Here's a cute story: So I get on the packed rush hour C line Subte to head home with my iPod in. The train starts moving and I can see the guy right in front of me is drinking an open can of Budweiser and pushing the man next to him. Anyone who is drinking an open beer on the train in rush hour is probably just asking for trouble, especially since a cop just happened to be on this train. But he doesn't say anything, for the moment.
I can see this is not looking good, and suddenly people packed around the two men are starting to yell at them. Then the punches start flying and with as little space as there was to begin with, a circle is formed around these two knuckleheads. Everyone is yelling and I keep thinking, well the cop will be here any second. But this cop obviously had better things to do. A random person tries to get in between them as the swaying of the train knocks us all around, and finally the cop comes over and with a "that'll do, boys" pep talk, stands in between the fighters.
The one who originally had a beer is bleeding from the mouth and gives the "I'm going to kill you once you get off the train" gesture. For a moment everyone is in shock and doesn't move. The train reaches a stop, no one moves, and we go on. Then a guy next to me starts to call out the police officer, saying he's a terrible role model. A civilian had to break up the fight while he stood watching, and he should be ashamed.
The cop starts to get in his face, but not how I would expect. Well, first of all, if a fight ever broke out in front of a cop on a train in the States, both parties would be taken off immediately and arrested. Then, if someone yelled at or threatened an officer, they too would be arrested. Here, the cop got into the guys' face to quietly whisper, "What do you want me to do, arrest one and not the other?" Good law enforcement, folks. That's what keeps thugery down.
Now the whole train is against this cop, and everyone from this young idealist to elderly women are yelling at him. I can see the fear in his eyes and why he did nothing at first. He's clearly outnumbered, and without backup to help beat everyone up, this guy is toast. His best bet was to just stay out of it from the start. But now he's encircled by an angry mob that wants better policing and two guys who still want to kill each other.
But my stop comes up and there's no way I'm sticking around to see this sinking ship hit the bottom. I wonder who made it out alive from that whole debacle. I'll check the news later tonight.
Showing posts with label buenos aires. Show all posts
Showing posts with label buenos aires. Show all posts
Friday, May 7, 2010
Getting Out of the Office
Yesterday morning I was surprised to come in and find that I had been invited to the country for the day. Not that it was a day off by any means, but at the very least I would be getting into the field again. A large group from Canada was ending their tour and was going to spend the afternoon in the Pampas at Estancia Santa Susana. Since this was a large group and is similar to the kinds of programs that my company runs, the idea was for me to see the event firsthand and then be able to write a good review on it.
Though the morning was gray and rainy, the afternoon cleared up with bright blue skies so that by the time we left the office after 2 pm, it was turning into a perfect day. We drove about an hour and 15 minutes until reaching the estancia, where things were still being set up before the group arrived. First I walked around taking photos of the place and the decorations. Once the group arrived, my task was to stand by the door and show people to the bathrooms if they looked lost.
They were always kind of surprised at how well I speak English, and I'd have to ruin it by saying, "Well I can't take too much credit, I'm an American." One day I'd like to say, "Oh thanks, I was educated in the United States," which is not a lie. I did find, however, that it took me a minute to figure out what I had to say in English, and at some points I almost pronounced words incorrectly in the same way as Argentinians might. The truth is that I think in Spanish almost as much as I do in English now, and while that's great for the second language, it's not so great for the first.
A nice part of the day was I got to see some gaucho horse skill demonstrations, including the taming of wild horses and a game called "Carrera de Sortija," which is when three gauchos race on horseback and with just a pen try to catch a finger-sized ring. The winner gets to choose a woman from the crowd to kiss. I continued to take photos and once the sun had set we went inside for the dinner. Of course it was a feast with all kinds of meat, tango and folklore performers.
Once the dinner was over we had to take everything down, and didn't get to the office until after midnight. So by the time I got home it was 1 am, and I still had to be in the office in the morning. Today was a tiring day, as a result. But in the end, it was another great day taking advantage of working at a travel agency. I mean, how many other foreigners get to mingle with gauchos on the job?
Though the morning was gray and rainy, the afternoon cleared up with bright blue skies so that by the time we left the office after 2 pm, it was turning into a perfect day. We drove about an hour and 15 minutes until reaching the estancia, where things were still being set up before the group arrived. First I walked around taking photos of the place and the decorations. Once the group arrived, my task was to stand by the door and show people to the bathrooms if they looked lost.
They were always kind of surprised at how well I speak English, and I'd have to ruin it by saying, "Well I can't take too much credit, I'm an American." One day I'd like to say, "Oh thanks, I was educated in the United States," which is not a lie. I did find, however, that it took me a minute to figure out what I had to say in English, and at some points I almost pronounced words incorrectly in the same way as Argentinians might. The truth is that I think in Spanish almost as much as I do in English now, and while that's great for the second language, it's not so great for the first.
A nice part of the day was I got to see some gaucho horse skill demonstrations, including the taming of wild horses and a game called "Carrera de Sortija," which is when three gauchos race on horseback and with just a pen try to catch a finger-sized ring. The winner gets to choose a woman from the crowd to kiss. I continued to take photos and once the sun had set we went inside for the dinner. Of course it was a feast with all kinds of meat, tango and folklore performers.
Once the dinner was over we had to take everything down, and didn't get to the office until after midnight. So by the time I got home it was 1 am, and I still had to be in the office in the morning. Today was a tiring day, as a result. But in the end, it was another great day taking advantage of working at a travel agency. I mean, how many other foreigners get to mingle with gauchos on the job?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The 10th Time is Not a Charm
Today was the 10th time I went to the Registro Civil to get my DNI citizenship card for Argentina. But you know, I like the place so much that I think I'll be going back two or three more times. This was time different in that one of my bosses came with me to help do the talking. While my Spanish is very good, I lack certain words, phrases, and general intonation to clearly get what I want sometimes. This is where knowing locals comes in handy. To try and increase my odds I wore a tie, which in retrospect was as useful as trying in the first place.
We got there right on time, 1:30 pm, and cued up with the rest of the city. After sitting there for just a half hour, Matias told me that the woman at the desk trying to get her DNI was Brazilian and the staff was making fun of her and not helping. I explained that the exact same thing happened to me the last time I was there, and that's why he was there. Just then my name was called and we went up. It should have been cut and dry, right?
Matias explained that I'm the son of an Argentine, I have all of my papers in order, and I have the right to citizenship and need my DNI. Immediately the girl behind the counter (the same from last time I think) looked at my inscriptions papers and said she had no idea. My boss then answered back explaining again when suddenly the girl raised her voice to yell. He yelled back explaining that they discriminated against the Brazilian and were doing the same to me and it was unfair. This is how having the local to help me really added an edge, because suddenly they realized that we weren't going to just walk away with our tails between our legs.
They had no interest in dealing with it so they sent us to their boss, a woman who I recognized from one of my visits in January. I remembered her being helpful and considerate, a rarity at the Registro. She listened to Matias and then went through the steps as I showed all of the necessary documents. She went behind a door, coming back to ask if I was the son of a diplomat. For a second I considered whether or not this would jump me to the front of the line, but realized there was no point. Sorry, just a regular shmo.
She came back 5 minutes later, but with bad news. Here's what I now needed. My original birth certificate with an official stamp (the copy I had was not sufficient). That birth certificate from New York state will have to be requested and mailed to me as soon as possible. I also needed the birth certificate translated into Spanish by an agency in Argentina (wouldn't matter that I'm a translator, obviously). A copy of residency, which means I'll need to take my apartment contract to the police station to get "certified." On top of that, it's recommended that I ask the Argentine Consulate in New York for a new copy of my inscription papers, as the ones that I received over a year ago are starting to fade after so much use. And hey, since I might have aged a few decades since I took those 4x4 photos in August, it might not hurt to get those updated, just to be safe.
On top of that, the copy of my mom's birth certificate that I went through such a struggle to get in January is only valid for 6 months. Why? I guess there's the possibility of being born again. Since that will be expired by the time of my next appointment in June (one week late), I need to go in 10 business days to pick up a new, exactly the same photocopy of her birth certificate. A lot changes on a birth certificate from the 1950's in 6 months, after all.
This is a headache, but at the very least I had the help of someone who can understand this system a bit better than I can. On top of that we got a no bullshit answer to exactly what I need that I no longer have. Now, if it all falls together perfectly in the next month (fingers crossed) and I don't have my DNI being processed after the 12th visit, we'll have a serious beef with the Registro that might requite local TV news.
Most importantly, what is needed above all else, is PATIENCE.
