boca sobrevendió tickets to the game, thus we would not be able to get into the stadium. So, great.
16.10hs: We hear the kick-off whistle. Hearts are breaking all over La Boca.
17hs: After hopelessly haciendo vueltas around the cancha trying to find an entrance that would let us inside, we finally give up and find a park with a radio and choripan; almost the same thing. This actually turned out to be really fun, as we got to see what the común Boca fan did during games. Their excitement and energía was very contagious!
17.45hs: We begin to make our way back to McDonald’s, the designated meeting place for the transporte privado.
18hs: We arrive at McDonald's on time, but the bus isn't there yet. We wait.
18.30hs: Nothing.
19hs: Still nothing. A little fed up, I call the guy who organized this whole ordeal. He then informs me that he has returned to his house because “hubo demasiados problemas” but that the bus should be there soon.
20hs: NOTHING. At this point I’m starting to get a little angry, and I give he-who-shall-not-be-named a call. His only response to my telling him that the transportation had not arrived was: “ayyy, ¡qué problema!”
20.30hs: Two and a half hours have passed, so we have officially given up waiting for the transporte privado. That’s right; Paloma and I are stuck in La Boca. Alone. At night. With five pesos between the two of us. At this point panic should have start to set in, but we were too exhausted from our entire day of distress that we didn’t exactly grasp our dire need of transportation out of La Boca. We begin wandering the streets to hail a colectivo, but because of the game there were too many people so the colectivos hadn’t started running again. (A concept that to this day I’m not sure that I fully understand…but okay.) We’re positive that it would not be a good idea to walk a few blocks to an ATM to withdraw money (for obvious reasons…), so we wander between McDonald’s and the colectivo stop, unsure of what we should do next.
21hs: Even though we only have five pesos between the two of us, we give in and call a taxi. We would be able to get out of La Boca and stop at an ATM to get money at least, plus we had no other option.
21.30hs: Two taxis have already bailed, and we are running out of options. McDonald’s has to close sometime, and we are literally stranded.
22hs: Our last resort. Paloma’s cousin, Marcelo, lives in Palermo. We didn’t want to call him at first because he works and is busy most nights (and has a life), and because La Boca is basically on the other side of town from Palermo, but we had no other choice. He immediately came and got us, brought us back to his apartment, and gave us some vino to calm our nerves.
Yes, that all happened. An interesting experience and great story, however from now on I am going to plan my forthcoming pursuits on my own…without said “organization,” as they claim to be. (I prefer to use the term man-who-has-no-office-and-steals-plata-from-yankees.)
New favorite place: Club Cultural Matienzo. I went with Erika and Paloma on Thursday night. It is in Las Cañitas, very close to my house, and they have different local bands and artsy bands every night. It is three stories; first floor being the bar and live music, second floor a mini, local art gallery, and the top floor is an outdoor terrace with a bar where everyone hangs out after the show is over. After the show we went up to the terrace, where we met some Brazilians who taught me my first Portuguese word/phrase: filha da puta. (I’m going to go ahead and take the liberty of not translating that…)
Because our attempt to go to a fútbol game last week was such a fail, we decided that we had to try again this week and go to the River Plate v San Lorenzo game yesterday. It was a very rainy and feo day outside, but that did not discourage us! We met Christian in Plaza Armenia and wandered in the rain, searching for a lugar with promociones. (It was a sporting event, after all…) Fed met us there, and a few jarras later, we began to make our way to Ivan’s apartment in Nuñez, just a few blocks from Estadio Monumental Antonio Vespucio Liberti, the River Plate stadium. Fed dropped off his bag, and told us that we ought to leave our keys and monedas as well, for security might think that they could be used as weapons or thrown at one of the players.
Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?
I was told that Argentine fútbol games are unlike any other professional sporting events in the U.S., but I had no idea. There isn’t even a comparison; heading to la cancha is like being thrown in the middle of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. The fact that I am alive and in one piece, able to recall the energy, vigor, and zeal of the River Plate fans, is in itself miraculous. And just to think: this was a tranquilo game.
A few things about Argentine fútbol games: fans are ruthless, and testosterone is high. The authorities do anything and everything in their power to attempt clashes between the home team’s fans and the visiting team’s fans, however they can only do so much. There are separate routes designated for each group of fans, and there is a small area of the stadium where only visiting fans can sit. If you are not sitting in the visiting section, then you better be routing for the home team. No alcohol is sold inside the stadium, another attempt to keep fans calm and complaisant, but again, this is just an attempt. At the end of the game, the home fans are not allowed out of the stadium until all visiting fans have left the cancha; another effort to avoid street fighting. People have died at these games…just to put it into a little perspective.
En route to the stadium from Ivan’s apartment, the streets were blocked off and taken over by a sea of red. Flags flying, arms waving, men and little boys shouting the lyrics to one of the many passionate (albeit crass) River canciones. As we got closer to the stadium, you could feel the stomping and shouting coming from the populares section. It was clear that we were in River territory. The policía are well equipped for this chaos, with police on horseback, military vehicles, some bizarre looking weapons, and even crowd-control shields. They know what they’re in for.
I was speechless when we arrived in the stadium. And just to think that this was a tranquilo game. On the opposite side of the stadium from the populares section, you could still hear them screaming, feel them jumping, and see them waving their arms all over the place. Red and white balloons and shredded newspapers were thrown in the air as it came closer to kickoff. We were sitting right under the San Lorenzo fan section, but if you ask me, no one was even there. I didn’t hear a peep coming from their fan section, so either their lack of enthusiasm is shameful, or the craze coming from River was so overpowering that I could hear the fans across the stadium better than I could hear the pansies above me.
Tomorrow Paloma and I headed to the northwestern provincias of Jujuy and Salta, where we will (attempt to) immerse ourselves into their indigenous culture, become fluent in Quechua, and perhaps even ride a llama! (One can only hope…) I'm all packed (thanks Nina), so after my (self-determined) half day of school tomorrow, I'm off!
