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.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Well that was a freebie
Last two posts were kind of lame, sorry.
So I realized that I hadn't really been keeping you updated on my gastronomical journey. And while it isn't as cool as it would be if I were in, say, Zimbabwe or something, I'm proud of (and in some cases disgusted by) my eats. Okay. So, notable foods I've eaten for the first time since coming here:
-cow brains
-cow shoulders
-cow intestines
-llama
-crackers made with beef fat (all except 2 or 3 brands of packaged crackers and cookies here are made with beef fat instead of butter or margarine)
and finally, the king of things I've ingested:
-grilled congealed PIG'S BLOOD
Some of the items on the list were not on purpose. See if you can guess which.
Taking notes in my University of Buenos Aires class (the difficult one in the anarchist building) is very tough. To hear technical sociological jargon blurted out quickly by the professor, and to paraphrase these and get them down in note form in Spanish (translating to English I think would take even longer,) is a real challenge for me. Luckily, a nice girl girl in my class offered to lend me her notes and time to clear up any confusion about the lectures. We were chatting during one of our meetings in a cafe about traveling, and she mentioned she had been to Uruguay. Fátima prefaced her story with, "it's a small country to our north." Remember when I said I suspected that Uruguayans felt they members of a country that was always kept in the subordinate position to their huge southward neighbors. The fact that Fátima assumed that I had never heard of Uruguay, even though I am studying here, a mere boat ride away, I think is some very strong evidence in favor of my theory.
Also, it's finally getting cold here! I haven't decided yet how I feel about that - traveling options are quickly being wiped out, but the air finally feels clean enough to breathe normally.
Alright, until the next.
So I realized that I hadn't really been keeping you updated on my gastronomical journey. And while it isn't as cool as it would be if I were in, say, Zimbabwe or something, I'm proud of (and in some cases disgusted by) my eats. Okay. So, notable foods I've eaten for the first time since coming here:
-cow brains
-cow shoulders
-cow intestines
-llama
-crackers made with beef fat (all except 2 or 3 brands of packaged crackers and cookies here are made with beef fat instead of butter or margarine)
and finally, the king of things I've ingested:
-grilled congealed PIG'S BLOOD
Some of the items on the list were not on purpose. See if you can guess which.
Taking notes in my University of Buenos Aires class (the difficult one in the anarchist building) is very tough. To hear technical sociological jargon blurted out quickly by the professor, and to paraphrase these and get them down in note form in Spanish (translating to English I think would take even longer,) is a real challenge for me. Luckily, a nice girl girl in my class offered to lend me her notes and time to clear up any confusion about the lectures. We were chatting during one of our meetings in a cafe about traveling, and she mentioned she had been to Uruguay. Fátima prefaced her story with, "it's a small country to our north." Remember when I said I suspected that Uruguayans felt they members of a country that was always kept in the subordinate position to their huge southward neighbors. The fact that Fátima assumed that I had never heard of Uruguay, even though I am studying here, a mere boat ride away, I think is some very strong evidence in favor of my theory.
Also, it's finally getting cold here! I haven't decided yet how I feel about that - traveling options are quickly being wiped out, but the air finally feels clean enough to breathe normally.
Alright, until the next.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sunday Night Quickie
I just realized that I haven't posted anything about a large part of my life here: the Dog.
I live with a 60 year old woman, Susana, and her dog. I was told that she (the dog) was cute and playful. It was a lie. This dog is hideous, smells something awful, eats and slobbers all over my socks, and throws up when she hears thunder. Her name is Boni, short for Bonita, or, in English, 'Pretty.'
I do my best to ignore it and keep it out of my room, and save all the cuddling and touching for Susana (Boni sleeps on her pillow each night, it's a wonder Susana isn't smothered.) Anyway, Susana finally confronted me about it the other day.
"Why don't you like Boni? Why don't you hug her sometimes?"
"I don't know, I don't really like dogs that much." [lie]
"So you don't play with your dog?"
"I guess I do sometimes, because I am used to her."
"You know, you don't have to be used to a dog to like them. When I meet my friends dogs I like them immediately."
"K."
Anyway, the point of this post was to show you a picture of her. Courtesy of Jen.
Now, for the sake of a gaining some perspective, let's contrast her with my regal pup. Photo courtesy of Debbie.
I live with a 60 year old woman, Susana, and her dog. I was told that she (the dog) was cute and playful. It was a lie. This dog is hideous, smells something awful, eats and slobbers all over my socks, and throws up when she hears thunder. Her name is Boni, short for Bonita, or, in English, 'Pretty.'
I do my best to ignore it and keep it out of my room, and save all the cuddling and touching for Susana (Boni sleeps on her pillow each night, it's a wonder Susana isn't smothered.) Anyway, Susana finally confronted me about it the other day.
"Why don't you like Boni? Why don't you hug her sometimes?"
"I don't know, I don't really like dogs that much." [lie]
"So you don't play with your dog?"
"I guess I do sometimes, because I am used to her."
"You know, you don't have to be used to a dog to like them. When I meet my friends dogs I like them immediately."
"K."
Anyway, the point of this post was to show you a picture of her. Courtesy of Jen.
Now, for the sake of a gaining some perspective, let's contrast her with my regal pup. Photo courtesy of Debbie.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Shorn
I was sick of my hair and went to get a haircut today.