We got there right on time, 1:30 pm, and cued up with the rest of the city. After sitting there for just a half hour, Matias told me that the woman at the desk trying to get her DNI was Brazilian and the staff was making fun of her and not helping. I explained that the exact same thing happened to me the last time I was there, and that's why he was there. Just then my name was called and we went up. It should have been cut and dry, right?
Matias explained that I'm the son of an Argentine, I have all of my papers in order, and I have the right to citizenship and need my DNI. Immediately the girl behind the counter (the same from last time I think) looked at my inscriptions papers and said she had no idea. My boss then answered back explaining again when suddenly the girl raised her voice to yell. He yelled back explaining that they discriminated against the Brazilian and were doing the same to me and it was unfair. This is how having the local to help me really added an edge, because suddenly they realized that we weren't going to just walk away with our tails between our legs.
They had no interest in dealing with it so they sent us to their boss, a woman who I recognized from one of my visits in January. I remembered her being helpful and considerate, a rarity at the Registro. She listened to Matias and then went through the steps as I showed all of the necessary documents. She went behind a door, coming back to ask if I was the son of a diplomat. For a second I considered whether or not this would jump me to the front of the line, but realized there was no point. Sorry, just a regular shmo.
She came back 5 minutes later, but with bad news. Here's what I now needed. My original birth certificate with an official stamp (the copy I had was not sufficient). That birth certificate from New York state will have to be requested and mailed to me as soon as possible. I also needed the birth certificate translated into Spanish by an agency in Argentina (wouldn't matter that I'm a translator, obviously). A copy of residency, which means I'll need to take my apartment contract to the police station to get "certified." On top of that, it's recommended that I ask the Argentine Consulate in New York for a new copy of my inscription papers, as the ones that I received over a year ago are starting to fade after so much use. And hey, since I might have aged a few decades since I took those 4x4 photos in August, it might not hurt to get those updated, just to be safe.
On top of that, the copy of my mom's birth certificate that I went through such a struggle to get in January is only valid for 6 months. Why? I guess there's the possibility of being born again. Since that will be expired by the time of my next appointment in June (one week late), I need to go in 10 business days to pick up a new, exactly the same photocopy of her birth certificate. A lot changes on a birth certificate from the 1950's in 6 months, after all.
This is a headache, but at the very least I had the help of someone who can understand this system a bit better than I can. On top of that we got a no bullshit answer to exactly what I need that I no longer have. Now, if it all falls together perfectly in the next month (fingers crossed) and I don't have my DNI being processed after the 12th visit, we'll have a serious beef with the Registro that might requite local TV news.
Most importantly, what is needed above all else, is PATIENCE.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Anuva Wine Tasting Review
I'm happy to announce that my article on the Anuva Wine Tasting from a few weeks back is now live on Argentina's Travel Guide. You can find the article here. This article goes more in depth than my previous blog post on the topic. Enjoy.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Fear and Loathing at the Annual Book Fair
Some things just go together naturally, for example: spaghetti and meat balls, beer and pretzels, or baseball and sunflower seeds. Let me tell you what doesn't go together well: hangovers and book fairs. They shouldn't even be in the same sentence or allowed on the same block. The idea of sluggishly moving around after killing brain cells while looking for a way to increase brain power is a contrast, which unlike positive and negative ions, does not attract.
It wasn't the idea to go to the book fair hungover, but options were limited, I suppose. I wanted to go to the fair yesterday, but wound up at a different one altogether, and last night was a friend's birthday party at a bar, from which I didn't get home until about 6 am. The morning and afternoon were so beautiful and sunny that I couldn't just stay indoors. I felt too guilty, especially knowing that these nice days are running out. So I amped up some strength after a sandwich and got in line with the thousands of other people outside my door heading to the Rural Society, just a few blocks away.
Passing by my apartment building I thought that I lived here but wasn't home right now. If I wasn't in line for a book fair I'd be home right now. Fair enough. I wanted to go with someone else but no one was around, so I quietly waited in line as families around me spoke to each other. By the time we got to the gate the father told his son it was 30 minutes from the time we got in line. Not bad, all things considered. It was $15 pesos to get in, and it was my first time going to the Rural Society, which I can see from my balcony.
The Rural Society traditionally held cattle and horse events, and while they still do, they have also branched out into other expositions. This is the 36th Annual World Book Fair, which contains books from all over the world (mostly in Spanish), as well as other products related to reading. Authors occasionally come and you can meet them, and other presentations are given. Once inside I was lost among the crowds of pushing people and stall after stall with books. I had no idea where I could find one I liked.
The idea is you pay to get in and then books inside are cheaper than in a bookstore, but a lot of the bookstores have stalls there, and it seems to me that they charge the same amount. This even, which lasts from April 22-May 10, runs most days of the week, but the larger crowds come on the weekends, for obvious reasons. First I listened about some book fair in Frankfurt this year with translated books, and then moved on to check out as many booths as possible. But I had no idea where to go, and there was so much to see.
The crowds were fairly obnoxious, vying for space to see what cheap books were available. There were standard deals of 1 book for $10, $15, or 3 for $30, etc. I was interested in getting one book in Spanish and one in English. After maybe a half hour I finally found a book in Spanish that I was interested in and was cheap. Next I walked around looking for English books, but much to my chagrin couldn't find them.
I did find the U.S. Embassy stall which just had a few books, mostly the "This is Why the United States is a Good Country" kind of books, so nothing I was looking for. I was all set to leave and finally I found a place with all English books. Just for the hell of it I opened up a grammar book and on the first random page I flipped to I found a badly translated sentence. I checked the price of a book and it was $90 pesos, and they were all about that price. No way was I walking out of there with an English book. I was hungry, thirsty, and tired. It was time to go, and by this point the beautiful sunny day had turned to overcast and chilly. Quittin' time for the book fair. Until next year, perhaps.
It wasn't the idea to go to the book fair hungover, but options were limited, I suppose. I wanted to go to the fair yesterday, but wound up at a different one altogether, and last night was a friend's birthday party at a bar, from which I didn't get home until about 6 am. The morning and afternoon were so beautiful and sunny that I couldn't just stay indoors. I felt too guilty, especially knowing that these nice days are running out. So I amped up some strength after a sandwich and got in line with the thousands of other people outside my door heading to the Rural Society, just a few blocks away.
Passing by my apartment building I thought that I lived here but wasn't home right now. If I wasn't in line for a book fair I'd be home right now. Fair enough. I wanted to go with someone else but no one was around, so I quietly waited in line as families around me spoke to each other. By the time we got to the gate the father told his son it was 30 minutes from the time we got in line. Not bad, all things considered. It was $15 pesos to get in, and it was my first time going to the Rural Society, which I can see from my balcony.
The Rural Society traditionally held cattle and horse events, and while they still do, they have also branched out into other expositions. This is the 36th Annual World Book Fair, which contains books from all over the world (mostly in Spanish), as well as other products related to reading. Authors occasionally come and you can meet them, and other presentations are given. Once inside I was lost among the crowds of pushing people and stall after stall with books. I had no idea where I could find one I liked.
The idea is you pay to get in and then books inside are cheaper than in a bookstore, but a lot of the bookstores have stalls there, and it seems to me that they charge the same amount. This even, which lasts from April 22-May 10, runs most days of the week, but the larger crowds come on the weekends, for obvious reasons. First I listened about some book fair in Frankfurt this year with translated books, and then moved on to check out as many booths as possible. But I had no idea where to go, and there was so much to see.
The crowds were fairly obnoxious, vying for space to see what cheap books were available. There were standard deals of 1 book for $10, $15, or 3 for $30, etc. I was interested in getting one book in Spanish and one in English. After maybe a half hour I finally found a book in Spanish that I was interested in and was cheap. Next I walked around looking for English books, but much to my chagrin couldn't find them.
I did find the U.S. Embassy stall which just had a few books, mostly the "This is Why the United States is a Good Country" kind of books, so nothing I was looking for. I was all set to leave and finally I found a place with all English books. Just for the hell of it I opened up a grammar book and on the first random page I flipped to I found a badly translated sentence. I checked the price of a book and it was $90 pesos, and they were all about that price. No way was I walking out of there with an English book. I was hungry, thirsty, and tired. It was time to go, and by this point the beautiful sunny day had turned to overcast and chilly. Quittin' time for the book fair. Until next year, perhaps.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Wine Tasting with Anuva Wines
On Saturday night I was invited to a private wine tasting in Las Cañitas by Daniel Karlin, founder and owner of Anuva Wines. Anuva is a wine distribution company which sends high quality boutique Argentine wines to 32 states in the U.S. and also hosts small wine tastings here in Buenos Aires. My goal was to experience the wine tasting and write a review for Argentina's Travel Guide. Like I always manage to do, I showed up too early, so I took a quick stroll around the block and saw how lovely and quiet the area was. This was definitely the right atmosphere for a refined wine tasting.
