Skiing in Chapelco was wonderful. The powder was absolutely dumping on us throughout the whole first day, and I have no complaints except for the prominance of tow ropes...especially on the extremely steep lift that brings you to the summit... It would do them well to invest in some real chairlifts. We ended that Saturday frolicking in the perfect snow at the top of the mountain, reluctant to ski down at the end of the day.
So, I go home tomorrow. If anyone besides my parents is still reading this, thanks for following my adventures all the way through to the grand finish. I learned, saw and thought a good amount, and had fun recording it all here. If I experience some really intense reverse-culture shock upon my return, I might write about how that is, but don´t count on it.
Also, if you don´t have a facebook and are interested in seeing all of my pictures, let me know (via e-mail or on here) and I´ll link you to the albums.
See you all back in the good ole US of A
Arielle
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Mis(sed)/preconceptions
Here in the city there are definitely foods I´ll miss (faina, constant empanadas, delicious fruit,) but I was somewhat surprised, if not disappointed, by the food here. I really found myself looking forward to something with a little more local flavor, but none of the porteño traditional dishes really stand out ethnically. This can be easily attributed to the Eurocentrism that runs rampant here. Porteños are more interested in the assimilationist ´melting pot´than ´salad-bowl,´which helps explain the unavoidable racism, elitism, and separatism from the rest of Latin Americathat is so prevalent here in the city. So, this sad fact transfers over to the culinary life of Buenos Aires, resulting in a very pathetic lack of ethnic food. There is something like five Thai restaurants in the entire city. I was also told that the sushi here is so pathetic that the tuna rolls contain canned tuna. ATROCIOUS. But in general, the food is over-salted, under-nutritious, and frankly a bit boring. At least the meat is delicious. Remember when I explained the Uruguayan version of hamburger, the chivito? Here, the hamburger is called a milanesa. breaded and fried cutlet (meat, chicken, even eggplant,) that is eaten either hot or cold and usually as a sandwich. Even less exciting than it sounds.
While I consider myself to be sometimes nocturnal, I´ll be glad to be back to a ´normal´(or maybe ´healthy´is the better word) sleep schedule. Eating dinner at 10 or 11 each night, and then going out from 1AM until 6 or 7AM is pretty tiring. I´m not ashamed to admit that I have slept from 11PM until 2AM, and then, after much fighting and bargaining with myself in my bed, left the apartment to meet friends. A big problem, though, is the late dinner time, because it holds true also for the weekdays. This routine puts one to sleep just an hour or two after finishing dinner, only to wake up horribly, disgustingly full the next morning. I´m pretty sure this is the real explanation for the Argentine reluctance to eat breakfast, and the justitfication for my dire craving for a proper breakfast with eggs and other things delicious.
The aforementioned split betweenBuenos Aires and the rest of Latin America is enhanced by the almost-tangible separation between them at the Interior, which is to say, the city of Buenos Aires and the entire rest of the country. The city is so in touch with its European culture that the majority of European immigrants live here, whereas other Latin American immigrants tend to reside in the Interior, or at least the outskirts of the city. This divide is blamed by many for the constant political unrest, and the inability to settle the majority of these problems. When the people can´t unite with each other, they can hardly be expected to unite against their government. I have heard this divide explained not as a separation of parties, but rather as a divide almost between countries.
Another interesting cultural difference is the daily 4-7 PM merienda. I think in English we would translate this to´snacktime.´It serves to hold one over between lunch and dinner and normally consists of coffee/tea, croissants, miga (crustless white bread sandwicheswith ham and mayonnaise,) or empanadas. During this time the cafes are generally relatively full,I think mainly because the idea of coffee ´to-go´has not (yet) taken over here. Coffee is a social rather than a physical and purely caffeine-driven ritual, always enjoyed sitting down, and serves as a ´part´of the day in its own right. Not two months ago, Starbucks opened its first branch here, and I have yet to pass the building without an enormous line around the block. I guess we´ll see if it succeeds in transforming the coffee rite into just another source of caffeine to be ingested between other ´more important´activities.
Leave tomorrow for my ski trip!