Chau,
audgentina.
PS HAPPPPPPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY IRENAAAAA I LOVEEE YOUU MY BABY GIRLLLLLL!
May 11, 2011
mi argentinidad
Inspired by my dear friend, mademoiselle ming, I have decided to compile a list of the top ten things that I am currently obsessed with. My life. Mi argentinidad.
1. Maté: An infused drink, prepared by immersing dried yerba maté leaves in hot water. A lot like green tea...except ONE MILLION TIME BETTER. I am literally obsessed. OBSESSED. I drink it before school, after school, in class, in the park, on the bus, during meals…you name it. (I’m even drinking maté right now!) I became hooked on maté in Bariloche (when I realized that the reason that so many Argentines are obsessed with maté is because of the incredible effect this little herb has on you), and I am now a certified maté maniac. Most extranjeros prefer maté dulce (maté prepared with honey or sugar) since maté amargo is an acquired taste, but I tend to stick with the amargo.
There is a specific etiquette for drinking maté…it is not like any other beverage. The same maté and bombilla are used by everyone drinking…no germaphobes allowed. He (or she!) who assumes the duty of the cebador pours water slowly, filling the gourd. The cebador will drink the first gourd of maté to ensure that the temperature is right, that it is not too strong, and that it is sin palo. (The first few gourds of maté also tend to be extremely bitter, so the duty of the cebador is to serve the maté with best quality.) The gourd is then passed clockwise, and continues to be passed clockwise. When you are handed the maté, drink the whole gourd. The bombilla makes a very loud sucking noise when there is no more maté, but slurping isn’t rude according to maté etiquette. The cebador is the only one who holds the thermos of hot water, so when the maté is empty, hand the gourd back. He (or she!) will fill it with water and then pass it on to the next person. Don’t you dare say gracias until you have had enough maté, for that would tell the cebador: no quiero más maté. NEVER stir/mix/move the bombilla, unless you like a clogged bombilla and drinking yerba straight from the straw.
2. Malbec: One of Argentina’s well-known varieties of red wine (but let’s be serious, there are MANY). The Malbec grape is mixed with Merlot and Tannat to give it its full-bodied flavor. I have not been to Mendoza yet (I’m going June 16!), so I cannot share my pretentious and knowledgeable opinion of the true body of the grape. HOWEVER, from my experience actually drinking this sweet vino, it is quite possibly one of the greatest things to come out of Argentina. It is such a suave taste…I find it very difficult to limit myself to just one glass. Never before have I enjoyed drinking anything like I enjoy a delicious glass of Malbec. Santa Julia is undeniably my brand of choice…and at sixteen pesos, who could say no?
3. Fernet: An Argentine spirit, and one that you need to let grow on you. Yes, it very closely resembles battery acid at first taste, but once I gave it a chance it was impossible not to fall in love. You don’t drink it straight, rather mixed with Coke; this has quickly become my drink of choice. There’s nothing like seeing a bottle of Fernet Branca on the bar sill and knowing that I’m actually in Argentina. It may seem a little weird that Buenos Aires offers me solace in the iconic bottle of aromatic spirit, but for me Fernet is part of the quintessential Argentina that I have grown to love so much.
4. Dulce de leche: Nothing like caramel and nothing like milk, despite what others may say. Dulce de leche is a spread that can literally go on anything. I have put it on toast, medialunas, chocolate cookies, apples, you name it. They love their dulce de leche here, and I love the fact that they love it so much. (More for me!) There even is an entire dulce de leche section in the “toppings & spreads” aisle in the supermercado, yet not a single jar of peanut butter. From dulce de leche ice cream at Freddo to dulce de leche topping on a crepe at any café in town, it would be pretty hard to spend a week in this city without coming across what I like to call: God’s gift from heaven.
5. AlmaZén Natural: The health food store halfway between my house and school, where I am a very loyal customer and have befriended the darling girl that runs it. I go there to load up on all kinds of snacks, and they have pre-made, organic, delicious meals, which I get often. And as a result of this (somewhat) healthy eating, my clothes still fit! Nope, the Study Abroad Fifteen hasn't hit me yet, but I still have a solid 8 more months to fight it.
6. Boho-artsy-chic: Buenos Aires style is truly one of a kind, and in turn is forcing me to leave my preppy roots where they belong: on the Eastern Seaboard. (No more Jack Rogers and J.Crew shorts for me!) Leather is inevitably wildly popular, as just about anything and everything comes in leather (except for leather socks…I’m still scouring the mercados Nina!). Art is a true addiction in Buenos Aires, and it is truly manifested in la moda. A unique fusion of style has come out of the influence of artsy/boho/hipsters, which seem to constitute the multitude of young porteños. This includes lots of loose dresses, leather boots, skinny jeans, high heels, crop tops (I am still trying to get comfortable wearing crop tops…but I’m getting there!), leather pants, combat boots, and big, loose graphic tees. Day by day the BA moda rubs off on me more and more; I’m coming pretty close to losing my typical jeans-shirt-cardigan ensemble all together!
7. Happy hour lasting until 23hs: I’m not just talking about happy hour, though. Everything here runs on a later schedule: lunch between 14hs to 16hs, dinner between 21hs-22hs (or even later on the weekends!), bars from 23hs-02.30hs, boliche from 03hs to….! This daily horario gives me so much more time in my day; getting out of school at 14.30hs and not having dinner until 21hs gives me six and half hours to explore a new barrio, relax in a parque (see #8), get café with a friend, mosey through the shops of Palermo Soho, or take a siesta because I was out until morning the night before.