We went upstairs with the couple from Dallas who was there for the wine tasting, and began with the presentation. Already on the table were the five glasses waiting to be filled and a plate delicately prepared with the pairings of food. I've been to wine tastings before in Sicily and in Mendoza, but this was different. Rather than being rushed through a distillery with a guide who doesn't fully reach fluent status, we were in Karlin's home, and we were quickly made to feel like old pals. Karlin is actually an American expat, so aside from his perfect English, he had a different perspective to give us for restaurants, politics, and culture. This isn't a lesson that should be taken for granted, and to be honest I think it's one of the best and most distinguishing qualities of this experience.
We tried our five wines and ate our five foods. My favorite was definitely the San Gimignano Malbec Roble, which to me just had this buttery taste that made me feel warm and content. I easily could have had an entire bottle of it, and with any luck one day soon I'll get a bottle for myself. Of course, the other bottles were also excellent, with two whites and two additional reds.
My only regret is that I wasn't aware of this wine tasting when I first arrived to Argentina. It really was helpful and insightful for those who aren't wine experts, let alone those who've got extensive knowledge of boutique wineries in Argentina. Even after living here eight months and learning so much about the wine here, I didn't feel like anything discussed was old news. The history of the labels, the production, and the explanation of why this country produces such excellent wine went with the tasting just as much as the delicious food did.
Now, while the tasting costs U$40, I won't say it's overpriced. Let me explain. To me, U$40 is a hefty price for most things, but that's because I live here making an Argentine salary and getting charged for things in US Dollars. I live as cheaply as possible. But if you're traveling through the country and really want to try good wine but don't know where to start, I wholeheartedly recommend this activity. Do the right thing and don't just settle on the most expensive bottle at the restaurant. For 40 bucks you get a hell of a value, not to mention personalized service and recommendations for later on as well.
Don't just take my word for it though. Anuva's reviews on TripAdvisor speak for themselves. Check out this wine tasting in Buenos Aires and let me know what your thoughts are.
We went upstairs with the couple from Dallas who was there for the wine tasting, and began with the presentation. Already on the table were the five glasses waiting to be filled and a plate delicately prepared with the pairings of food. I've been to wine tastings before in Sicily and in Mendoza, but this was different. Rather than being rushed through a distillery with a guide who doesn't fully reach fluent status, we were in Karlin's home, and we were quickly made to feel like old pals. Karlin is actually an American expat, so aside from his perfect English, he had a different perspective to give us for restaurants, politics, and culture. This isn't a lesson that should be taken for granted, and to be honest I think it's one of the best and most distinguishing qualities of this experience.
We tried our five wines and ate our five foods. My favorite was definitely the San Gimignano Malbec Roble, which to me just had this buttery taste that made me feel warm and content. I easily could have had an entire bottle of it, and with any luck one day soon I'll get a bottle for myself. Of course, the other bottles were also excellent, with two whites and two additional reds.
My only regret is that I wasn't aware of this wine tasting when I first arrived to Argentina. It really was helpful and insightful for those who aren't wine experts, let alone those who've got extensive knowledge of boutique wineries in Argentina. Even after living here eight months and learning so much about the wine here, I didn't feel like anything discussed was old news. The history of the labels, the production, and the explanation of why this country produces such excellent wine went with the tasting just as much as the delicious food did.
Now, while the tasting costs U$40, I won't say it's overpriced. Let me explain. To me, U$40 is a hefty price for most things, but that's because I live here making an Argentine salary and getting charged for things in US Dollars. I live as cheaply as possible. But if you're traveling through the country and really want to try good wine but don't know where to start, I wholeheartedly recommend this activity. Do the right thing and don't just settle on the most expensive bottle at the restaurant. For 40 bucks you get a hell of a value, not to mention personalized service and recommendations for later on as well.
Don't just take my word for it though. Anuva's reviews on TripAdvisor speak for themselves. Check out this wine tasting in Buenos Aires and let me know what your thoughts are.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
You Know You've Been in BA a Long Time When...
Last night was sort of an early night, and by early night I mean we were leaving the club at 3:30 am. It's kind of a rare thing to be leaving the place just as tons of people are showing up and the line is forming. The music was good, we were talking to some girls, but me and the guys had decided that we'd seen enough. It wasn't a full night out anyway.
But thinking back on these kinds of nights always amazes me. How on earth did I get to the point where I look at the clock and think how early it is, when in fact it's very early morning? The night started with a wine tasting with Anuva Wines, which I'll write about in depth in another piece. The tasting was at 6 pm and by the time I left at 8:30 pm, five wines later and with a bit of a buzz going, I went home and what did I do? Well, if this was the United States, I could have either met up with friends right then and began the night or gone to a bar right off.
We live in Argentina, so things are a little different. I went home and took a little nap. Then I wrote a review about the wine tasting. Later, I made some mate to wake myself up and ate a few snacks. I started talking to some friends online, and by 11:30 pm I was getting ready to meet up with a couple of the guys I know here. Over time you can adjust to anything, and I've definitely reached the point at which a porteño lives by--that is to say, awake for almost the entire day. They just don't like to waste time sleeping.
On the rare occasion in college that I was awake around 3 am my body was destroyed the next day. I'd probably sleep until 1 pm and then be useless the next day. And keep in mind that hangovers get worse with age. I went to bed around 4 am last night after all was told. This morning I woke up around 10:30 am and stayed in bed until 11, but feel fine. The main difference is also in the way we drink here. Last night, apart from the wine tasting earlier on, I only had three beers. This is partly because of money, but also because in order to last the whole night you can't be wasted in one hour. On the contrary, back home the idea is to drink as much as possible, so if you reach 3 am it means you've probably had 10-12 beers by that point just to keep pace.
At least that's the way it was anyway. This kind of lifestyle can't sustain itself, obviously. If you go out like this too frequently you'll just waste your body, but doing so once in a while is normal for the youth in Buenos Aires. I stayed in Friday night taking care of the last day of a cold, and on Saturday I went out with the guys. But this is by no means a five day a week excursion for me. The main difference that I can see is that in the United States you might head out at 7 or 8 pm and be home by 1 or 2 am. Here, you follow a similar time line but later, so you leave around midnight or 1 am and get home at 5 or 6 am. The early night nap is essential, as well as a late dinner.
I fear the day when I go home to a Puritan Boston, where people are wasted by 11 pm and bars stop serving at 1 am. It's like seeing Paris and then returning home to the farm. Again, I'll eventually get used to it again, but I feel like a bitter part of me will always be complaining that just as we are getting home people are finishing dinner and heading out in Buenos Aires, and they aren't even hours behind. One day, anyway.
But thinking back on these kinds of nights always amazes me. How on earth did I get to the point where I look at the clock and think how early it is, when in fact it's very early morning? The night started with a wine tasting with Anuva Wines, which I'll write about in depth in another piece. The tasting was at 6 pm and by the time I left at 8:30 pm, five wines later and with a bit of a buzz going, I went home and what did I do? Well, if this was the United States, I could have either met up with friends right then and began the night or gone to a bar right off.
We live in Argentina, so things are a little different. I went home and took a little nap. Then I wrote a review about the wine tasting. Later, I made some mate to wake myself up and ate a few snacks. I started talking to some friends online, and by 11:30 pm I was getting ready to meet up with a couple of the guys I know here. Over time you can adjust to anything, and I've definitely reached the point at which a porteño lives by--that is to say, awake for almost the entire day. They just don't like to waste time sleeping.
On the rare occasion in college that I was awake around 3 am my body was destroyed the next day. I'd probably sleep until 1 pm and then be useless the next day. And keep in mind that hangovers get worse with age. I went to bed around 4 am last night after all was told. This morning I woke up around 10:30 am and stayed in bed until 11, but feel fine. The main difference is also in the way we drink here. Last night, apart from the wine tasting earlier on, I only had three beers. This is partly because of money, but also because in order to last the whole night you can't be wasted in one hour. On the contrary, back home the idea is to drink as much as possible, so if you reach 3 am it means you've probably had 10-12 beers by that point just to keep pace.
At least that's the way it was anyway. This kind of lifestyle can't sustain itself, obviously. If you go out like this too frequently you'll just waste your body, but doing so once in a while is normal for the youth in Buenos Aires. I stayed in Friday night taking care of the last day of a cold, and on Saturday I went out with the guys. But this is by no means a five day a week excursion for me. The main difference that I can see is that in the United States you might head out at 7 or 8 pm and be home by 1 or 2 am. Here, you follow a similar time line but later, so you leave around midnight or 1 am and get home at 5 or 6 am. The early night nap is essential, as well as a late dinner.