While I consider myself to be sometimes nocturnal, I´ll be glad to be back to a ´normal´(or maybe ´healthy´is the better word) sleep schedule. Eating dinner at 10 or 11 each night, and then going out from 1AM until 6 or 7AM is pretty tiring. I´m not ashamed to admit that I have slept from 11PM until 2AM, and then, after much fighting and bargaining with myself in my bed, left the apartment to meet friends. A big problem, though, is the late dinner time, because it holds true also for the weekdays. This routine puts one to sleep just an hour or two after finishing dinner, only to wake up horribly, disgustingly full the next morning. I´m pretty sure this is the real explanation for the Argentine reluctance to eat breakfast, and the justitfication for my dire craving for a proper breakfast with eggs and other things delicious.
The aforementioned split betweenBuenos Aires and the rest of Latin America is enhanced by the almost-tangible separation between them at the Interior, which is to say, the city of Buenos Aires and the entire rest of the country. The city is so in touch with its European culture that the majority of European immigrants live here, whereas other Latin American immigrants tend to reside in the Interior, or at least the outskirts of the city. This divide is blamed by many for the constant political unrest, and the inability to settle the majority of these problems. When the people can´t unite with each other, they can hardly be expected to unite against their government. I have heard this divide explained not as a separation of parties, but rather as a divide almost between countries.
Another interesting cultural difference is the daily 4-7 PM merienda. I think in English we would translate this to´snacktime.´It serves to hold one over between lunch and dinner and normally consists of coffee/tea, croissants, miga (crustless white bread sandwicheswith ham and mayonnaise,) or empanadas. During this time the cafes are generally relatively full,I think mainly because the idea of coffee ´to-go´has not (yet) taken over here. Coffee is a social rather than a physical and purely caffeine-driven ritual, always enjoyed sitting down, and serves as a ´part´of the day in its own right. Not two months ago, Starbucks opened its first branch here, and I have yet to pass the building without an enormous line around the block. I guess we´ll see if it succeeds in transforming the coffee rite into just another source of caffeine to be ingested between other ´more important´activities.
Leave tomorrow for my ski trip!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
The Chipá and the Whale
Wow, it´s been kind of a while since I gave any sort of legitimate update on here. But it´s so discouraging not to have my own computer, so give me a break. As of yesterday, I have finished three of my six classes - only two finals to go (painting class doesn´t require a final. Or any painting at all, for that matter.) Right before turning in my finals, I had a week of schoolwork-related craziness, but that is pretty much over now.
To celebrate the almost end of finals, I went with a friend to Puerto Madryn this past weekend. It´s on the Atlantic shore of Patagonia, a (mere) nineteen-hour bus ride south from Buenos Aires. We had the best seats on the bus, but that (sadly, oh so sadly,) did not stop us from enduring a baby that cried for a remarkable many hours, in a remarkably high pitched voice. Even so, we made it alive to the small port town that stays on the map only through tourism and its massive aluminum plant. After dumping our packs at the hostel, we stopped at a beachside snackbar for lunch. After choosing stools at the bar looking out over te ocean, we noticed some floating mass drifting parallel to shore, maybe 50 feet out. Suddenly, like 20 feet behind this hovering body (I swear it was dead,) a Southern Right Whale jumped clear out of the water, flaunting its enormous self to all of us land-dwelling species, just for a moment. This little demonstration went on all through lunch, with what I can only assume were many different groups of whales. Our waiter was far from phased. I can´t believe someone could actually become anesthetized to this. It´s pretty far from seeing a show at Sea World over and over again.
The next day we booked an all day tour, which involved a trip to Península Valdez. We saw ostrich-type guys, llama-types, wild flamingos (!? so random,) sheep, elephant seals, birds, and, my personal favorite, a possible relative of ManBearPig, the , but who I prefer to call DeerRabbitSquirrel.
Most spectacular of this tour was definitly the whale-watching boat, whose captain needn´t bother trying to spot whales, there were groups of them, literally, in every direction. Since it was the right season, we were able to see many mothers with their calves, helping them breathe and play and so on.
For dinner, Josh and I got to eat some really delicious fresh fish, a definite rarity in the city. Our last day was spent in the Welsh towns of Trelew and Gaiman. This was kind of a silly day - we had traditional Welsh tea and cakes - but it was nice to see such small historical pueblos, a welcome change from the Capital.