Juan: "Okay, what kind of haircut do you want?"
Arielle: "Well, Juan, I don't really know, a change from what I have now, easy-to-manage, cute. What do you think would look good?"
Juan: "Oh Arielle, I think anything would look good with your beautiful face."
Arielle: [in my head]: "Juan, I'm not paying for compliments or to be hit on, I just want a straight answer and then a haircut."
[real]: "Thanks. Please tell me what you're going to do."
Juan: "I'm going to give you my phone number."
Arielle: "Okay, well I think maybe something shorter would be nice, and I don't want to have to use any product to style it."
----
So, here we are.
Juan: "Okay, what kind of haircut do you want?"
Arielle: "Well, Juan, I don't really know, a change from what I have now, easy-to-manage, cute. What do you think would look good?"
Juan: "Oh Arielle, I think anything would look good with your beautiful face."
Arielle: [in my head]: "Juan, I'm not paying for compliments or to be hit on, I just want a straight answer and then a haircut."
[real]: "Thanks. Please tell me what you're going to do."
Juan: "I'm going to give you my phone number."
Arielle: "Okay, well I think maybe something shorter would be nice, and I don't want to have to use any product to style it."
----
So, here we are.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
No more vacations?!
So, I am now back from Jujuy, and until my plane ride home at the end of July I have no more planned vacations at this point. It's sad, but I know I will be throwing some trips together before long so I'll try not to cry too hard. The second trip with the program was great, and we saw some beautiful scenery.
Possibly even better than the tri-colored mountains, though, was the intense culture change that we witnessed. In general, the farther north you go in this country, the more poor and Catholic the people become. We were in the Northwest corner, and things were quite different. Take, for example, this cemetery in the tiny town of Humahuaca, and compare it with the grand mausoleums in my post about the Recoleta cemetery.
I'm back in my old routine - we had a fun soccer game this week. Our coach, Julio, clumsily made his way to the field (cancha) at the last second. He really wasn't much help this match. Vir (Virginia) asked him, "Juli, estás drogado?" (Juli, are you high?) and he wasn't even able to answer. He fell asleep sitting on the sideline during the game. I suppose it's a relatively casual league.
I've been really bothered lately by problems caused by translation. So now I'm going to complain about it.
The long-distance buses always show really horrendous action movies (i.e. Jumper and Knight Rider, both 2008.) When Jen was here, we were lucky enough to be shown Rush Hour 3 on our way back to the city, and it got me thinking... As I said in an earlier post, I was really disappointed with the subtitles in Charlie Wilson's War, because they did not at all capture the thoughtful script or quick witty banter that, for me, made the movie great. In Rush Hour 3, not only was the brilliant script completely lost through the subtitles, but Jen and I were the only ones laughing on the bus since so much of the movie is made up of jokes specific to American culture. I can't imagine being raised in a (cinematic) environment where most of the movies I watch, at least on television, are based so heavily on concepts to which I can't even relate!
A recent occurrence that demonstrated this weird problem involves the current Argentine/Latin American obsession with The Simpsons (or: Los Simpson.) It's one of the most popular shows here, and until recently, I had assumed that their love for it stemmed from Homer's idiocy and (therefore) direct representation of Americans. For me, his character was always an effective mocker of US culture and the people that sustain it. However, Homer recently had a disparaging line about Juan Perón, former leader of Argentina, where called him a dictator. (Here's an article, in Spanish, about the peoples' reaction.) Now, if the viewers really watched Homer for his stupidity and portrayal of the US, don't you think they would take this comment as just another example of our ignorance of international politics, rather than be offended? This lack of recognition of the irony and the writer's assumed/supposed intention with this ignorance and stupidity on Homer's part leads me to believe (actually, to be certain,) that translation runs much deeper, beyond words and even actions, than I could have thought, and permeates into the darkest corners of our subconscious and pours into our incorrigible developed and cultured being.
Also, my neverending thoughts about the art and pain of translation have helped me a bit in writing papers and being understood in general. Now, before using almost any non-noun word, I have to consider whether it is used the same way here. Even words that we are taught in Spanish to be translatable, like "individual" is translated to "individuo," but colloquially, "individuo" is not often used in the same context as "individual." etc. I imagine this is situation takes place in every language and can only really be discovered during the (hopefully) becoming fluent process.
Okay, that's over now, sorry. I'll end this post with a picture of some graffiti that I saw.
(top: "I decide." bottom R: "My life has worth, my body doesn't have a price" and bottom L: "not one more victim in the prostitution webs"
Possibly even better than the tri-colored mountains, though, was the intense culture change that we witnessed. In general, the farther north you go in this country, the more poor and Catholic the people become. We were in the Northwest corner, and things were quite different. Take, for example, this cemetery in the tiny town of Humahuaca, and compare it with the grand mausoleums in my post about the Recoleta cemetery.
I'm back in my old routine - we had a fun soccer game this week. Our coach, Julio, clumsily made his way to the field (cancha) at the last second. He really wasn't much help this match. Vir (Virginia) asked him, "Juli, estás drogado?" (Juli, are you high?) and he wasn't even able to answer. He fell asleep sitting on the sideline during the game. I suppose it's a relatively casual league.
I've been really bothered lately by problems caused by translation. So now I'm going to complain about it.