I fear the day when I go home to a Puritan Boston, where people are wasted by 11 pm and bars stop serving at 1 am. It's like seeing Paris and then returning home to the farm. Again, I'll eventually get used to it again, but I feel like a bitter part of me will always be complaining that just as we are getting home people are finishing dinner and heading out in Buenos Aires, and they aren't even hours behind. One day, anyway.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Tuesday is Sweater-vest Day in Buenos Aires
Today I decided to break out a new sweater-vest that I had gotten back in January, but had never used because it was obviously too hot. It's not the first time I've worn a sweater with a collared shirt underneath, though this is a different style and the first legit sweater-vest I've ever owned. In a way, it's sort of a step up and breaking away from my college style. It's more serious dressing even as my office is laid back and I could easily go in wearing a T-shirt and jeans, which I do occasionally.
But I don't know, I just feel that I should dress well when I step into an office. Even if it's a laid back environment, I feel like I need to act professional. So I kind of stick out in a way in the office, because some of the other guys dress very casually while I look overdressed. I was afraid that would happen today, but oh well, I had the sweater and I was going to use it.
To my surprise, it seemed like just about every guy on the subway had a sweater-vest on. We all had different colors and sizes, different brands and different patterns. But everyone seemed to feel comfortable wearing the office-fashionable clothing. Of course by the time I got to the office I was the only one left in the sweater-vest. No one gave me much guff for it, though eventually I was asked if I was hot and at the end of the day someone said, "How elegant."
Elegant? Well I don't know about that, but I'll take the compliment. If only they could see me now, sitting on the couch with my white under tee and sweatpants. Oh, the humanity!
But I don't know, I just feel that I should dress well when I step into an office. Even if it's a laid back environment, I feel like I need to act professional. So I kind of stick out in a way in the office, because some of the other guys dress very casually while I look overdressed. I was afraid that would happen today, but oh well, I had the sweater and I was going to use it.
To my surprise, it seemed like just about every guy on the subway had a sweater-vest on. We all had different colors and sizes, different brands and different patterns. But everyone seemed to feel comfortable wearing the office-fashionable clothing. Of course by the time I got to the office I was the only one left in the sweater-vest. No one gave me much guff for it, though eventually I was asked if I was hot and at the end of the day someone said, "How elegant."
Elegant? Well I don't know about that, but I'll take the compliment. If only they could see me now, sitting on the couch with my white under tee and sweatpants. Oh, the humanity!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday Afternoon
We walked through the stalls for a few minutes and then sat on the grass listening to the music for a while. All around us groups were having picnics with mate and snacks, and the music was actually really good. I have to say, this has been a pretty tight Sunday. Now I just hope something good is on TV tonight.
And also, this is one of the bands that was playing. I'm not quite sure why, but they are wearing white dresses. Going for a ZZ Top sort of theme?
Above: Images from the Botanical Gardens and Plaza Francia
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Jazz in Buenos Aires
On Friday night I headed out with Ludmilla Lima of the CartasArgentinas blog to check out a couple of jazz clubs in Palermo Viejo. Our first stop was at a place called Virasoro Bar, on Guatemala 4328. When we got there the show had already started and the small venue was packed, but we were led to a table where we already had a reservation up in the front.
With the small venue, seemingly hidden bar, and bluesy sort of jazz, I had the feeling that we weren't in Buenos Aires, but rather in the Village in New York City. It could have been some cool underground jazz club near New York University for all I knew. The show cost $25 pesos and there was a minimum consumption of $12 pesos as well, which put it on the expensive side for me, but it was really enjoyable, mostly because it's so different from what normally goes on here.
The normal place to go out that I've been exposed to is a bar or night club life, which can easily get old after a while. This jazz club was a breath of fresh air. After the show we stayed long enough until everyone left and another band was preparing to play, but then we walked around trying to find another place, eventually winding up at Thelonius Jazz Club, on Salguero 1884. To me it seemed like another hidden bar, but it was packed with patrons, and it seemed like at least half were European.
Oddly enough the bass player and drummer from the band we'd just seen were there. The drummer was playing again, but the bass player was sitting alone at the bar, and he gave me a nod as if he recognized me but couldn't tell why. We wound up talking to the waiter, and it turned out it was his birthday. After the bar closed we were invited to stay after with the staff and talked for a while, and eventually they just gave us our drinks on the house.
So by the time we left it was pretty late and I was exhausted after a long week, but I was happy with a different kind of night out in Buenos Aires. It's obvious that in such a big city you'll find almost everything, but for a long time I hadn't seen that part of it at all. And I think I'll definitely hit it up again in the future.
With the small venue, seemingly hidden bar, and bluesy sort of jazz, I had the feeling that we weren't in Buenos Aires, but rather in the Village in New York City. It could have been some cool underground jazz club near New York University for all I knew. The show cost $25 pesos and there was a minimum consumption of $12 pesos as well, which put it on the expensive side for me, but it was really enjoyable, mostly because it's so different from what normally goes on here.
The normal place to go out that I've been exposed to is a bar or night club life, which can easily get old after a while. This jazz club was a breath of fresh air. After the show we stayed long enough until everyone left and another band was preparing to play, but then we walked around trying to find another place, eventually winding up at Thelonius Jazz Club, on Salguero 1884. To me it seemed like another hidden bar, but it was packed with patrons, and it seemed like at least half were European.
Oddly enough the bass player and drummer from the band we'd just seen were there. The drummer was playing again, but the bass player was sitting alone at the bar, and he gave me a nod as if he recognized me but couldn't tell why. We wound up talking to the waiter, and it turned out it was his birthday. After the bar closed we were invited to stay after with the staff and talked for a while, and eventually they just gave us our drinks on the house.
So by the time we left it was pretty late and I was exhausted after a long week, but I was happy with a different kind of night out in Buenos Aires. It's obvious that in such a big city you'll find almost everything, but for a long time I hadn't seen that part of it at all. And I think I'll definitely hit it up again in the future.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The Japanese Gardens
Recently I've read about them from work, and I wanted to see them for myself. I got there around 5 pm and there was a long line to get in, but once inside I could see the various ponds and plants set up in a half-hazard style. In many ways, it reminded me of a mini golf course, lacking a pirate ship of course. The coy ponds were filled with colorful fish opening their mouths wide for the food that everyone was throwing down to them.
I circled around the area and sat down for a while, taking a few pictures at the same time. A sign told me that the garden was founded in 1967 when the emperor of Japan visited Argentina, and it represents the friendship between the two nations. What surprised me was the biggest rat I've ever seen. It was so big that I actually thought it was a gopher at first, but it was definitely a rat, showing no fear of humans. It had to be the same size as or bigger than New York City rats.
I stayed in the garden for about an hour and then slowly headed home through the other parks. There was a powerful sun today and it was extraordinary out, so I think my face has gone a shade of red darker. I liked the Japanese Gardens and will definitely take my next visitors there. Just as a side note though, I feel that the real allure of those kinds of places is the peaceful quiet you find with less people around. With so many tourists and locals alike there, it was a bit much. But it was a Sunday afternoon, so that will happen. If you go, try to check it out during the week if possible.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Weekend Rain Doesn't Dampen All
Even with this nasty weather we've been having over the weekend, the rain hasn't managed to ruin it all. Granted, I stayed in both Friday and Saturday night and missed an opportunity to check out a flea market, but I've still gotten out. On Saturday morning I woke up fairly early--around 10 am. 10 am is now late by work week standards, yet but weekend rules it's early. And in accordance with when I used to wake up, it was way early. Either way, I watched a little TV, cleaned the apartment, and went for a long run, all before 1 pm.
I then met up with a friend to walk to the Japanese Gardens and Parque General Las Heras. I still managed to get a burn from the morning run even though it was gray and sunless, plus I had to wait on my friend for a half hour. By the time she showed up it was already raining, so we took refuge at my place for about 45 minutes until it stopped.
It was decided that the parks would be a bad idea with the rain, so we instead headed into Palermo, as I had yet to really walk around through the different sections during the day. We were also trying to find a shop that sold good shawarma. It was one of my favorite kind of days: gray and calm before the storm, with a gentle breeze, not hot but not cold, and totally peaceful, even in a large city like this. I like rain from time to time, but too much can be annoying. Yet that kind of atmosphere is always nice.