Another little outing I took was to the feria de Mataderos. This is another weekend artisan fair (there are various ones throughout the city´s different neighborhoods, each with its own special flavor,) but this one takes the cake in all respects. After an hour long public bus ride to the southeast corner of the city, you arrive at a feria crammed between narrow residential streets full of venders, roughly organized by wares. In addition to the regular Buenos Aires feria goods, Mataderos boasts specialty items from the Interior: workshops for tango, folkloric guitar playing, lassoing, gaucho (Argentine cowboy) horsemanship expositions, live music, and delicious food traditional of the Interior. My favorite is chipá, a bread whose dough involves finely grated cheese so that its crumb is very dense and, needless to say, delicious. Mmm...maybe I´ll go back this weekend...[here is a photo of one of the tango workshops]
After finally fishing The Source, I burned my way through Barbara Kingsolver´s Homeland. It was a huge improvement from her The Bean Trees, but, as I think we would expect, not nearly as beautiful as her Posionwood Bible. I just started Wallace Stegner´s Angle of Repose, and I am already floored by what a pleasure it is to read. It is filled with really wonderful insightful passages by its protagonist and I can´t wait to make my way further into the story. I have a good feeling about this one.
I´m actually only here for two and a half more weeks! I made a list of things I have yet to do, both inside the city and out. I plan to take one last trip to a ski mountain in Western Patagonia, so that should be a fun way to say goodbye to the country. I also made a list of foods I need to eat when I get home. It´s clearly going to be a bittersweet goodbye. More about that a little later on.
Until the next!
To celebrate the almost end of finals, I went with a friend to Puerto Madryn this past weekend. It´s on the Atlantic shore of Patagonia, a (mere) nineteen-hour bus ride south from Buenos Aires. We had the best seats on the bus, but that (sadly, oh so sadly,) did not stop us from enduring a baby that cried for a remarkable many hours, in a remarkably high pitched voice. Even so, we made it alive to the small port town that stays on the map only through tourism and its massive aluminum plant. After dumping our packs at the hostel, we stopped at a beachside snackbar for lunch. After choosing stools at the bar looking out over te ocean, we noticed some floating mass drifting parallel to shore, maybe 50 feet out. Suddenly, like 20 feet behind this hovering body (I swear it was dead,) a Southern Right Whale jumped clear out of the water, flaunting its enormous self to all of us land-dwelling species, just for a moment. This little demonstration went on all through lunch, with what I can only assume were many different groups of whales. Our waiter was far from phased. I can´t believe someone could actually become anesthetized to this. It´s pretty far from seeing a show at Sea World over and over again.
The next day we booked an all day tour, which involved a trip to Península Valdez. We saw ostrich-type guys, llama-types, wild flamingos (!? so random,) sheep, elephant seals, birds, and, my personal favorite, a possible relative of ManBearPig, the , but who I prefer to call DeerRabbitSquirrel.
Most spectacular of this tour was definitly the whale-watching boat, whose captain needn´t bother trying to spot whales, there were groups of them, literally, in every direction. Since it was the right season, we were able to see many mothers with their calves, helping them breathe and play and so on.
For dinner, Josh and I got to eat some really delicious fresh fish, a definite rarity in the city. Our last day was spent in the Welsh towns of Trelew and Gaiman. This was kind of a silly day - we had traditional Welsh tea and cakes - but it was nice to see such small historical pueblos, a welcome change from the Capital.
Another little outing I took was to the feria de Mataderos. This is another weekend artisan fair (there are various ones throughout the city´s different neighborhoods, each with its own special flavor,) but this one takes the cake in all respects. After an hour long public bus ride to the southeast corner of the city, you arrive at a feria crammed between narrow residential streets full of venders, roughly organized by wares. In addition to the regular Buenos Aires feria goods, Mataderos boasts specialty items from the Interior: workshops for tango, folkloric guitar playing, lassoing, gaucho (Argentine cowboy) horsemanship expositions, live music, and delicious food traditional of the Interior. My favorite is chipá, a bread whose dough involves finely grated cheese so that its crumb is very dense and, needless to say, delicious. Mmm...maybe I´ll go back this weekend...[here is a photo of one of the tango workshops]
After finally fishing The Source, I burned my way through Barbara Kingsolver´s Homeland. It was a huge improvement from her The Bean Trees, but, as I think we would expect, not nearly as beautiful as her Posionwood Bible. I just started Wallace Stegner´s Angle of Repose, and I am already floored by what a pleasure it is to read. It is filled with really wonderful insightful passages by its protagonist and I can´t wait to make my way further into the story. I have a good feeling about this one.