The long-distance buses always show really horrendous action movies (i.e. Jumper and Knight Rider, both 2008.) When Jen was here, we were lucky enough to be shown Rush Hour 3 on our way back to the city, and it got me thinking... As I said in an earlier post, I was really disappointed with the subtitles in Charlie Wilson's War, because they did not at all capture the thoughtful script or quick witty banter that, for me, made the movie great. In Rush Hour 3, not only was the brilliant script completely lost through the subtitles, but Jen and I were the only ones laughing on the bus since so much of the movie is made up of jokes specific to American culture. I can't imagine being raised in a (cinematic) environment where most of the movies I watch, at least on television, are based so heavily on concepts to which I can't even relate!
A recent occurrence that demonstrated this weird problem involves the current Argentine/Latin American obsession with The Simpsons (or: Los Simpson.) It's one of the most popular shows here, and until recently, I had assumed that their love for it stemmed from Homer's idiocy and (therefore) direct representation of Americans. For me, his character was always an effective mocker of US culture and the people that sustain it. However, Homer recently had a disparaging line about Juan Perón, former leader of Argentina, where called him a dictator. (Here's an article, in Spanish, about the peoples' reaction.) Now, if the viewers really watched Homer for his stupidity and portrayal of the US, don't you think they would take this comment as just another example of our ignorance of international politics, rather than be offended? This lack of recognition of the irony and the writer's assumed/supposed intention with this ignorance and stupidity on Homer's part leads me to believe (actually, to be certain,) that translation runs much deeper, beyond words and even actions, than I could have thought, and permeates into the darkest corners of our subconscious and pours into our incorrigible developed and cultured being.
Also, my neverending thoughts about the art and pain of translation have helped me a bit in writing papers and being understood in general. Now, before using almost any non-noun word, I have to consider whether it is used the same way here. Even words that we are taught in Spanish to be translatable, like "individual" is translated to "individuo," but colloquially, "individuo" is not often used in the same context as "individual." etc. I imagine this is situation takes place in every language and can only really be discovered during the (hopefully) becoming fluent process.
Okay, that's over now, sorry. I'll end this post with a picture of some graffiti that I saw.
(top: "I decide." bottom R: "My life has worth, my body doesn't have a price" and bottom L: "not one more victim in the prostitution webs"
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Quick two-week roundup
Two weeks ago, my program took us on one of two mini-vacations provided during our semester. We went to the province of Mendoza, aka Argentine Wine Country.
Even though the trip involved 50 American college students traveling together, I had a really wonderful time. Fresh air (a great break from the gross polluted city air) and complete isolation from the outside world ensured that I wouldn't feel ashamed to be with such a large group. We went on a few wine tours (who knew I would find the fermentation process SO incredibly boring?,) as well as on a group hike and ziplining. Plenty of free time, chances to play soccer, and wine were also included.
After my little vacation, I returned to the city, ready to get back into my routine. Hah...Actually, Jen arrived from Ohio into Buenos Aires about three hours after I did. We traipsed around the city, ate a ton of good food, shopped, and traveled. Our trip to Bariloche, Patagonia was espectacular.
After a 22 hour bus ride and check-in at our $8/night hostel, we had an empanada and waffle dinner to prepare us for the next days' hike. We started from the ski town of Cerro Catedral and climbed three hours up to Refugio Frey, enjoying all manner of terrain on the way - mountain, river, lake, etc.
[here we are at the Refugio, nestled in the saddle between two peaks]
As delicious as our nourishment was for the day - Clifs, Lunas, and dried pears - we all the while we looked forward to our upcoming dinner at Chabad in Bariloche. Not joking. It was an interesting and very international night that consisted of jumbled conversations in broken Hebrew, English, and Spanish. Abundant that night were: delicious food (amazing challah,) tons of Hebrew, and, in keeping with Chabad tradition, a bottle of Smirnoff.
The next day, our sore legs allowed us only a ride up a chairlift
[view from the top of the chairlift]
and then some chocolate sampling in the town. After a canceled flight home and replacement 20-hour bus ride, we arrived back in the city for our last day and a half. I'll miss Jen, she brought Akron here.
I know I was joking in my first post when I talked about including piercings/brandings/tattoos, but I actually did get a new piercing. As promised, here it is.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Jujuy, which is in the northwestern-most corner of the country. More pictures (and thoughts next time) to come.
And now, I sign out with one of my favorite dirty pickup lines that litter the soundwaves on the sidewalks here.
Te lo pongo ahora, y no te lo saco hasta la Navidad.
Good luck figuring it out. It's really disgusting.
Even though the trip involved 50 American college students traveling together, I had a really wonderful time. Fresh air (a great break from the gross polluted city air) and complete isolation from the outside world ensured that I wouldn't feel ashamed to be with such a large group. We went on a few wine tours (who knew I would find the fermentation process SO incredibly boring?,) as well as on a group hike and ziplining. Plenty of free time, chances to play soccer, and wine were also included.
After my little vacation, I returned to the city, ready to get back into my routine. Hah...Actually, Jen arrived from Ohio into Buenos Aires about three hours after I did. We traipsed around the city, ate a ton of good food, shopped, and traveled. Our trip to Bariloche, Patagonia was espectacular.