Down through the tree lined streets of Palermo Soho, Palermo Viejo, and Palermo Hollywood, we walked among tourists and locals shopping at high end retails boutiques. Who knows where the little sections of Palermo really started and ended, but we could feel a sense of change from time to time. The deeper we went the lower the houses got, the quieter the streets were, and the more it felt like a suburb. And Palermo used to be a suburb until growth in the city enveloped it as another neighborhood. Only recently, within about 10 years, has it become a hip and popular place to live, yet it still retains its working class feel in many parts. On the other hand, you can really see why locals refer to Palermo as "muy fashion."
We walked to Calle Armenia, where surprise surprise, we found the Armenian food store where the shawarma was said to be. Unfortunately, we arrived too late in the afternoon and they had none left, so we split an Armenian empanada, which was filled with spinach and cheese. The employees were rude and unhelpful, but the smells in the store were sweet, and if I had some extra money and cooking knowledge I would have picked up some of the spices.
The excitement of the day pretty much ended there as we walked back to my neighborhood. So this morning I woke up at 10 am again, went for a run and then made lunch. But the view from my balcony told me it was going to rain sooner than it did yesterday. I decided to take a stroll to Alto Palermo, a high end shopping mall about 15 blocks away. I had no interest in shopping, but I just wanted to do something to get out of the house, and I still hadn't seen it.
Along the way I stopped in the Botanical Gardens just across from Plaza Italia. It's a beautiful and quiet refuge in between the hustle and bustle of Avenida General Las Heras and Avenida Santa Fe. Rain misted and sprinkled down in waves as I walked through, with just a few other visitors along the trails. The gardens were full of cats roaming around and using their tongues as toilet paper. I would have stayed longer but was worried about a downpour, so I left the park and walked down to Parque General Las Heras, a nice and quiet place in Recoleta.
I think Las Heras is underrated, because it's not a very popular spot in comparison to the many parks in the area. Yet it was still a nice place to take a stroll and it's located in a cheery part of town. I only passed through on my way to Alto Palermo, where I spent an hour strolling from store to store, somehow setting off alarms everywhere I went. All of the stores were expensive and I would never shop there. I don't even like going to malls, but I had literally nothing better to do and wanted to get out of the house.
On the way back home I stopped in at an Havanna cafe for a cortado, and realized that I hadn't been to one since my friend Kristine was visiting in September. When she was here we went almost every day, at least once a day. But once she went back to Ecuador I didn't have the cash for it. They make the best alfajores, and from time to time I'll treat myself to one, but I haven't sat in the cafe in a while.
So after a coffee it was back here, where I'll sit around and maybe if ESPN shows it, I'll catch the U.S vs Canada hockey game in the Olympics tonight. Tomorrow it's back to work.
I then met up with a friend to walk to the Japanese Gardens and Parque General Las Heras. I still managed to get a burn from the morning run even though it was gray and sunless, plus I had to wait on my friend for a half hour. By the time she showed up it was already raining, so we took refuge at my place for about 45 minutes until it stopped.
It was decided that the parks would be a bad idea with the rain, so we instead headed into Palermo, as I had yet to really walk around through the different sections during the day. We were also trying to find a shop that sold good shawarma. It was one of my favorite kind of days: gray and calm before the storm, with a gentle breeze, not hot but not cold, and totally peaceful, even in a large city like this. I like rain from time to time, but too much can be annoying. Yet that kind of atmosphere is always nice.
Down through the tree lined streets of Palermo Soho, Palermo Viejo, and Palermo Hollywood, we walked among tourists and locals shopping at high end retails boutiques. Who knows where the little sections of Palermo really started and ended, but we could feel a sense of change from time to time. The deeper we went the lower the houses got, the quieter the streets were, and the more it felt like a suburb. And Palermo used to be a suburb until growth in the city enveloped it as another neighborhood. Only recently, within about 10 years, has it become a hip and popular place to live, yet it still retains its working class feel in many parts. On the other hand, you can really see why locals refer to Palermo as "muy fashion."
We walked to Calle Armenia, where surprise surprise, we found the Armenian food store where the shawarma was said to be. Unfortunately, we arrived too late in the afternoon and they had none left, so we split an Armenian empanada, which was filled with spinach and cheese. The employees were rude and unhelpful, but the smells in the store were sweet, and if I had some extra money and cooking knowledge I would have picked up some of the spices.
The excitement of the day pretty much ended there as we walked back to my neighborhood. So this morning I woke up at 10 am again, went for a run and then made lunch. But the view from my balcony told me it was going to rain sooner than it did yesterday. I decided to take a stroll to Alto Palermo, a high end shopping mall about 15 blocks away. I had no interest in shopping, but I just wanted to do something to get out of the house, and I still hadn't seen it.
Along the way I stopped in the Botanical Gardens just across from Plaza Italia. It's a beautiful and quiet refuge in between the hustle and bustle of Avenida General Las Heras and Avenida Santa Fe. Rain misted and sprinkled down in waves as I walked through, with just a few other visitors along the trails. The gardens were full of cats roaming around and using their tongues as toilet paper. I would have stayed longer but was worried about a downpour, so I left the park and walked down to Parque General Las Heras, a nice and quiet place in Recoleta.
I think Las Heras is underrated, because it's not a very popular spot in comparison to the many parks in the area. Yet it was still a nice place to take a stroll and it's located in a cheery part of town. I only passed through on my way to Alto Palermo, where I spent an hour strolling from store to store, somehow setting off alarms everywhere I went. All of the stores were expensive and I would never shop there. I don't even like going to malls, but I had literally nothing better to do and wanted to get out of the house.
On the way back home I stopped in at an Havanna cafe for a cortado, and realized that I hadn't been to one since my friend Kristine was visiting in September. When she was here we went almost every day, at least once a day. But once she went back to Ecuador I didn't have the cash for it. They make the best alfajores, and from time to time I'll treat myself to one, but I haven't sat in the cafe in a while.
So after a coffee it was back here, where I'll sit around and maybe if ESPN shows it, I'll catch the U.S vs Canada hockey game in the Olympics tonight. Tomorrow it's back to work.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Flooding in the Streets
It was a mess today, as another powerful thunderstorm rolled through Buenos Aires, dumping over 3 inches in 2 hours, with the majority coming in 45 minutes. I had no idea, as I was in the office working, away from a window. But I had been out at lunch and felt the intense humidity, as well as seen the dark clouds looming. You could tell it was going to be big.
I finally checked the window around 5 pm and it was dark as night out, with the streets filled with people running for cover. The subways were all suspended, and as usual Palermo was the first to flood. Just down the street from my apartment was the epicenter, where the Civil Guard had to be deployed to assist. The same thing happened on Monday, but at least it happened after I was already home by that point. Adding salt to the wound, it's a Friday and the weekend looks like it will be filled with rain as well. It always rains on the weekend.
With the subway out of the equation, I waited in the rain on the street with no umbrella for the bus to come, and when one finally stopped it wasn't too bad of a ride home. All told, I only got home about 20 minutes later than usual, though it could have been much worse. Fortunately for me I got off the bus at Plaza Italia, just as intense traffic was bulging up. All of the news channels are going a bit crazy over the flooding, and once again cars are floating in the streets and people are stranded. This could be a wet, boring weekend.
I finally checked the window around 5 pm and it was dark as night out, with the streets filled with people running for cover. The subways were all suspended, and as usual Palermo was the first to flood. Just down the street from my apartment was the epicenter, where the Civil Guard had to be deployed to assist. The same thing happened on Monday, but at least it happened after I was already home by that point. Adding salt to the wound, it's a Friday and the weekend looks like it will be filled with rain as well. It always rains on the weekend.
With the subway out of the equation, I waited in the rain on the street with no umbrella for the bus to come, and when one finally stopped it wasn't too bad of a ride home. All told, I only got home about 20 minutes later than usual, though it could have been much worse. Fortunately for me I got off the bus at Plaza Italia, just as intense traffic was bulging up. All of the news channels are going a bit crazy over the flooding, and once again cars are floating in the streets and people are stranded. This could be a wet, boring weekend.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Getting Around Lunfardo
Lunfardo is the slang used in Buenos Aires, which on occasion takes over more of the conversation than actual Spanish. Some say this slang was created as a mixing of the different cultures that settled here, or as a way to speak in code so police wouldn't understand. Either way, it still has me scratching my head sometimes, even though I've gotten down some of the basics.
Some of the most common words that many foreigners will either know already or learn right away are, "che," "boludo," or "che boludo." These words can mean a number of things, but depending on the situation, che is more like "dude", or "hey." Boludo can be something you call a friend or something you call an enemy, and as I've already made the mistake several times, you need to be comfortable with someone before you drop the boludo. I even have a little book on lunfardo-English called, "Che Boludo!"