I´m actually only here for two and a half more weeks! I made a list of things I have yet to do, both inside the city and out. I plan to take one last trip to a ski mountain in Western Patagonia, so that should be a fun way to say goodbye to the country. I also made a list of foods I need to eat when I get home. It´s clearly going to be a bittersweet goodbye. More about that a little later on.
Until the next!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Update from a locutorio
HI.
Sorry I haven´t been writing, but...it physically pains me to say this... my computer crashed! Oh, it was horrible. The day before my first final was due. Luckily most things that I need(ed) are saved on my flash drive, so don´t worry. It´s just incredibly inconvenient. Until yesterday, I think the last time I´d written a paper by hand, without a computer nearby, was roughly 5th grade. Awful.
I actually don´t have much to report, it´s finals season so I´ve pretty much been studying and writing papers with most of my time. I saw a few dance performances, ate good food, was sick, got better, finished The Source, and made plans for two more vacations (one this weekend to eastern Patagonia and one in a few weeks to ski in western Patagonia.)
Today I ate a BigMac in kosher McDonalds, after waiting on a twenty-minute line filled with religious Jews. By the time I got to the front, there was no lettuce left. (Who even knew there was lettuce on a BigMac?)
Anyway, I´ll update next time I have something real to say... for now I´m just using the internet once or twice a day in locutorios - internet cafes.
Enjoy summer! It´s cold(ish) here!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Study break
Some more updates:
I have never felt uncool about not being a smoker until I started my UBA class. Being the youngest, shortest, and stupidest (ha... with this material at least,) I already leave the classroom feeling pretty awful about myself. But halfway through each class we are allowed a five minute cigarette break. Imagine how awkward I am: everyone grabs their cigarettes and lighters (fuego) and stands chatting in the hallway in a circle, professor included. Meanwhile, I stay in the classroom alone and read my nerdy little book and hydrate with my Nalgene. I guess it's a little less awkward than me joining their circle twiddling my thumbs, but...come on now. (I will admit to laughing out loud about how pathetic I am/sound while typing this just now.)
I can't believe I haven't written yet about my painting class. I'm taking it at a local community center, and we meet every Thursday to learn oil painting together. Everyone does their artwork at home so that we don't waste any class time with actual painting. Instead, while we critique and discuss everyone's work, we (me, two 25-year old Argentines, and eleven middle-aged locals of all backgrounds - rich art collectors getting in tune with their craft, an accountant, a doctor, etc,) sit around a big table and chat while enjoying 5 or so bottles of wine, cheese, bread, sandwiches, chips, and whatever other treats people decide to bring that particular week. But there is always plenty of wine. Last week the teacher asked me, "is this how American painting workshops function?"... I have a feeling it's not.
Aside from being the only member of the class that doesn't paint exclusively abstract pieces, I'm doing a pretty good job fitting in (as opposed to my UBA nonsmoking, see above,) and participating in some really great conversations about life in Argentina.
chauchau
I have never felt uncool about not being a smoker until I started my UBA class. Being the youngest, shortest, and stupidest (ha... with this material at least,) I already leave the classroom feeling pretty awful about myself. But halfway through each class we are allowed a five minute cigarette break. Imagine how awkward I am: everyone grabs their cigarettes and lighters (fuego) and stands chatting in the hallway in a circle, professor included. Meanwhile, I stay in the classroom alone and read my nerdy little book and hydrate with my Nalgene. I guess it's a little less awkward than me joining their circle twiddling my thumbs, but...come on now. (I will admit to laughing out loud about how pathetic I am/sound while typing this just now.)
I can't believe I haven't written yet about my painting class. I'm taking it at a local community center, and we meet every Thursday to learn oil painting together. Everyone does their artwork at home so that we don't waste any class time with actual painting. Instead, while we critique and discuss everyone's work, we (me, two 25-year old Argentines, and eleven middle-aged locals of all backgrounds - rich art collectors getting in tune with their craft, an accountant, a doctor, etc,) sit around a big table and chat while enjoying 5 or so bottles of wine, cheese, bread, sandwiches, chips, and whatever other treats people decide to bring that particular week. But there is always plenty of wine. Last week the teacher asked me, "is this how American painting workshops function?"... I have a feeling it's not.