After a 22 hour bus ride and check-in at our $8/night hostel, we had an empanada and waffle dinner to prepare us for the next days' hike. We started from the ski town of Cerro Catedral and climbed three hours up to Refugio Frey, enjoying all manner of terrain on the way - mountain, river, lake, etc.
[here we are at the Refugio, nestled in the saddle between two peaks]As delicious as our nourishment was for the day - Clifs, Lunas, and dried pears - we all the while we looked forward to our upcoming dinner at Chabad in Bariloche. Not joking. It was an interesting and very international night that consisted of jumbled conversations in broken Hebrew, English, and Spanish. Abundant that night were: delicious food (amazing challah,) tons of Hebrew, and, in keeping with Chabad tradition, a bottle of Smirnoff.
The next day, our sore legs allowed us only a ride up a chairlift
[view from the top of the chairlift]and then some chocolate sampling in the town. After a canceled flight home and replacement 20-hour bus ride, we arrived back in the city for our last day and a half. I'll miss Jen, she brought Akron here.
I know I was joking in my first post when I talked about including piercings/brandings/tattoos, but I actually did get a new piercing. As promised, here it is.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Jujuy, which is in the northwestern-most corner of the country. More pictures (and thoughts next time) to come.
And now, I sign out with one of my favorite dirty pickup lines that litter the soundwaves on the sidewalks here.
Te lo pongo ahora, y no te lo saco hasta la Navidad.
Good luck figuring it out. It's really disgusting.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Calm before the storm
So, I just got back from a particularly brutal UBA class. Three straight hours of difficult Spanish in a really distracting classroom is so taxing. Today was especially bad, since I thought it would be a good idea to make a comment but ended up really acting the fool and being totally embarrassed about what I said (or more accurately, how I said it. )
Anyway, yesterday I returned from a weekend spent with the Witkinds back in Montevideo. I had a lovely/relaxing time. (Didn't bring any schoolwork with me.) Since I began my new temporary life on this continent in Uruguay, I kind of felt like I was going 'home,' which was nice. Also nice was the endless food cooked by the maids and the turn-down service (haha, no joke.) The Passover seder was nice, if small (and quiet - no mom's solo singing layered with cousin Eric's inappropriate jokes and everyone else's desire to EAT.) I also made some pistachio-coated, toffee-chocolate covered matzah. Overall, a successful weekend.
[me and the kids at the seder: Roni, Jacqui, me, Jani, and Martin]
These upcoming three weeks are going to be filled with adventures, I'm going to be traveling all over (Mendoza, Bariloche, Jujuy, 3 consecutive weekends) so I'll take pictures and let you know how things went, as usual.
Also, my next blurb about what I'm reading probably won't come for another thirty years, since I just started Michener's The Source, a definite tome that right now takes place in ancient history. Good so far, but not exactly the fastest read. It's coinciding nicely with the audiobook I'm listening to on my ipod right now, Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies. Pretty drastic change from all of the light comforting fiction I was reading at the beginning of my time here. But good reads nonetheless.
Until the next!
Anyway, yesterday I returned from a weekend spent with the Witkinds back in Montevideo. I had a lovely/relaxing time. (Didn't bring any schoolwork with me.) Since I began my new temporary life on this continent in Uruguay, I kind of felt like I was going 'home,' which was nice. Also nice was the endless food cooked by the maids and the turn-down service (haha, no joke.) The Passover seder was nice, if small (and quiet - no mom's solo singing layered with cousin Eric's inappropriate jokes and everyone else's desire to EAT.) I also made some pistachio-coated, toffee-chocolate covered matzah. Overall, a successful weekend.
[me and the kids at the seder: Roni, Jacqui, me, Jani, and Martin]These upcoming three weeks are going to be filled with adventures, I'm going to be traveling all over (Mendoza, Bariloche, Jujuy, 3 consecutive weekends) so I'll take pictures and let you know how things went, as usual.
Also, my next blurb about what I'm reading probably won't come for another thirty years, since I just started Michener's The Source, a definite tome that right now takes place in ancient history. Good so far, but not exactly the fastest read. It's coinciding nicely with the audiobook I'm listening to on my ipod right now, Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies. Pretty drastic change from all of the light comforting fiction I was reading at the beginning of my time here. But good reads nonetheless.
Until the next!
Friday, April 18, 2008
Pre Passover Post
Hola!
Since we last spoke, I took my first solitary vacation into a northern interior province near Córdoba, called Villa General Belgrano. To start out my little vacation, I took an overnight bus, part of a network of tons of buses (micros) that crisscross the country with destinations from the southernmost tip of Tierra del Fuego, Ushuaia (penguins!) all the way to the uppermost western corner, the Salta province. The bus was a great experience. It is a mode of transportation really heavily relied on here, and it seems to be a convenient and cheap way to travel. It was my first double-decker bus and had huge seats that reclined almost all the way to 180 degrees. The leg rests jut out at a genius angle for maximum comfort, and we got two meals, served by the lady in the stewardess outfit. Sadly, while the seats made me feel like I was in first class on a flight, the food was more akin to what was served to my ancestors in the steerage of immigrant ships. Anyway, I made it to Villa General Belgrano the next morning, 11.5 hours later.