It's something of a joke, but you really do need to learn a bit. A bad word in another language will never mean the same thing to you as one in your own language, and that's why I say boludo too much. I just don't feel it. To me, I hear people saying the word and think, "Okay, I get it. I want to say it too and look like a local." But I don't hear it in the same way, and I don't hear the undertones. I had just met a kid on my floor and said boludo. He wasn't happy, and I was the boludo.
Think of some of the worst words in the English language, and how you would instinctively know when it is socially acceptable to say them. Now, imagine that you have a foreign friend who hears you say one of these words. The next day they drop the word in randomly at a totally inappropriate time. Under normal circumstances you might be offended, but knowing that they don't fully grasp the word, you have to just smile and explain that they shouldn't say that. This scene is basically my life down here.
I'm learning on a moment by moment basis, and even then it takes time to get the meaning of the word behind the word. It's not just Americans or Britons that make these mistakes though. People from Buenos Aires talk differently, and even Spaniards or people from the south of Argentina are known to mock the way porteños speak. Like seeing an actor butcher a Boston accent, it makes you cringe.
Wherever I've gone I've tried to learn the local lingo. In Spain that meant saying, "Tío, joé que caló!" In Ecuador I adopted, "A cha chay," and "chévere." Even after just ten days or so in Chile I started using, "po" and "huevón." So no surprise that down in Argentina, trying to get to know this culture as best as I can, I'm going to mimic and do as the locals do. I just need to make sure I'm not saying the wrong thing.
I want so badly to be perfectly fluent in Spanish, and it's obvious to me that this is a goal that will never be accomplished. But there has to be a balance between sounding like an idiot and getting away with mistakes to sounding too good to make blatant mistakes like calling someone you just met an asshole, all with a smile on your face. Oddly enough, it's kind of a challenge.
Some of the most common words that many foreigners will either know already or learn right away are, "che," "boludo," or "che boludo." These words can mean a number of things, but depending on the situation, che is more like "dude", or "hey." Boludo can be something you call a friend or something you call an enemy, and as I've already made the mistake several times, you need to be comfortable with someone before you drop the boludo. I even have a little book on lunfardo-English called, "Che Boludo!"
It's something of a joke, but you really do need to learn a bit. A bad word in another language will never mean the same thing to you as one in your own language, and that's why I say boludo too much. I just don't feel it. To me, I hear people saying the word and think, "Okay, I get it. I want to say it too and look like a local." But I don't hear it in the same way, and I don't hear the undertones. I had just met a kid on my floor and said boludo. He wasn't happy, and I was the boludo.
Think of some of the worst words in the English language, and how you would instinctively know when it is socially acceptable to say them. Now, imagine that you have a foreign friend who hears you say one of these words. The next day they drop the word in randomly at a totally inappropriate time. Under normal circumstances you might be offended, but knowing that they don't fully grasp the word, you have to just smile and explain that they shouldn't say that. This scene is basically my life down here.
I'm learning on a moment by moment basis, and even then it takes time to get the meaning of the word behind the word. It's not just Americans or Britons that make these mistakes though. People from Buenos Aires talk differently, and even Spaniards or people from the south of Argentina are known to mock the way porteños speak. Like seeing an actor butcher a Boston accent, it makes you cringe.
Wherever I've gone I've tried to learn the local lingo. In Spain that meant saying, "Tío, joé que caló!" In Ecuador I adopted, "A cha chay," and "chévere." Even after just ten days or so in Chile I started using, "po" and "huevón." So no surprise that down in Argentina, trying to get to know this culture as best as I can, I'm going to mimic and do as the locals do. I just need to make sure I'm not saying the wrong thing.
I want so badly to be perfectly fluent in Spanish, and it's obvious to me that this is a goal that will never be accomplished. But there has to be a balance between sounding like an idiot and getting away with mistakes to sounding too good to make blatant mistakes like calling someone you just met an asshole, all with a smile on your face. Oddly enough, it's kind of a challenge.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Strange Night at the Movies
Dan, Valerie, and I were all pretty tired from Friday night and had no desire to drink anything again, so we decided to go see a movie on Saturday night. The plan was see a movie for a peaceful night and then call it quits before it was too long. As it turns out we didn't go until 10:15 pm, and thus didn't even get out of the theater until 1 am.
We went to see "Avatar" down in the Microcentro, with Calle Lavalle filled with people on a Saturday night. That alone felt weird to begin with, and deep in the Microcentro is the last place you want to be on a weekend night. We got to the theater, purchased our tickets, and eventually sat down. I would say the theater was somewhere describable between the smallest movie theater ever and the largest personal home entertainment room ever. With a small screen by movie standards, it seemed like some millionaire had put in this room in his house for him and his 80 closest friends.
The humor started before the movie began, when the intro's for the Dolby Sound Effects came on. They were using the same intro that was used back in the 1990's, and what must be well out of date by American standards by now. I even remembered the intro from my childhood, and it made me burst out laughing. What was next? "Let's all go to the lobby?" Before the intro finished it was cut off, and no previews were shown. The movie simply started.
The movie started out and was going all fine until suddenly a crazy lady stood up in the front row and started yelling. It was hard to hear what she was yelling with the loud speakers, and eventually people started yelling back at her to shut up and sit down. Some people left immediately to get security. All I could make out was that she wanted help for something. But she was smiling and half-laughing, and it seemed like she was on drugs. For some reason the second she got up and started yelling it made me think that the theater was about to be robbed, and brought up images of the bus hijacking. The same kind of thought that goes through my head anytime the power gets cut now. I can't help but think that someone has cut the power to shut down security and rob us, rather than there being a simple electricity problem.
In a couple of minutes an usher came in, flashed a light in her face and led her away from the screen. A good 5 minutes of the movie were lost between the incident, and everyone just tried to get back into the movie. At some point halfway through the movie, in the middle of a scene, an intermission came on, blacking out the screen and turning on the lights. We all laughed, never having actually been in a movie with an intermission. It was like the 1930s, and we just used the time to discuss the crazy lady and ask around what the deal with it was.
Avatar was a long movie, but not the longest I've ever seen, and yet it's the first that had an intermission. I think it's all digital now, so they shouldn't even have to change reels or anything like that. But the movie eventually continued without any other hold ups, and finished well. At the end people applauded, as if we were at a play and the actors could appreciate the appreciation. Though the movie was good, I feel like the most entertaining parts of the evening were the unintentional screw ups.
We went to see "Avatar" down in the Microcentro, with Calle Lavalle filled with people on a Saturday night. That alone felt weird to begin with, and deep in the Microcentro is the last place you want to be on a weekend night. We got to the theater, purchased our tickets, and eventually sat down. I would say the theater was somewhere describable between the smallest movie theater ever and the largest personal home entertainment room ever. With a small screen by movie standards, it seemed like some millionaire had put in this room in his house for him and his 80 closest friends.
The humor started before the movie began, when the intro's for the Dolby Sound Effects came on. They were using the same intro that was used back in the 1990's, and what must be well out of date by American standards by now. I even remembered the intro from my childhood, and it made me burst out laughing. What was next? "Let's all go to the lobby?" Before the intro finished it was cut off, and no previews were shown. The movie simply started.
The movie started out and was going all fine until suddenly a crazy lady stood up in the front row and started yelling. It was hard to hear what she was yelling with the loud speakers, and eventually people started yelling back at her to shut up and sit down. Some people left immediately to get security. All I could make out was that she wanted help for something. But she was smiling and half-laughing, and it seemed like she was on drugs. For some reason the second she got up and started yelling it made me think that the theater was about to be robbed, and brought up images of the bus hijacking. The same kind of thought that goes through my head anytime the power gets cut now. I can't help but think that someone has cut the power to shut down security and rob us, rather than there being a simple electricity problem.
In a couple of minutes an usher came in, flashed a light in her face and led her away from the screen. A good 5 minutes of the movie were lost between the incident, and everyone just tried to get back into the movie. At some point halfway through the movie, in the middle of a scene, an intermission came on, blacking out the screen and turning on the lights. We all laughed, never having actually been in a movie with an intermission. It was like the 1930s, and we just used the time to discuss the crazy lady and ask around what the deal with it was.
Avatar was a long movie, but not the longest I've ever seen, and yet it's the first that had an intermission. I think it's all digital now, so they shouldn't even have to change reels or anything like that. But the movie eventually continued without any other hold ups, and finished well. At the end people applauded, as if we were at a play and the actors could appreciate the appreciation. Though the movie was good, I feel like the most entertaining parts of the evening were the unintentional screw ups.