Things do run slower here; some uninformed extranjeros may even go as far to say that the service “sucks” in Argentina. At first this slower pace of life irritated me, as I’m used to constantly rushing through my day, even when I’m in no hurry at all. But after three months of relentless irritation, I am finally able to appreciate sitting down for an hour and a half lunch, not get irritated when the mozo takes a WHOLE twenty minutes (¡qué asco!) to bring over the menus, and know that I need to flag down the mozo if I want or need anything…including la cuenta. But this cultural divergence has taught me to relax. There is absolutely nothing “nice” about going out to eat if you’re just going to rush through the meal. Argentines certainly embrace life by savoring every moment, and I am starting to now as well.
8. Parques: Quite possibly one of the things I love most about Argentina, especially Buenos Aires. Here I am in a city of nearly 13 million people, so inevitably the urban elements of the city are quite apparent. Crime, pollution, people very much like New Yorkers, lots of traffic (and honking wars)…nothing surprising. However, within this overwhelming urban conglomeration are lots of parks and plazas—big and small—scattered throughout all barrios in the city. Porteños take advantage of these public spaces, where they can rollerblade, run, walk their dogs, rent a bike (¡gratis!), take out a paddleboat, share some maté with some friends…it goes on and on. Because Argentina also has a rather…relaxed…open-container law, it is great to be able to charlar with some friends with some Malbec or a Quilmes without worrying about the policía chasing you down.
9. Argentine music: From cumbia to reggaeton to Argentine rock, I’m getting really into ALL OF IT. Cumbia is traditional and folkloric. Reggaeton is intoxicating. Argentine rock is renowned and quite catchy. I am thrilled to say that my iTunes is already filling up with Guasones, Soda Stereo, Babasónicos, Bersuit Vergarabat, Los Enanitos Verdes, Fito Paéz…the list goes on and on. This song by Babasónicos called “Pijamas” is without a doubt my favorite song at the moment; unfortunately for those around me, I’m often attempting (but failing due to me being exceptionally tone deaf) to sing along.
10. Asado: It’s not like my love (or obsession) with choripan is a big secret. Some of you may remember that I was a vegetarian for almost two years prior to my arrival in Argentina, but I honestly can no longer remember why I ever made such an absurd life decision. I find myself fantasizing about the aromas of an Argentine parrilla, as I must limit myself to no more than one asado per week unless I plan on buying a whole new wardrobe. The quality of meat in Argentina is not overhyped at all. Personally, I prefer chorizo and morcilla (I am an avid morcilla enthusiast, but unfortunately I stand alone) over tira de asado and bife de chorizo, but by no means would I ever turn down a jugoso slice of meat. (Not only because I am a true asado aficionado, but I believe most Argentines would simply consider it sacrilegious to say no.)
Chau,
audgentina.
1. Maté: An infused drink, prepared by immersing dried yerba maté leaves in hot water. A lot like green tea...except ONE MILLION TIME BETTER. I am literally obsessed. OBSESSED. I drink it before school, after school, in class, in the park, on the bus, during meals…you name it. (I’m even drinking maté right now!) I became hooked on maté in Bariloche (when I realized that the reason that so many Argentines are obsessed with maté is because of the incredible effect this little herb has on you), and I am now a certified maté maniac. Most extranjeros prefer maté dulce (maté prepared with honey or sugar) since maté amargo is an acquired taste, but I tend to stick with the amargo.
There is a specific etiquette for drinking maté…it is not like any other beverage. The same maté and bombilla are used by everyone drinking…no germaphobes allowed. He (or she!) who assumes the duty of the cebador pours water slowly, filling the gourd. The cebador will drink the first gourd of maté to ensure that the temperature is right, that it is not too strong, and that it is sin palo. (The first few gourds of maté also tend to be extremely bitter, so the duty of the cebador is to serve the maté with best quality.) The gourd is then passed clockwise, and continues to be passed clockwise. When you are handed the maté, drink the whole gourd. The bombilla makes a very loud sucking noise when there is no more maté, but slurping isn’t rude according to maté etiquette. The cebador is the only one who holds the thermos of hot water, so when the maté is empty, hand the gourd back. He (or she!) will fill it with water and then pass it on to the next person. Don’t you dare say gracias until you have had enough maté, for that would tell the cebador: no quiero más maté. NEVER stir/mix/move the bombilla, unless you like a clogged bombilla and drinking yerba straight from the straw.
2. Malbec: One of Argentina’s well-known varieties of red wine (but let’s be serious, there are MANY). The Malbec grape is mixed with Merlot and Tannat to give it its full-bodied flavor. I have not been to Mendoza yet (I’m going June 16!), so I cannot share my pretentious and knowledgeable opinion of the true body of the grape. HOWEVER, from my experience actually drinking this sweet vino, it is quite possibly one of the greatest things to come out of Argentina. It is such a suave taste…I find it very difficult to limit myself to just one glass. Never before have I enjoyed drinking anything like I enjoy a delicious glass of Malbec. Santa Julia is undeniably my brand of choice…and at sixteen pesos, who could say no?
3. Fernet: An Argentine spirit, and one that you need to let grow on you. Yes, it very closely resembles battery acid at first taste, but once I gave it a chance it was impossible not to fall in love. You don’t drink it straight, rather mixed with Coke; this has quickly become my drink of choice. There’s nothing like seeing a bottle of Fernet Branca on the bar sill and knowing that I’m actually in Argentina. It may seem a little weird that Buenos Aires offers me solace in the iconic bottle of aromatic spirit, but for me Fernet is part of the quintessential Argentina that I have grown to love so much.
4. Dulce de leche: Nothing like caramel and nothing like milk, despite what others may say. Dulce de leche is a spread that can literally go on anything. I have put it on toast, medialunas, chocolate cookies, apples, you name it. They love their dulce de leche here, and I love the fact that they love it so much. (More for me!) There even is an entire dulce de leche section in the “toppings & spreads” aisle in the supermercado, yet not a single jar of peanut butter. From dulce de leche ice cream at Freddo to dulce de leche topping on a crepe at any café in town, it would be pretty hard to spend a week in this city without coming across what I like to call: God’s gift from heaven.