Aside from being the only member of the class that doesn't paint exclusively abstract pieces, I'm doing a pretty good job fitting in (as opposed to my UBA nonsmoking, see above,) and participating in some really great conversations about life in Argentina.
chauchau
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Jargon jargon
Now that I only have about a month and a half left, I have started to think "back" on my experience here, and (re)evaluate how things have played out. One component of my time here that is constantly on my mind is, most obviously, language, and the frequency with which I think and speak in Spanish. (Actually, here, porteños don't actually consider their language 'Spanish,' but rather Castellano, and it's impossible to convince them that these languages are, in fundamentals, the very same language with differences only in slang, pronunciations, and various dialectical discrepancies.) Anyway, on our program we were instructed to only speak in Spanish while here. And while of course that "rule" is followed in class, in our homestays, and on the streets, I have found it plain old silly (if not impossible) to only speak in Spanish with other American students, especially those that I have only recently met and am still getting to know.
Even if we speak Spanish at a uniform level, there are some barriers that completely obstruct full understanding between two people speaking their common second language. Except for cases of full fluidity, which I think I could maybe acquire after living here for five years, it's unfeasible to express myself and be comfortable in all of my syntax and connotational choices. The ability to intuit and express connotation naturally is automatic in English for me (and I think for everyone,) but this key to communication is lost in translation, and difficult to acquire. Talking with Argentines is different, and communication with them in Spanish is much more successful than with other Americans. Since we both need to speak Spanish to interact, I find I can convey my message more effectively with them. Maybe I'm trying harder to relay the information, or maybe it's just the fact that we don't both know in the back of our minds that speaking in English would just be less inhibiting, but in speaking Spanish with native Latin Americans I rarely feel as frustratingly stuck as I do when I am speaking in Spanish with other Americans.
One other thing:
I was in a dietetica the other day...the health food craze hasn't yet hit this country, so to buy anything mildly healthy - wheat bread, brown sugar, oatmeal cookies, crackers made without beef fat - I have to go to these tiny stores that boast walls lined with jars of dried herbs and teas, sacks of various flours and beans, and freshly dried fruits... Anyway, as I was paying for my dried figs and apricots, the storekeeper asked me, "who is going to win, Obama or McCain?" I replied, "Obama, I hope." His aghast eyes widened. "REALLY?! You're going to vote for a black person?!" I wasn't sure what to say. "Yeah, definitely. He has some good ideas, and he is very intelligent," was all I could muster. "I would never vote for a negro!" (The Spanish word for black person.)
So I left with my fruit and my open mind.
I wanted to find a picture of a dietetica, but all I could find was this photo of a combination dietetica/santeria. In English: health food store/saintery, aka a store where they sell sculptures and images of saints. What a gem.
Even if we speak Spanish at a uniform level, there are some barriers that completely obstruct full understanding between two people speaking their common second language. Except for cases of full fluidity, which I think I could maybe acquire after living here for five years, it's unfeasible to express myself and be comfortable in all of my syntax and connotational choices. The ability to intuit and express connotation naturally is automatic in English for me (and I think for everyone,) but this key to communication is lost in translation, and difficult to acquire. Talking with Argentines is different, and communication with them in Spanish is much more successful than with other Americans. Since we both need to speak Spanish to interact, I find I can convey my message more effectively with them. Maybe I'm trying harder to relay the information, or maybe it's just the fact that we don't both know in the back of our minds that speaking in English would just be less inhibiting, but in speaking Spanish with native Latin Americans I rarely feel as frustratingly stuck as I do when I am speaking in Spanish with other Americans.
One other thing:
I was in a dietetica the other day...the health food craze hasn't yet hit this country, so to buy anything mildly healthy - wheat bread, brown sugar, oatmeal cookies, crackers made without beef fat - I have to go to these tiny stores that boast walls lined with jars of dried herbs and teas, sacks of various flours and beans, and freshly dried fruits... Anyway, as I was paying for my dried figs and apricots, the storekeeper asked me, "who is going to win, Obama or McCain?" I replied, "Obama, I hope." His aghast eyes widened. "REALLY?! You're going to vote for a black person?!" I wasn't sure what to say. "Yeah, definitely. He has some good ideas, and he is very intelligent," was all I could muster. "I would never vote for a negro!" (The Spanish word for black person.)