Monday, December 21, 2009
A Note on the Style of Night Life in Buenos Aires
People think of Argentinians as very fashionable, and justly so. Walking through the Microcentro during the day, one finds high powered businessmen and women bustling about, wearing the latest fashions. There is a certain air carried by so many here, with the large sunglasses covering the face up and the head cocked at a slight angle upwards, as if to say that they are better than you and they know it. I may have even started to develop this walk, if for nothing else than to blend in better.
Sharp looking dress shoes that have recently been polished, high quality leather goods, and hair styles that reflect a desire to appear more European prove to be the overwhelming moda here. Yet going out at night is a totally different thing altogether. For all of the effort put into looking good during the day, it appears as though Argentinians are just trying to not look well-groomed at night. And they are trying.
This is a part of the style for young Argentinians going out for a night on the town. Forget about the sharp shoes, dress pants, or button down shirt. Expect to find guys in T-shirts, either blank or with a catchy phrase on it. Jeans that look dirty and torn match sneakers that have miles and miles underneath their soles. Occasionally you'll find a group with one or two guys wearing a nicer polo or button down shirt, but for the most part, this smells of trying too hard. And in a culture that is so fixed on appearances, the guys going out at night want it to appear as though they simply went out for a quick beer. A relaxed, easy going night out that lasts at a dance club until dawn.
Think of the differences, for example, of other countries where it's looked down upon to show up at a club in sneakers. You usually can't even get in unless you have shoes. I admit I haven't been to the most exclusive clubs in the city, but by no means have the places I've gone to been dives or holes in the wall. You simply show up wearing what you've got.
If you're a lady, it's slightly different. You can expect to dress up the way you might at home, be that in a dress or skirt, or whatever. Sorry for the double standard, but it is what it is. While I can get away with wearing a T-shirt, you have to look nice. Still, the Tees can't just be any old stinky Tee. It has to be wearable, and not the shirt you have worn to bed for 10 years.
This reminds me of how back in college, I would dress like a schlub college student the whole week, so when I went out on the weekend I'd want to fix up and look sharp. At least slightly sharp. But once I had to start working and dress appropriately every day, I would take advantage of the time off to dress down. Maybe it's a similar case here. Perhaps Argentinians feel the need to dress up so well during the day that at night they go with whatever. Yin to a yang. One thing's for sure: it's definitely deliberate and unspoken. Just like so many other things here.
Sharp looking dress shoes that have recently been polished, high quality leather goods, and hair styles that reflect a desire to appear more European prove to be the overwhelming moda here. Yet going out at night is a totally different thing altogether. For all of the effort put into looking good during the day, it appears as though Argentinians are just trying to not look well-groomed at night. And they are trying.
This is a part of the style for young Argentinians going out for a night on the town. Forget about the sharp shoes, dress pants, or button down shirt. Expect to find guys in T-shirts, either blank or with a catchy phrase on it. Jeans that look dirty and torn match sneakers that have miles and miles underneath their soles. Occasionally you'll find a group with one or two guys wearing a nicer polo or button down shirt, but for the most part, this smells of trying too hard. And in a culture that is so fixed on appearances, the guys going out at night want it to appear as though they simply went out for a quick beer. A relaxed, easy going night out that lasts at a dance club until dawn.
Think of the differences, for example, of other countries where it's looked down upon to show up at a club in sneakers. You usually can't even get in unless you have shoes. I admit I haven't been to the most exclusive clubs in the city, but by no means have the places I've gone to been dives or holes in the wall. You simply show up wearing what you've got.
If you're a lady, it's slightly different. You can expect to dress up the way you might at home, be that in a dress or skirt, or whatever. Sorry for the double standard, but it is what it is. While I can get away with wearing a T-shirt, you have to look nice. Still, the Tees can't just be any old stinky Tee. It has to be wearable, and not the shirt you have worn to bed for 10 years.
This reminds me of how back in college, I would dress like a schlub college student the whole week, so when I went out on the weekend I'd want to fix up and look sharp. At least slightly sharp. But once I had to start working and dress appropriately every day, I would take advantage of the time off to dress down. Maybe it's a similar case here. Perhaps Argentinians feel the need to dress up so well during the day that at night they go with whatever. Yin to a yang. One thing's for sure: it's definitely deliberate and unspoken. Just like so many other things here.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Apartment Hunting for Foreigners
I have recently begun the search for a new apartment, with the goal of moving north to be in not only a better neighborhood, but to be closer to parks so that I can actually go for runs. I feel that this change will drastically improve my time in Argentina. Most foreigners that come to Buenos Aires looking to rent apartments find them through avenues such as Craigslist or Couchsurfing. These Web sites are generally good for finding a short term rental if you're willing to spend more money, and you definitely will.
For a long time I found it highly unfair that foreigners have to pay so much more than Argentinians do for their apartments. Especially if you plan to stay long term. Yet the recent search I've undertaken, using different methods, has changed my outlook on this. With the advice of some locals, I've stared searching on sites like Zona Prop and Solo Dueños. These are Web sites by Argentinians for Argentinians, and as such they are entirely in Spanish, and list their prices, which seem reasonable enough, in pesos.
Upon looking into these apartments you realize that for the amount of money that a foreigner spends on a crappy apartment, an Argentinian can rent a beautiful apartment for equal or slightly higher rent. There is a catch, though. After reading about how good the apartments are and seeing the pictures which entice you, you then see a note at the bottom. Again, this is general, but most of the apartments require that you sign a 2 year lease and acquire a garantía, or warranty. It's something like a co-signer, like what we have in the United States.
This is often difficult for even Argentinians to get, because someone like a parent, uncle, or company will need to put their name up in the event that you don't pay rent, causing them financial stress. There is also a fee for processing the warranty, or occasionally a "justification of income," which is like a W-2, proving that you make enough money to actually pay your rent. Obviously for a foreigner, these documents are nearly impossible to get, and even if you could, you have to go through the process of getting it all, which is very hard unless you have a local helping you out.
So it's a catch 22 in that Argentinians will pay less than foreigners, but because they go through the legal process that foreigners avoid. Yes, foreigners pay more, but they pay a flat rate, generally allowing them to leave with 2 weeks notice. There is also no need for extra maintenance fees, gas, water, and electricity. These are all extra expenses that locals take on. Many expats here find the real estate companies to be sketchy and think that they are outright ripping them off. Some probably are, but after going through this process, I believe that it's really just a part of renting, no different than we undertake back home. Think about it--how many people could just show up at a real estate agency in the U.S. and say they want to rent a place but have no collateral or proof of income? Especially if they were a foreigner. They would be laughed out of the door. Many expats here assume that the good name of the United States is enough of a reference.
So if you plan to be in Argentina for a long enough time and can arrange all of this, try to pursue these other options. But keep in mind that it will not help you for a 3 month stay. If anything, it hurts you. In my case, I have to find a way to get a warranty or co-signer, or possibly pay an up front advance of rent for anywhere between 3-6 months in place of it. An option that altogether seems as unlikely to help me out while I make a typical Argentinian salary. But we'll see what can be accomplished with more determination and persistence.
For a long time I found it highly unfair that foreigners have to pay so much more than Argentinians do for their apartments. Especially if you plan to stay long term. Yet the recent search I've undertaken, using different methods, has changed my outlook on this. With the advice of some locals, I've stared searching on sites like Zona Prop and Solo Dueños. These are Web sites by Argentinians for Argentinians, and as such they are entirely in Spanish, and list their prices, which seem reasonable enough, in pesos.
Upon looking into these apartments you realize that for the amount of money that a foreigner spends on a crappy apartment, an Argentinian can rent a beautiful apartment for equal or slightly higher rent. There is a catch, though. After reading about how good the apartments are and seeing the pictures which entice you, you then see a note at the bottom. Again, this is general, but most of the apartments require that you sign a 2 year lease and acquire a garantía, or warranty. It's something like a co-signer, like what we have in the United States.
This is often difficult for even Argentinians to get, because someone like a parent, uncle, or company will need to put their name up in the event that you don't pay rent, causing them financial stress. There is also a fee for processing the warranty, or occasionally a "justification of income," which is like a W-2, proving that you make enough money to actually pay your rent. Obviously for a foreigner, these documents are nearly impossible to get, and even if you could, you have to go through the process of getting it all, which is very hard unless you have a local helping you out.
So it's a catch 22 in that Argentinians will pay less than foreigners, but because they go through the legal process that foreigners avoid. Yes, foreigners pay more, but they pay a flat rate, generally allowing them to leave with 2 weeks notice. There is also no need for extra maintenance fees, gas, water, and electricity. These are all extra expenses that locals take on. Many expats here find the real estate companies to be sketchy and think that they are outright ripping them off. Some probably are, but after going through this process, I believe that it's really just a part of renting, no different than we undertake back home. Think about it--how many people could just show up at a real estate agency in the U.S. and say they want to rent a place but have no collateral or proof of income? Especially if they were a foreigner. They would be laughed out of the door. Many expats here assume that the good name of the United States is enough of a reference.