5. AlmaZén Natural: The health food store halfway between my house and school, where I am a very loyal customer and have befriended the darling girl that runs it. I go there to load up on all kinds of snacks, and they have pre-made, organic, delicious meals, which I get often. And as a result of this (somewhat) healthy eating, my clothes still fit! Nope, the Study Abroad Fifteen hasn't hit me yet, but I still have a solid 8 more months to fight it.
6. Boho-artsy-chic: Buenos Aires style is truly one of a kind, and in turn is forcing me to leave my preppy roots where they belong: on the Eastern Seaboard. (No more Jack Rogers and J.Crew shorts for me!) Leather is inevitably wildly popular, as just about anything and everything comes in leather (except for leather socks…I’m still scouring the mercados Nina!). Art is a true addiction in Buenos Aires, and it is truly manifested in la moda. A unique fusion of style has come out of the influence of artsy/boho/hipsters, which seem to constitute the multitude of young porteños. This includes lots of loose dresses, leather boots, skinny jeans, high heels, crop tops (I am still trying to get comfortable wearing crop tops…but I’m getting there!), leather pants, combat boots, and big, loose graphic tees. Day by day the BA moda rubs off on me more and more; I’m coming pretty close to losing my typical jeans-shirt-cardigan ensemble all together!
7. Happy hour lasting until 23hs: I’m not just talking about happy hour, though. Everything here runs on a later schedule: lunch between 14hs to 16hs, dinner between 21hs-22hs (or even later on the weekends!), bars from 23hs-02.30hs, boliche from 03hs to….! This daily horario gives me so much more time in my day; getting out of school at 14.30hs and not having dinner until 21hs gives me six and half hours to explore a new barrio, relax in a parque (see #8), get café with a friend, mosey through the shops of Palermo Soho, or take a siesta because I was out until morning the night before.
Things do run slower here; some uninformed extranjeros may even go as far to say that the service “sucks” in Argentina. At first this slower pace of life irritated me, as I’m used to constantly rushing through my day, even when I’m in no hurry at all. But after three months of relentless irritation, I am finally able to appreciate sitting down for an hour and a half lunch, not get irritated when the mozo takes a WHOLE twenty minutes (¡qué asco!) to bring over the menus, and know that I need to flag down the mozo if I want or need anything…including la cuenta. But this cultural divergence has taught me to relax. There is absolutely nothing “nice” about going out to eat if you’re just going to rush through the meal. Argentines certainly embrace life by savoring every moment, and I am starting to now as well.
8. Parques: Quite possibly one of the things I love most about Argentina, especially Buenos Aires. Here I am in a city of nearly 13 million people, so inevitably the urban elements of the city are quite apparent. Crime, pollution, people very much like New Yorkers, lots of traffic (and honking wars)…nothing surprising. However, within this overwhelming urban conglomeration are lots of parks and plazas—big and small—scattered throughout all barrios in the city. Porteños take advantage of these public spaces, where they can rollerblade, run, walk their dogs, rent a bike (¡gratis!), take out a paddleboat, share some maté with some friends…it goes on and on. Because Argentina also has a rather…relaxed…open-container law, it is great to be able to charlar with some friends with some Malbec or a Quilmes without worrying about the policía chasing you down.
9. Argentine music: From cumbia to reggaeton to Argentine rock, I’m getting really into ALL OF IT. Cumbia is traditional and folkloric. Reggaeton is intoxicating. Argentine rock is renowned and quite catchy. I am thrilled to say that my iTunes is already filling up with Guasones, Soda Stereo, Babasónicos, Bersuit Vergarabat, Los Enanitos Verdes, Fito Paéz…the list goes on and on. This song by Babasónicos called “Pijamas” is without a doubt my favorite song at the moment; unfortunately for those around me, I’m often attempting (but failing due to me being exceptionally tone deaf) to sing along.
10. Asado: It’s not like my love (or obsession) with choripan is a big secret. Some of you may remember that I was a vegetarian for almost two years prior to my arrival in Argentina, but I honestly can no longer remember why I ever made such an absurd life decision. I find myself fantasizing about the aromas of an Argentine parrilla, as I must limit myself to no more than one asado per week unless I plan on buying a whole new wardrobe. The quality of meat in Argentina is not overhyped at all. Personally, I prefer chorizo and morcilla (I am an avid morcilla enthusiast, but unfortunately I stand alone) over tira de asado and bife de chorizo, but by no means would I ever turn down a jugoso slice of meat. (Not only because I am a true asado aficionado, but I believe most Argentines would simply consider it sacrilegious to say no.)
Chau,
audgentina.
May 8, 2011
la oscuridad
They say that los ciegos have heightened senses due to the brain’s ability to overcome losses of certain areas of stimuli…or something like that.
Last night, Cassie, Devon, Erika, and I went to see “A Ciegas con Luz,” un espectáculo musical gourmet en total oscuridad. None of us had ever been to such a show, so we had no idea what to expect. I, for one, did not think that we would be in a completely (and absolutely) dark room. There must be low lights o algo así…so I thought. Nope. Upon arriving at the theater, we were guided by the mozos/actores through a mysterious, pitch-black space. We were immersed in an area without any electricity, and we were forced to see reality from another dimension. Inferring from the sounds and smells, I imagined the mysterious space to be an elaborate, ritzy room, with a fountain area in the middle, columns to the side, and plants all around. The mozos guided us to our table, manos sobre sus hombros, where a plate lleno de comida (and lots of vino!) awaited us. (To facilitate our eating-in-the-dark, much of the food was put on skewers.) We had absolutely no idea what we were eating, but everything was so flavorful! There was a torta-thing, a skewer of carne, a bruchetta-like thing, and a caprese skewer. The postre was a chocolate cake…with a fruity topping…covered in chocolate…on a skewer! How they managed to do that is beyond me. I’m not going to lie, I felt pretty barbaric eating with no utensils, but was thankful for the oscuridad so no one could see me double-fisting my comida…
What makes El Teatro Ciego special is that many of the actors in the company are actually blind or with vision-impairments. Not only does the darkness facilitate the development of each individual’s senses, but it also promotes empathy among the members of the audience, erasing the differences between people that are perceived through sight.