So I left with my fruit and my open mind.
I wanted to find a picture of a dietetica, but all I could find was this photo of a combination dietetica/santeria. In English: health food store/saintery, aka a store where they sell sculptures and images of saints. What a gem.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
1.5 months till the end
I took a six-hour overnight bus on Sunday to Tandil, a small town in the Southern Sierras - the oldest mountains in the Pampas. I spent all day hiking, walking, meandering, drinking tea, and reading (The Source, still.) I really like this town. It's small but not tiny (100,000 people) and feels really neighborhoody. Only 7 or 8 high-rises in the whole place. The general aura really reminded me of Jackson Hole. While it's built around tourism (mostly porteños taking weekend trips to escape the city,) it remains completely open all four seasons, so it seems much more down-to-earth, and well, real. Also, it's famous for its cheese, so I am automatically in love. I hiked in a nature reserve that was filled with llamas, horses, deer, and an unidentified deer-like creature that prances like Mandy. Then, on one end of the town is a peak that has been turned into the religious portion of the city. I went all out and took the 1km "walk of Jesus" to the top where I strolled through a lovely pine forest, passing mediocre cement sculptures of Jesus carrying his cross on the way up. At the top is, I kid you not, a 30 foot crucifix that looks over the town - you can see it from almost every street. Overall, this is a definite recommended weekend trip, and relatively close to the city.
Sadly my batteries were mysteriously uncharged I have no pictorial evidence of my time there. No evidence besides my bus ticket and my brain.
The weather here, as I said earlier, is getting colder. I'm wearing my fall clothes, but the second it hit 60 degrees (F,) the porteños all started wearing their fluffiest winter coats, gloves, and hats. I feel silly walking outside in my tshirt amongst all these bundled up psychos with grossly distorted tactile sensory capacities.
I went last week to La Rural, a huge convention center in a trendy part of the city. It was holding the annual event ArteBA, which celebrates all of the up-and-coming Argentinian contemporary visual artists (all medium.) I really enjoyed a lot of work and derived particular pleasure from the pieces that only Argentines (and me!) could understand. For example, poor children often go through subway cars passing out sheets of glitter stickers, hoping that someone will buy them for $1 peso each (about 30 cents USD.) Somehow all of these kids offer the same stickers - Barbie, Little Mermaid, Looney Tunes, etc. One artist at the contemporary art fair made designs using only these stickers as a medium. Ordinarily I wouldn't give these pieces a second glance ("how dumb, a tree made out of Barbie's face,") but after living here I can understand how important the process was of the artist's collecting her materials, etc. Anyway, the art show was awesome. I think I spent three or four hours walking around and only got to see like 2/3 of the exhibit work.
Sadly my batteries were mysteriously uncharged I have no pictorial evidence of my time there. No evidence besides my bus ticket and my brain.
The weather here, as I said earlier, is getting colder. I'm wearing my fall clothes, but the second it hit 60 degrees (F,) the porteños all started wearing their fluffiest winter coats, gloves, and hats. I feel silly walking outside in my tshirt amongst all these bundled up psychos with grossly distorted tactile sensory capacities.
I went last week to La Rural, a huge convention center in a trendy part of the city. It was holding the annual event ArteBA, which celebrates all of the up-and-coming Argentinian contemporary visual artists (all medium.) I really enjoyed a lot of work and derived particular pleasure from the pieces that only Argentines (and me!) could understand. For example, poor children often go through subway cars passing out sheets of glitter stickers, hoping that someone will buy them for $1 peso each (about 30 cents USD.) Somehow all of these kids offer the same stickers - Barbie, Little Mermaid, Looney Tunes, etc. One artist at the contemporary art fair made designs using only these stickers as a medium. Ordinarily I wouldn't give these pieces a second glance ("how dumb, a tree made out of Barbie's face,") but after living here I can understand how important the process was of the artist's collecting her materials, etc. Anyway, the art show was awesome. I think I spent three or four hours walking around and only got to see like 2/3 of the exhibit work.
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