So if you plan to be in Argentina for a long enough time and can arrange all of this, try to pursue these other options. But keep in mind that it will not help you for a 3 month stay. If anything, it hurts you. In my case, I have to find a way to get a warranty or co-signer, or possibly pay an up front advance of rent for anywhere between 3-6 months in place of it. An option that altogether seems as unlikely to help me out while I make a typical Argentinian salary. But we'll see what can be accomplished with more determination and persistence.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Minus the Turkey: Thanksgiving a la Porteña
I guess I would best describe it as May. Though it would be May in New York , not in Boston , because anyone who is from either city can tell you that a spring in Massachusetts is quite different from a spring in New York New England , yet people are always surprised. It’s supposed to be nice, but of course it’s not. That’s exactly what I’m experiencing now in Buenos Aires
After going through your entire life with an expectation that the weather will be a certain way during a certain month, it’s hard to accept what your eyes see and your senses feel. I am sweating in this humidity, but the date on the calendar says November 27th. An error message is popping up in my brain, telling me to reboot. Yesterday was Thanksgiving, giving a totally different perspective on the holiday.
All I can think of in terms of this day is the crisp air outside a boiling hot apartment in Brooklyn , the golden-brown-red leaves dangling from trees like a child’s teeth as their body pushes them out to make way for the new guys. The deep blue sky of impending winter and the looming storm front that inevitably comes, just in time for some cocoa, a fireplace, and a football game that puts you to sleep after stuffing your face with, well stuffing. Turkey, cranberry sauce, pie, more turkey, coffee, more pie, and finally a late night shwarma and beer if you have nothing else to do and just need to get out of that stinking hot apartment with no cable. This is the Thanksgiving I grew up with, yet in the humid spring of Buenos Aires, it was another world and another age.
I was pretty sure I was going to spend the holiday alone, frying up a steak and looking through pictures while listening to music—a standard night. But in the morning my new friend Tami said she was going to take care of everything. She called up a few friends and invited me over to her house for a Thanksgiving dinner, a la porteña, at 9 pm. A little late by most accounts, but since it wasn’t a holiday here, we all had to work a full day anyway.
Traditionally Argentinian, I showed up a bit late and found that the table was filled for a feast, though there were only five of us; Tami, her sister, and two other friends joined me in an American holiday. This would be their first Thanksgiving, and I explained a bit of what we normally do, such as eat, talk, watch football, and pass out. This was more than I could have hoped for, and I am still in a bit of shock that someone could be so friendly and throw together a feast like that out of no where. I just met her last week, after all.
Everything you could want was there. Minus the turkey. That was all that was missing, and though it’s the main ingredient in a Thanksgiving feast, the most important thing is just having people to share it with. The girls had prepared potatoes, Spanish rice, eggs that no one even touched, and to make it truly Argentinian, milanesa de carne, which is like a breaded meat. Somehow they even found cranberries, and though it wasn’t in sauce form, it went perfectly with the milanesa. We wound up not even eating half of the food, there was so much.
In continuing with the Argentinianization of the holiday, the conversation went late into the night, passing beyond 12:30 am. I kept thinking at some point someone would say it’s time to go home, but eventually Tami saw me yawning continuously and told me this could go on for hours. So she called up a taxi and I said my goodbyes. I don’t know when, if ever, porteños sleep, but they’ve found a way to function without it. I, on the other hand, still love my minimum 7-8 hours a night.
So passed my Thanksgiving in Argentina
My high school 5 year reunion is tonight, and instead of catching up with old friends who I haven’t seen in years, I am on another continent on the other side of the world. But I’m thankful that I’ve been able to make some new friends here. I’ll take that and call it a day.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
A First-Timer's Trip to a Polo Match
My boss was pretty excited about it, and another co-worker told me that it was the season opener for the 116th Argentinian Polo Open. He said there would be parades and music and all, so it'd be worth going to. My only problem was that on such short notice, not knowing too many people in this city, it was going to be hard to find someone to go with me. I'm sure there are tons of people who would have liked a ticket, but I just don't know them.
We walked around for a while looking at what was for sale, and eventually worked over to the practice game. One thing I've noticed is that from a distance, it looks like tiny people riding giant dogs. Depending on the action, they can be right up in your face with little separating you, or they can be way down the field, nearly out of sight. The field is just that big.
It's striking to me that everyone applauds for both teams, and there's absolutely no booing at all. There is no real side, as teams switch back and forth who scores on each end, and at the end of the day, it's just a friendly match. That doesn't mean that the jockey's don't scream and play hard, nearly ramming their horses into each other. At one point a player smashed his mallet into the forearm of an opponent. The player screamed in pain and yelled some swears I haven't even heard of yet, dismounted, and continued to scream.
Immediately an ambulance had rushed out onto the field, which was almost laughable when you consider that it takes 5 minutes or more for a golf cart to get onto a football field when a player could have neck damage. The game stopped for a few minutes as they checked him out, and then he mounted up again and continued. Though the sun was out and I was burning, the field is close to the river and the winds are strong. I was shivering with a jacket on by the end of the match as the sun was setting. It was a close game, but I left with one minute left when it was clear that it was over.
It was a good experience to see a new sport, even if it's a very elitist game. There were no parades, and I'm not sure how I missed that, or if it was just a bad translation. I don't know if I'll go back on my own dime any time soon, but if another pair of free tickets come my way, I'm sure I'll take the opportunity.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Ecuadorian, Argentinian Style
I won't lie. I've been craving the old Ecuador lately. Lots of things are different here, and something about the adventure of life in Ecuador is to be desired. So I asked a friend in Cuenca who lived in Buenos Aires for a year if he knew of an Ecuadorian restaurant here. He gave me the address--a literal hole in the wall on Avenida Corrientes y, get this, Calle Ecuador. Perfect.I finally got myself over there yesterday. It's in Once, the neighborhood known for Jewish, Peruvian, and Korean citizens. I think Once reminds me of the rest of Latin America more than any other place in Argentina, and maybe that's why I like it. Vendors selling everything and shouting anything in the streets, the hustle, the grime. I love it. I wound my way around the streets to find the place, but it didn't help that it was on Calle Ecuador. Every time I asked someone if they knew of the Ecuadorian restaurant, they thought I meant any restaurant on this street.
At a Peruvian restaurant I asked a man who said he didn't know, but as I walked past he whistled at me and pointed at a door. Just a random door that looked like someone's house. He motioned for me to go in. Awkwardly I pushed open the door and the first thing I saw was the Ecuadorian flag hanging proudly. The salsa music was blasting, and the few diners there looked up at me. I was at home again.
The meal came out and, surprise surprise, there was a mountain of white rice next to my chicken. It was so welcoming, and I loaded on the aji just like the old days. It was more of a relief to have this food again, listening to that music, surrounded by other Ecuadorians. It felt familiar. I wouldn't say the food in Ecuador was great, but I will say that Ecuadorian food cooked in Argentina is good. I was happy with the meal, and once I was finished a guy at the table across from me invited me over to talk.
He was from Quito and has been living here for 6 years studying, and his friend was from Argentina. We shared some beer and talked about how I knew of the place and Ecuador. And then, in typical Ecuadorian fashion, he invited me to join them at his apartment in Recoleta for a beer. Before leaving I paid up, $28 pesos for the meal and a liter of beer. That works out to about $7.30 USD, and a meal like that in Ecuador would normally cost $2. But what can you do?
We went to the apartment with a Heineken and from the terrace on the roof looked out over the city with no clouds or noise at all. It was high up but not outrageous, yet in this neighborhood the noises of the city were far away. It was good to talk to the guys, and in more traditional Ecuadorian (Ecuanapping) we went out to a free symphony performance put on by the Law Faculty of the Universidad de Buenos Aires. The performance was well done, and after the intermission we went back up top and sat down on the stairs.
The next thing I knew, my new friends had ditched me. I turned around and they were gone. How bizarre. Why would they buy me beer, coffee, and invite me to a show just to ditch me? It was head-scratching material, so I slipped out and started off for home. Later I met up with a couple of other guys and we went to a birthday party at a bar in Palermo. The birthday girl had paid for 20 bottles of champagne, and so sitting next to the water bucket, I drank a fair share of champagne. Once the 20 free bottles were gone I even bought another.
No surprise here, a hangover was in store for the day. But the day was not to be a wash...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