While we were eating, the show was going on around us. Their stage was the same mysterious, dark place where we were sitting an eating. How the actors managed to move around without bumping into anybody is beyond me. We felt like we were right in the middle of the stage, getting splashed on, smelling fresh flowers and herb scents, hearing a train’s whistle right next to us, and smelling the burning gasoline of a motorcycle driving right by our table. During many parts of the show, I honestly forgot that it was pitch-black, because I was so focused on the fusion of the flavors and the sounds and smells around me that I didn’t even need to see what was around me. The room we were in truly felt elaborate, so you can imagine our dismay and bewilderment when the lights were turned on and we were in an ordinary dining room!
I am in love with this city.
Chau,
audgentina.
What makes El Teatro Ciego special is that many of the actors in the company are actually blind or with vision-impairments. Not only does the darkness facilitate the development of each individual’s senses, but it also promotes empathy among the members of the audience, erasing the differences between people that are perceived through sight.
While we were eating, the show was going on around us. Their stage was the same mysterious, dark place where we were sitting an eating. How the actors managed to move around without bumping into anybody is beyond me. We felt like we were right in the middle of the stage, getting splashed on, smelling fresh flowers and herb scents, hearing a train’s whistle right next to us, and smelling the burning gasoline of a motorcycle driving right by our table. During many parts of the show, I honestly forgot that it was pitch-black, because I was so focused on the fusion of the flavors and the sounds and smells around me that I didn’t even need to see what was around me. The room we were in truly felt elaborate, so you can imagine our dismay and bewilderment when the lights were turned on and we were in an ordinary dining room!
I am in love with this city.
Chau,
audgentina.
March 24, 2011
justicia, verdad y malbec
We then plopped ourselves down in the Plaza de Mayo where thousands of people had gathered to celebrate today’s national holiday. Commemorating 35 years since the last golpe militar, people from ALL kinds of organizations—not just the Madres—gathered to protest for justicia, verdad, and igualidad. We had packed a picnic of tostadas integrales, jamón crudo, uvas, and Malbec (of course. I love being abroad in a wine country!). Soaking in the energy of the march was an indescribable experience. More and more people kept filing in from Avenida 9 de Julio; easily fifteen thousand marchers. We had some entertaining interactions with vendors and beggars, but it made for an all-around incredible afternoon.
I came back from the march actually high on LIFE (and some Malbec). Such an incredible and eye-opening experience. As for now, I’m headed off to Córdoba for the weekend!
Chau,
audgentina.
March 19, 2011
shakira, carnaval y san patricio
The festival ended around midnight, and it was then that I realized that there were tens of thousands of people at this concert. (Final headcount: 45,000. Thanks Cass!) Por eso, finding a cab was near impossible. We had anticipated this, so instead of hopelessly trying to hail a
We arrived in Uruguay towards the tail end of Carnaval, and let me just say GOOD LORD. I always thought that Carnaval was all street parties, costumes, and good times. No one told me that you literally need weapons of defense in order to survive Carnaval in one piece. I wish I were kidding. We began our aventuras uruguashas (note the accent!) in La Paloma, a small beach town in Eastern Uruguay. The population of La Paloma is less than 4,000, which had led me to believe that the locura of Carnaval wouldn’t be as intense here. Yeah, well FALSE. Regardless of the time of day, it was actually impossible to walk the streets—be it the main street through downtown La Paloma or one of the small side streets—without getting foamed, hit by a water balloon, or some other weapon of minimal destruction. It was funny at first, but after that first time I was ready to take out the suckers with a full-blasted water gun.
Other than the Carnaval mayhem, La Paloma was incredible! (Said mayhem actually made my time in La Paloma more interesting! Quite the experience…) I absolutely LOVED the hostel we stayed at and would return there in a heartbeat. They had the most delicious dulce de leche (locally made, I believe) and the staff recommended the greatest local asado restaurant. Hands down best choripan I have had yet.
CLASE. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. It actually feels like a lifetime ago that I was doing homework, studying for exams, and taking notes in class. I’m taking four classes: Historia de movimientos políticos y sociales (with ARGENTINES! Eek!), Historia económica en Latinoamérica, Sistemas políticos: los populismos en Latinoamérica, and Taller de escritura. Some classes are easier to understand than others, it really depends on el profe. None of my books are in yet (and won’t be in until Wednesday), so I conveniently haven’t had to do any homework yet. I’m hoping this study abroad experience will be more abroad and less study…but we will see how these classes go. OH…and I don’t have Friday classes. Helloooooooooo three-day weekends. This is really how life should be.
I then spent the entirety of the day following St. Patty’s in the Migraciones office, waiting to get my permanent visa. The incompetence of the empleados and inefficiency of the process astounded me, but I was too “weak” to notice all that much. But I am officially a resident of Argentina…hooray!
What’s on the horizon:
-El Día del Campo: Mañana. Not really sure what this día will consist of, but I’m guessing gauchos, maté, asado, and empanadas. An unbeatable combination.
-Córdoba: next weekend. Next Thursday and Friday are feriados nacionales, so on Wednesday night we leave for our long weekend at an estancia in Córdoba. Hiking, horseback riding, asado, maté and a fresh, outdoorsy weekend away from the not-so buenos aires of Buenos Aires. My lungs will be ever so grateful.
-Santiago, Chile: April 1-4. LOLLAPALOOZA…need I say more?!
Chau,
audgentina.
March 4, 2011
panchos are the bomb-a
It has been a while…I KNOW. I was traveling all weekend and have been so busy with finals this week but I have finally found a moment to update all my fervent followers on my crazy life in the Southern Hemisphere! But never fear, this post will be worth the long anticipated wait.