I think it's fair to say the town was one of the strangest places I have ever been. It was settled by Germans during the Second World War (apparently the whole population of 10,000 is very conservative, if you catch my drift,) and is characterized by German-esque structures with hokey signs carved in wood, as well as a ton of beer. On Saturday my dinner was even interrupted, or rather, enhanced by a German folk band wearing lederhosen. But anyway, my solo journey northwest wasn't to see the town, but rather to hike, be outside, and meet some characters, all of which I can check off the list.
My $22 peso-a-night hostel was about a half mile out of the town nestled into a small wood with some cows, Argentine hippies, and many, many dogs. I hiked to the peak Cerro de la Virgen (so named after a hideous statue at the top,) and met a young married couple who invited me to drink a mate with them before our descent. We hiked down together, comparing notes on our respective cultures, and they asked me some pretty tough questions. Turns out my Spanish vocabulary relating to the subprime mortgage crisis is severely lacking, as are the words to describe "how it feels to take off in a plane", since the two of them had never left the country before. All I could think to say was, "it doesn't really make you feel like a bird..."
[below: view from the top]
My second day was spent with an American girl who has been traveling around the country for seven months, looking for...well, something (and whose parents are still trying to find her,) as well as Ignacio, a 26 year old Argentine struggling to find his identity while working in this small town at an after-school program. We were quite a motley crew. Ignacio took us to a nearby lake, and we spent the day ambling around there and exploring behind the dike.
Now, since I am actually in school, I had to do some studying while in VGB. I discovered something not so much surprising as interesting and thought-provoking. As I said before, all of my readings are in Spanish, but (as in any class ever,) we read translated material from other languages. I find that reading English (or German)-speaking authors that have been translated into Spanish is infinitely easier to understand and follow than reading text that is in the original Spanish. This might mean that I am translating in my head, which is pretty much the Original Sin of learning and thinking in a new language, but it's kind of a sad/shameful/neat/interesting, and logical truth.
Side note: I read yesterday in the newspaper that a 12 year old girl just died of rabies from a stray dog in my neighborhood. You may know that one of my biggest fears is getting rabies. Just want to let you all know that I am scared all the time now due to the myriad stray dogs in the street.
Finally, I know that spring is finally coming for most of you and if you are at Wesleyan make sure you take advantage, because springtime is such a lovely time to be at our school. I'm jealous. And scared of winter, because it's coming.
Chag Sameach,
And I leave you with this strange ending because of my passion for foodblogs, and for faina.
I have been cooking a lot lately, and figured out how to make this great Argentine/Uruguayan/Italian food. I'm not sure where it's from actually. It's called faina (fy-ee-NAH,) and is always served with pizza, as a kind of appetizer/side dish. It looks like normal pizza crust, but is really just a dough made with chickpea flour, which has an unbelievably rich and savory flavor even when just mixed with water. If you want to make it, it's super easy.
8 servings:
Oven @ around 375... The oven here has no numbers so that's an estimate.
3 1/2 c water
2 1/3 c chickpea flour
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp onion powder
1-2 pinches rosemary (optional)
5 tbsp olive oil (really good olive oil makes a difference here)
1/2-3/4 tsp ground black pepper
Mix all ingredients BESIDES olive oil and pepper, whisk together, get rid of lumps.
Put in fridge for however long you want, at least an hour.
Take out of fridge, remove the rosemary, add the olive oil and pepper to the dough.
Pour into baking pan (here they bake it in a circular one.) Dough should be about 1/8in thick.
Bake for about 15 minutes, or until edges brown and pull away from the corners of the dish.
Sprinkle with more pepper, serve hot.
Okay, so now you can have a little taste (heh) of Buenos Aires. Hasta luego
Since we last spoke, I took my first solitary vacation into a northern interior province near Córdoba, called Villa General Belgrano. To start out my little vacation, I took an overnight bus, part of a network of tons of buses (micros) that crisscross the country with destinations from the southernmost tip of Tierra del Fuego, Ushuaia (penguins!) all the way to the uppermost western corner, the Salta province. The bus was a great experience. It is a mode of transportation really heavily relied on here, and it seems to be a convenient and cheap way to travel. It was my first double-decker bus and had huge seats that reclined almost all the way to 180 degrees. The leg rests jut out at a genius angle for maximum comfort, and we got two meals, served by the lady in the stewardess outfit. Sadly, while the seats made me feel like I was in first class on a flight, the food was more akin to what was served to my ancestors in the steerage of immigrant ships. Anyway, I made it to Villa General Belgrano the next morning, 11.5 hours later.
I think it's fair to say the town was one of the strangest places I have ever been. It was settled by Germans during the Second World War (apparently the whole population of 10,000 is very conservative, if you catch my drift,) and is characterized by German-esque structures with hokey signs carved in wood, as well as a ton of beer. On Saturday my dinner was even interrupted, or rather, enhanced by a German folk band wearing lederhosen. But anyway, my solo journey northwest wasn't to see the town, but rather to hike, be outside, and meet some characters, all of which I can check off the list.
My $22 peso-a-night hostel was about a half mile out of the town nestled into a small wood with some cows, Argentine hippies, and many, many dogs. I hiked to the peak Cerro de la Virgen (so named after a hideous statue at the top,) and met a young married couple who invited me to drink a mate with them before our descent. We hiked down together, comparing notes on our respective cultures, and they asked me some pretty tough questions. Turns out my Spanish vocabulary relating to the subprime mortgage crisis is severely lacking, as are the words to describe "how it feels to take off in a plane", since the two of them had never left the country before. All I could think to say was, "it doesn't really make you feel like a bird..."