Well…let’s just say La Bomba was the BOMB-a. After getting off the Subte a LITTLE too early
and thus having to walk through Almagro—also known as the shadiest part of BA that I’ve seen thus far (mi culpa, mi culpa)—we made it to La Bomba on time and alive. Before the concert started, everyone was gathered outside of the venue, enjoying a few drinks and whatnot. Because La Bomba shows every Monday, the audience mainly consisted of foreigners, a lot of them being UB students. The energy of the concert was really something!
I wish I could upload some of the videos I took at La Bomba because the YouTube video I posted last week really does not do it justice. The musicians really feed off of the audience’s vibe, and during a few numbers they use the audience’s cheers and shouts as part of the song. It was so amazing, and I definitely plan on going back!
The gatitos were born last Wednesday! Three little nubs…they are so precious. Except not really because they can’t walk/open their eyes yet so they kind of just sit there. Lame. But they will walk soon I guess? I don’t know. But I am anticipating extreme cuteness when they can walk and I can squeeze the life out of their cute little selves! Once they are cute and actually start doing things I promise to post pictures of them! They will stay at home until mid-April when they will be given to their respective owners…on which day I will cry myself to sleep.
Last Wednesday night I went to an LCD Soundsystem concert with some friends. It was such a great show and it was so fun to see them here in BA…who knew! I am surprised by all the great shows that tour here; I (ignorantly) assumed that since Argentina is so far away from, well, MY life, that we would get the shaft on touring bands. However, pretty legit groups have come/are coming including Sublime, Tiësto, Backstreet Boys (yeah I said it.), and…let’s just say my hips don’t lie. Yes, I am going to see Shakira TOMORROW! (Pop Festival 2011…with Ziggy Marley as one of the opening acts…chyyyyeeaaah) I AM SO EXCITED! My cousin/bff Shans said, “You’re seeing Shakira in Argentina? That’s like eating pasta in Italy”…well said Cuz, well said.
On Thursday night Paloma and I decided to get a group together to go down to Mar del Plata for the weekend. A five-hour bus ride away, it felt like the perfect opportunity to get away from the chaos of the city. It ended up being a group of five of us—Allegra, Jake, and Alex joined us—and the spontaneity of the whole trip made the weekend even better. We got in late on Friday night and got to explore the nightlife of Mar del Plata before hitting the beach first thing Saturday morning.
Marde—as Argentines call it—is notorious for having overcrowded beaches, but the guy at our hostel told us of some less crowded beaches just outside of the city. We hopped on a Colectivo and rode out to Arena Beach, about thirty minutes from our hostel. The beach was perfect and there actually was not a single cloud in the sky. As the day went on naturally more people started to show up, but it wasn’t the towel-on-top-of-towel crowd that it is at Playa Grande. Argentines who come to Marde for the weekend will come to Arena Beach with their 4x4 vehicle and essentially tailgate all day on the beach. (Driving their cars as close as 20 feet from the water!) They blast music from their cars and chill all day. It is amazing, and made me miss the Meadows a little bit (shout out to my CT chongz!). We befriended the owner of the beach bar, who made us the most delicious strawberry daiquiris and introduced us to panchos.
Panchos are the single greatest nomz in the WORLD. It is actually impossible to capture the delicious essence of panchos without actually tasting it, but I will try. Take a hot dog; douse it in mustard, Parmesan cheese sauce (Yes…cheese sauce...they have this in Argentina! SO delishie), and whatever other condiments of your choice; then top it with crunchy little chip fries. SO SO SO GOOD. I don’t even love hot dogs, but these are simply irresistible. And naturally, being at the beach for seven hours, I had three of them, as did Paloma and Allegra. We also befriended two cordobeses (Argentines from the province of Córdoba), Carlos and Marcelo, who proceeded to comment on how much we girls eat. Cool.
But Carlos and Marcelo did end up being a lot of fun. They had brought their car and invited us to their “lot” to chill with them. It was great hanging out with them, because they would not tolerate us speaking in English. Seriously, every time we started speaking a little English to each other they would start yelling "CHUT UP CHUT UP CHUT UP!" (one of the only English phrases they knew). It really forced us to practice our Spanish in a more informal setting. We were at the beach until probably 7PM (the sun was still out when we left…I love summer), and Carlos and Marcelo gave us a ride back to our hostel. When we got back, we showered, slept, ate, and rallied for another night out in Marde. We strategically had booked our bus back to BA on Sunday at 6PM in order to get maximum beach time, so we spent all day Sunday at Arena Beach as well. It was a more relaxing day, to say the least, but nonetheless a very good time. All around, a fantastic weekend.
On Tuesday night I was invited to a cocktail/dinner party, hosted by Uncle Dave. Uncle Dave is an old Westpoint classmate of my grandfather’s, and I met him for the first time this night. We have been in touch via e-mail since I arrived in BA, and he was very eager to meet me and introduce me to his porteño friends. The cocktail party started in his apartment, where I met what felt like hundreds of people. Not as many viejos as I had originally thought! I met some very nice girls, who are the daughters of one of his good friends. I’m really excited to meet more porteños (outside of the boliches, that is…), and hopefully this is where I’ll start! We then went to a restaurant across the street called El Pájaro que Comió. The rooftop was rented out for the party, and although a little windy, it was a perfect night. I am no longer an Argentine steak virgin! I had my first carne, and let me just say that Argentine steak is NOT overrated. If anything it is underrated. I have never before tasted such a juicy, rich, tasty steak in my life. And after having given up meat for the past two years, this was the most ultimate reintroduction to the meat eater’s world. The mozos kept bringing over more, and more (and MORE!) vino, and for dessert we had the fudgiest brownies with helado de crema americana. So. Delishie. I went to bed VERY satisfied.
As of today, my intensive month of Spanish is officially OVER! GRACIAS A DIOS I survived it. Never, ever, EVER will I again commit myself to 25 hours of Spanish grammar a week. And I strongly urge ANYONE reading this to avoid such a hellish commitment. Tonight will definitely be spent celebrating LIBERTAD with my classmates: it’s officially SPRING BREAK! But wait…it’s not spring. Oh well. I leave for Uruguay on Sunday night and will be there until the following Sunday. I can’t wait! We will be in La Paloma and Punta del Este. Feel free to Google these destinations and be jealous. However, the forecast right now is showing for a few more rainy days than I would like…but I’m hoping that it’s lying.
I’m really feeling good about life in BA. Everything is starting to fall into a routine, and I love every moment of it. I no longer feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and not only have people started asking me for directions, but I can respond without stuttering like an idiot and muttering something along the lines of yo no sé, while running away crying. I now have my favorite cafés and stores, where the owners know me by name…or in the case of the health food store around the corner from my house, where the owner knows me as la chica de los pistachios.
Chau,
audgentina.
Well…let’s just say La Bomba was the BOMB-a. After getting off the Subte a LITTLE too early
The gatitos were born last Wednesday! Three little nubs…they are so precious. Except not really because they can’t walk/open their eyes yet so they kind of just sit there. Lame. But they will walk soon I guess? I don’t know. But I am anticipating extreme cuteness when they can walk and I can squeeze the life out of their cute little selves! Once they are cute and actually start doing things I promise to post pictures of them! They will stay at home until mid-April when they will be given to their respective owners…on which day I will cry myself to sleep.
Last Wednesday night I went to an LCD Soundsystem concert with some friends. It was such a great show and it was so fun to see them here in BA…who knew! I am surprised by all the great shows that tour here; I (ignorantly) assumed that since Argentina is so far away from, well, MY life, that we would get the shaft on touring bands. However, pretty legit groups have come/are coming including Sublime, Tiësto, Backstreet Boys (yeah I said it.), and…let’s just say my hips don’t lie. Yes, I am going to see Shakira TOMORROW! (Pop Festival 2011…with Ziggy Marley as one of the opening acts…chyyyyeeaaah) I AM SO EXCITED! My cousin/bff Shans said, “You’re seeing Shakira in Argentina? That’s like eating pasta in Italy”…well said Cuz, well said.
Marde—as Argentines call it—is notorious for having overcrowded beaches, but the guy at our hostel told us of some less crowded beaches just outside of the city. We hopped on a Colectivo and rode out to Arena Beach, about thirty minutes from our hostel. The beach was perfect and there actually was not a single cloud in the sky. As the day went on naturally more people started to show up, but it wasn’t the towel-on-top-of-towel crowd that it is at Playa Grande. Argentines who come to Marde for the weekend will come to Arena Beach with their 4x4 vehicle and essentially tailgate all day on the beach. (Driving their cars as close as 20 feet from the water!) They blast music from their cars and chill all day. It is amazing, and made me miss the Meadows a little bit (shout out to my CT chongz!). We befriended the owner of the beach bar, who made us the most delicious strawberry daiquiris and introduced us to panchos.
On Tuesday night I was invited to a cocktail/dinner party, hosted by Uncle Dave. Uncle Dave is an old Westpoint classmate of my grandfather’s, and I met him for the first time this night. We have been in touch via e-mail since I arrived in BA, and he was very eager to meet me and introduce me to his porteño friends. The cocktail party started in his apartment, where I met what felt like hundreds of people. Not as many viejos as I had originally thought! I met some very nice girls, who are the daughters of one of his good friends. I’m really excited to meet more porteños (outside of the boliches, that is…), and hopefully this is where I’ll start! We then went to a restaurant across the street called El Pájaro que Comió. The rooftop was rented out for the party, and although a little windy, it was a perfect night. I am no longer an Argentine steak virgin! I had my first carne, and let me just say that Argentine steak is NOT overrated. If anything it is underrated. I have never before tasted such a juicy, rich, tasty steak in my life. And after having given up meat for the past two years, this was the most ultimate reintroduction to the meat eater’s world. The mozos kept bringing over more, and more (and MORE!) vino, and for dessert we had the fudgiest brownies with helado de crema americana. So. Delishie. I went to bed VERY satisfied.
As of today, my intensive month of Spanish is officially OVER! GRACIAS A DIOS I survived it. Never, ever, EVER will I again commit myself to 25 hours of Spanish grammar a week. And I strongly urge ANYONE reading this to avoid such a hellish commitment. Tonight will definitely be spent celebrating LIBERTAD with my classmates: it’s officially SPRING BREAK! But wait…it’s not spring. Oh well. I leave for Uruguay on Sunday night and will be there until the following Sunday. I can’t wait! We will be in La Paloma and Punta del Este. Feel free to Google these destinations and be jealous. However, the forecast right now is showing for a few more rainy days than I would like…but I’m hoping that it’s lying.
I’m really feeling good about life in BA. Everything is starting to fall into a routine, and I love every moment of it. I no longer feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and not only have people started asking me for directions, but I can respond without stuttering like an idiot and muttering something along the lines of yo no sé, while running away crying. I now have my favorite cafés and stores, where the owners know me by name…or in the case of the health food store around the corner from my house, where the owner knows me as la chica de los pistachios.
Chau,
audgentina.
February 16, 2011
palermo, parques, y polleras
Ten. Days. Is that really it? It feels like years have gone by since I last nommed on a TomBasMozzPaneen from Naples. But alas, I have many, many more days until I can savor that sweet taste in my mouth once again.