[below: view from the top]
My second day was spent with an American girl who has been traveling around the country for seven months, looking for...well, something (and whose parents are still trying to find her,) as well as Ignacio, a 26 year old Argentine struggling to find his identity while working in this small town at an after-school program. We were quite a motley crew. Ignacio took us to a nearby lake, and we spent the day ambling around there and exploring behind the dike.
Now, since I am actually in school, I had to do some studying while in VGB. I discovered something not so much surprising as interesting and thought-provoking. As I said before, all of my readings are in Spanish, but (as in any class ever,) we read translated material from other languages. I find that reading English (or German)-speaking authors that have been translated into Spanish is infinitely easier to understand and follow than reading text that is in the original Spanish. This might mean that I am translating in my head, which is pretty much the Original Sin of learning and thinking in a new language, but it's kind of a sad/shameful/neat/interesting, and logical truth.Side note: I read yesterday in the newspaper that a 12 year old girl just died of rabies from a stray dog in my neighborhood. You may know that one of my biggest fears is getting rabies. Just want to let you all know that I am scared all the time now due to the myriad stray dogs in the street.
Finally, I know that spring is finally coming for most of you and if you are at Wesleyan make sure you take advantage, because springtime is such a lovely time to be at our school. I'm jealous. And scared of winter, because it's coming.
Chag Sameach,
And I leave you with this strange ending because of my passion for foodblogs, and for faina.
I have been cooking a lot lately, and figured out how to make this great Argentine/Uruguayan/Italian food. I'm not sure where it's from actually. It's called faina (fy-ee-NAH,) and is always served with pizza, as a kind of appetizer/side dish. It looks like normal pizza crust, but is really just a dough made with chickpea flour, which has an unbelievably rich and savory flavor even when just mixed with water. If you want to make it, it's super easy.
8 servings:
Oven @ around 375... The oven here has no numbers so that's an estimate.
3 1/2 c water
2 1/3 c chickpea flour
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp onion powder
1-2 pinches rosemary (optional)
5 tbsp olive oil (really good olive oil makes a difference here)
1/2-3/4 tsp ground black pepper
Mix all ingredients BESIDES olive oil and pepper, whisk together, get rid of lumps.
Put in fridge for however long you want, at least an hour.
Take out of fridge, remove the rosemary, add the olive oil and pepper to the dough.
Pour into baking pan (here they bake it in a circular one.) Dough should be about 1/8in thick.
Bake for about 15 minutes, or until edges brown and pull away from the corners of the dish.
Sprinkle with more pepper, serve hot.
Okay, so now you can have a little taste (heh) of Buenos Aires. Hasta luego
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Neglectful no more!
Hola everybody,
I'm back! I'm sorry that I've been so negligent, the parents came to visit for 10 days so I kind of got out of blog-mode. We did all kinds of things - stayed on an estancia (ranch,) went for a hot air balloon ride, ate delicious food, bought delicious clothes, had dinner with a distant porteña relative, and spent a weekend at Iguazu Falls. I will show some pictures when they remember to send them to me. (hint.) Here is one.
We are that shadow.
I have been doing lots of things since we last spoke. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was great. Read it. I'm in the middle of The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks which is a really cool neuro/lit book that I think can be enjoyed by both science nerds and other kinds of nerds. Alright, onwards.
Sunday night I went to a rock concert that took place in the huge River soccer stadium here in the city. The music was pretty mediocre, I thought, but it was a really neat experience to stand on the soccer field with tens of thousands of other Argentines. Some things, like huge concerts and malls, are the same everywhere. Here is bad picture that I took:
Also, I just joined a Monday night soccer league. I was introduced to it by one of the daughters of my host mom, and I play on a team with her and some of her friends. We are Las Viudas Negras (The Black Widows. )I think I'm a few years younger than everyone else on the team, but we play together pretty well. Following the game is not too difficult for me because most soccer-related words are just English words (go figure.) But we have a sort-of coach who chainsmokes and gets in the way of the ball because he stands on the sidelines, even though we are playing indoor.
Generalization time again:
Now, I am doing my best to keep an open mind about the different lifestyle and inherent differences in thinking that come with living in another country. I understand that they can be brought on by differing histories, languages, traditions, cultures, etc, etc. BUT it is getting more and more difficult to maintain my objective view about these differences whenever Argentines bring up race. Sorry for generalizing, but I've run into this enough that I think the broadness of the statement is merited. The offhand racist comments that permeate everyday conversation are really, (to my protected and completely nondiscriminatory American mind,) an ignorant projection of racism left unchecked by a unruly society, in terms of the weight (economic, cultural, and otherwise) carried by the immigrant population in this country. (!) I was present for one conversation between two twenty-somethings that involved an in-depth comparison of the smells (yes, smells) that are carried by the various races present in the neighborhood - Chinese, Jews, Africans (exact terms.) Also, if a storekeeper is, say, a Chinese woman, she is not referred to as a 'woman' but rather as a 'Chinese.' Also, my host mother saw that Kal Penn was campaigning for Obama and said "Obviously, because he's black too."
Woo, rant over, for now.
It is finally time for me to tell you about my classes. All of the following classes are taught in Spanish, with only Spanish reading material and require only Spanish work to be submitted.