I’m definitely getting over the whole five-hours-of-class-five-days-a-week thing. It’s like I’m in high school again. However, I am very grateful that UB’s Spanish summer courses (yes…it’s summer here!!) do not come with an MPS-like homework load. By 3PM I manage to escape the dreariness of the university to soak up the sun in one of the nearby parks. It doesn’t get dark until 8-8:30ish (with the sun still fully shining until at least 6 or 6:30). And with temperatures in the 80’s every day without a cloud in the sky, who wouldn’t want to lie out by the lake at Parque Tres de Febrero after class? I. Love. Summer. I think that it is safe to say that I am not missing the Northern Hemisphere one bit. Well, except for Naples’ paninis.
Learning how to tango was interesting, to say the least. My incredible lack of both dexterity and short term memory made it very difficult to complete one set (is that the correct dance term?) of moves (again…what’s the right word?). Clearly, the dance world is not ready for my expertise. We were in a room with at least sixty or seventy other beginners, and the boy to girl ratio was about 1:25, so it’s safe to say that I am by no means a tango aficionado. Well, at least not yet.
After (not) tango-ing, I returned home for dinner and then met up with some friends for the night. I attempted to party like a local Argentine (aka staying out until MORNING), but failed by coming home at 4:30. When I told Silvia (my host mother) what time I came home, she responded: ¡Que temprano! (How early!) Yes, my host mother said this. I. Am. Lame.
However, the next morning I had an appointment to get my Argentine Criminal Record. Let’s just say I was a little…weak…(shout out Formica fam!) and thus was “unable” to make it to my 8AM appointment. The office is literally located on the opposite side of BA, requiring me to leave my house at least an hour prior to my appointment. How DARE they expect me to make it on time (…or at all) on a Friday morning? That was just an unreasonable request, if you ask me. Buttttttt, I was able to reschedule for Monday morning (at 9AM…that extra hour of sleep is KEY when you have to sit through five hours of Spanish grammar excersises).
This weekend I was able to explore the neighborhood of Palermo. I found this sandwich place in my Fodor’s Buenos Aires book (THANKS MOM!), which was AMAZING! They have so many different sandwiches and salads, and I was able to satisfy my smoked salmon craving. This weekend I also attempted to party like an Argentine, but again failed. One day I WILL come home when it’s light outside, ¡te lo juro!
I have joined a yoga studio where I will be going 3-4 times a week. IDEAL location: right around the corner from my apartment and a block from UB. I also happen to love (…LOVE) the yoga instructor so...I’m excited!
After yoga today I went to a park with a few friends and we began to plan our Spring Break (…even though it’s not spring) trip to Uruguay! We will be sticking to the beach cities (Punta del Este and La Paloma) while it’s still summer; hopefully in the fall or winter I’ll be able to go back to see Colonia and Montevideo.
Courtney Durham wants a shoutout…so here it is.
I have a midterm tomorrow…didn’t class JUST start? Ah, the downfalls of taking a month-long class for semester credits. Harumi, one of the cats in my house, is pregnant and should be having kittens any day now! Maybe I'll try and smuggle some back to the US.
Chau,
audgentina.
I’m definitely getting over the whole five-hours-of-class-five-days-a-week thing. It’s like I’m in high school again. However, I am very grateful that UB’s Spanish summer courses (yes…it’s summer here!!) do not come with an MPS-like homework load. By 3PM I manage to escape the dreariness of the university to soak up the sun in one of the nearby parks. It doesn’t get dark until 8-8:30ish (with the sun still fully shining until at least 6 or 6:30). And with temperatures in the 80’s every day without a cloud in the sky, who wouldn’t want to lie out by the lake at Parque Tres de Febrero after class? I. Love. Summer. I think that it is safe to say that I am not missing the Northern Hemisphere one bit. Well, except for Naples’ paninis.
Learning how to tango was interesting, to say the least. My incredible lack of both dexterity and short term memory made it very difficult to complete one set (is that the correct dance term?) of moves (again…what’s the right word?). Clearly, the dance world is not ready for my expertise. We were in a room with at least sixty or seventy other beginners, and the boy to girl ratio was about 1:25, so it’s safe to say that I am by no means a tango aficionado. Well, at least not yet.
After (not) tango-ing, I returned home for dinner and then met up with some friends for the night. I attempted to party like a local Argentine (aka staying out until MORNING), but failed by coming home at 4:30. When I told Silvia (my host mother) what time I came home, she responded: ¡Que temprano! (How early!) Yes, my host mother said this. I. Am. Lame.
However, the next morning I had an appointment to get my Argentine Criminal Record. Let’s just say I was a little…weak…(shout out Formica fam!) and thus was “unable” to make it to my 8AM appointment. The office is literally located on the opposite side of BA, requiring me to leave my house at least an hour prior to my appointment. How DARE they expect me to make it on time (…or at all) on a Friday morning? That was just an unreasonable request, if you ask me. Buttttttt, I was able to reschedule for Monday morning (at 9AM…that extra hour of sleep is KEY when you have to sit through five hours of Spanish grammar excersises).
This weekend I was able to explore the neighborhood of Palermo. I found this sandwich place in my Fodor’s Buenos Aires book (THANKS MOM!), which was AMAZING! They have so many different sandwiches and salads, and I was able to satisfy my smoked salmon craving. This weekend I also attempted to party like an Argentine, but again failed. One day I WILL come home when it’s light outside, ¡te lo juro!
I have joined a yoga studio where I will be going 3-4 times a week. IDEAL location: right around the corner from my apartment and a block from UB. I also happen to love (…LOVE) the yoga instructor so...I’m excited!
After yoga today I went to a park with a few friends and we began to plan our Spring Break (…even though it’s not spring) trip to Uruguay! We will be sticking to the beach cities (Punta del Este and La Paloma) while it’s still summer; hopefully in the fall or winter I’ll be able to go back to see Colonia and Montevideo.
Courtney Durham wants a shoutout…so here it is.
I have a midterm tomorrow…didn’t class JUST start? Ah, the downfalls of taking a month-long class for semester credits. Harumi, one of the cats in my house, is pregnant and should be having kittens any day now! Maybe I'll try and smuggle some back to the US.
Chau,
audgentina.
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