I am taking two classes through my program, aka with all American students.
---One is "Language in Action," which is an Argentine literature class with an emphasis on how surroundings (city, countryside, etc,) can influence writing. Our first assignment involves taking a photo in a specific neighborhood and then submitting 2-3 pages of any sort of creative writing inspired by said photo. I hope all of the assignments are at such a... challenging level.I think I'm going to use this picture:
---My other class through the program is called "Cultural Issues in Argentina," and is just that. We have a ton of reading for this class, but so far it has been pretty interesting. The classroom has no windows, so I always bring a good amount of food with me to class to stay awake.
---I am also taking a class at the University of Buenos Aires language laboratory which is another Argentine lit class but with a really strange focus - the first eight weeks of the semester are spent solely on literature written about Eva Peron (Evita.)
---My fourth class is at the Catholic Pontificate University, which is a large private school in Puerto Madero (see previous post.) I always feel silly when I go there for a few reasons. First of all, it's a Catholic University, so there is an enforced dress code - no tank tops, flip flops (noooo,) shorts, or pretty much any comfortable, summer-appropriate clothing. I am not sure why, but probably 80% of the male students wear suits to class everyday. I'm taking a class called "The Movement of Social Solidarity in Argentina." We have no reading material, and every other week we take a field trip to some sort of social institution. Last week we went to a sort of homeless shelter for children. After typing that in English, I see that some might think to call that an orphanage, and now that I think about it, I'm not sure why they didn't while we were there.
---And finally, my scariest, most intimidating, most purely Argentine class, at the University of Buenos Aires: "Art and Medium." This class is in the social sciences department, and is for communications majors. It turns out to be mostly based in semiotic analysis with knowledge acquired in the communications major that seems, so far, to be pretty intuitive. The class itself has about 30 people, all of them seem to be about 25-28 years old, and all very, very fluent in Spanish. I am struggling to keep up with the reading material, and to understand what on earth is going on most of the time, but luckily I don't have any other real classes to distract me. The building itself is insane - it is covered, floor-to-ceiling, in posters and graffiti for various marches, meetings, riots, and any other politically-motivated gathering that could ever exist. People smoke in the classrooms, there are swastikas painted on the walls, and when it rains, it rains into the classroom. It's the closest I've been to complete anarchy. I promise to take a picture one day when I am less scared of being robbed. Or, worse, made fun of.
Okay, hasta luego! (until next time!)
(Oh, and remember, if you have any questions or anything particular you'd like me to write about like the food crisis or anything at all, let me know in the comments or send me an e-mail or something. Kbye)
9/4/08 Edit: I also want to add that in Chinese restaurants, steamed pot stickers are translated to: "boiled Chinese empanadas."
This just goes to reinforce my theory that empanadas are the driving alimentary force of the city.
I'm back! I'm sorry that I've been so negligent, the parents came to visit for 10 days so I kind of got out of blog-mode. We did all kinds of things - stayed on an estancia (ranch,) went for a hot air balloon ride, ate delicious food, bought delicious clothes, had dinner with a distant porteña relative, and spent a weekend at Iguazu Falls. I will show some pictures when they remember to send them to me. (hint.) Here is one.
We are that shadow.I have been doing lots of things since we last spoke. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was great. Read it. I'm in the middle of The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks which is a really cool neuro/lit book that I think can be enjoyed by both science nerds and other kinds of nerds. Alright, onwards.
Sunday night I went to a rock concert that took place in the huge River soccer stadium here in the city. The music was pretty mediocre, I thought, but it was a really neat experience to stand on the soccer field with tens of thousands of other Argentines. Some things, like huge concerts and malls, are the same everywhere. Here is bad picture that I took:
Also, I just joined a Monday night soccer league. I was introduced to it by one of the daughters of my host mom, and I play on a team with her and some of her friends. We are Las Viudas Negras (The Black Widows. )I think I'm a few years younger than everyone else on the team, but we play together pretty well. Following the game is not too difficult for me because most soccer-related words are just English words (go figure.) But we have a sort-of coach who chainsmokes and gets in the way of the ball because he stands on the sidelines, even though we are playing indoor.
Generalization time again:
Now, I am doing my best to keep an open mind about the different lifestyle and inherent differences in thinking that come with living in another country. I understand that they can be brought on by differing histories, languages, traditions, cultures, etc, etc. BUT it is getting more and more difficult to maintain my objective view about these differences whenever Argentines bring up race. Sorry for generalizing, but I've run into this enough that I think the broadness of the statement is merited. The offhand racist comments that permeate everyday conversation are really, (to my protected and completely nondiscriminatory American mind,) an ignorant projection of racism left unchecked by a unruly society, in terms of the weight (economic, cultural, and otherwise) carried by the immigrant population in this country. (!) I was present for one conversation between two twenty-somethings that involved an in-depth comparison of the smells (yes, smells) that are carried by the various races present in the neighborhood - Chinese, Jews, Africans (exact terms.) Also, if a storekeeper is, say, a Chinese woman, she is not referred to as a 'woman' but rather as a 'Chinese.' Also, my host mother saw that Kal Penn was campaigning for Obama and said "Obviously, because he's black too."
Woo, rant over, for now.
It is finally time for me to tell you about my classes. All of the following classes are taught in Spanish, with only Spanish reading material and require only Spanish work to be submitted.
I am taking two classes through my program, aka with all American students.
---One is "Language in Action," which is an Argentine literature class with an emphasis on how surroundings (city, countryside, etc,) can influence writing. Our first assignment involves taking a photo in a specific neighborhood and then submitting 2-3 pages of any sort of creative writing inspired by said photo. I hope all of the assignments are at such a... challenging level.I think I'm going to use this picture:
---My other class through the program is called "Cultural Issues in Argentina," and is just that. We have a ton of reading for this class, but so far it has been pretty interesting. The classroom has no windows, so I always bring a good amount of food with me to class to stay awake.
---I am also taking a class at the University of Buenos Aires language laboratory which is another Argentine lit class but with a really strange focus - the first eight weeks of the semester are spent solely on literature written about Eva Peron (Evita.)
---My fourth class is at the Catholic Pontificate University, which is a large private school in Puerto Madero (see previous post.) I always feel silly when I go there for a few reasons. First of all, it's a Catholic University, so there is an enforced dress code - no tank tops, flip flops (noooo,) shorts, or pretty much any comfortable, summer-appropriate clothing. I am not sure why, but probably 80% of the male students wear suits to class everyday. I'm taking a class called "The Movement of Social Solidarity in Argentina." We have no reading material, and every other week we take a field trip to some sort of social institution. Last week we went to a sort of homeless shelter for children. After typing that in English, I see that some might think to call that an orphanage, and now that I think about it, I'm not sure why they didn't while we were there.
---And finally, my scariest, most intimidating, most purely Argentine class, at the University of Buenos Aires: "Art and Medium." This class is in the social sciences department, and is for communications majors. It turns out to be mostly based in semiotic analysis with knowledge acquired in the communications major that seems, so far, to be pretty intuitive. The class itself has about 30 people, all of them seem to be about 25-28 years old, and all very, very fluent in Spanish. I am struggling to keep up with the reading material, and to understand what on earth is going on most of the time, but luckily I don't have any other real classes to distract me. The building itself is insane - it is covered, floor-to-ceiling, in posters and graffiti for various marches, meetings, riots, and any other politically-motivated gathering that could ever exist. People smoke in the classrooms, there are swastikas painted on the walls, and when it rains, it rains into the classroom. It's the closest I've been to complete anarchy. I promise to take a picture one day when I am less scared of being robbed. Or, worse, made fun of.
Okay, hasta luego! (until next time!)
(Oh, and remember, if you have any questions or anything particular you'd like me to write about like the food crisis or anything at all, let me know in the comments or send me an e-mail or something. Kbye)
9/4/08 Edit: I also want to add that in Chinese restaurants, steamed pot stickers are translated to: "boiled Chinese empanadas."
This just goes to reinforce my theory that empanadas are the driving alimentary force of the city.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Thoughts of a Fast Food Lightweight
So, classes finally started. My classes through my program seem manageable and interesting, which is good. I don't feel like typing up what they are right now, plus there is nothing to report, but I'll get to it eventually.
Here are some other things I've been doing
The Ecological Reserve is, well, an ecological reserve at the eastern tip of Buenos Aires that sits along the large Rio del Plata (literally, River of Silver, but widely called the River Plate due to the English bastardization of Spanish.) It is on the far end of a district called Puerto Madero that sits across a series of dikes from the rest of the city. Puerto Madero is accepted as the rich, modern neighborhood in the city, and upon entering this district, it immediately becomes apparent that money there is considerably more plentiful. Now people, I know what you're thinking. How could the rich separatists deign to set up shop when there is an economically struggling city close by? Aren't they worried about infiltration of the poor into their classy territory? Fear not, dear reader, because this problem is being sufficiently taken care of. The closest subway stop to Puerto Madero is a half hour's walk to get over the dikes. There is only ONE public bus line that services the area. The next closest bus stop is another half hour walk. While these protective measures cannot assure that all monetarily challenged are kept at bay, rest assured that for the most part, it isn't worth their time to make the long journey.
Anyway, the Ecological Reserve is on the far end of Puerto Madero, and is now one of my favorite places (roughly) in the city. As soon as the entrance gates are a few feet behind you, all city noise mysteriously disappears and the only source of sound comes from surrounding wildlife, and the faint gentle lapping of the river water onto the shore. The walk that encircles the entire reserve is 7.9 km, and while the landscape isn't really varied (as many times as they call it a forest in the brochure, it can hardly pass as such,) it was a great way to escape the city "feel" and noise. There are plots cut out off the trail where visitors can picnic, or sit by the river (no swimming,) or do pushups mid-run (saw that a lot.) If it weren't such an inconvenience to reach (about an hour long journey from my apartment,) I think I would go there everyday.
(so close, yet so far)
(Rio del Plata)
My days are still being spent exploring, and my nights, mostly, are as well. On Friday I went out to a delicious Thai restaurant in what clearly used to be someone's apartment - there is no storefront, but a secret set of stairs up to a room covered in murals of lotus flowers and other Thai-related images, with pillows on the floor for chairs, seemingly handmade lotus-lamp-thingers, and waiters in tunics. Surprisingly, my food was adequately spicy.
(sorry that I tend to look like a demon child)
Afterwards, we went to a small jazz club to see a boy from my program play in an Argentine jazz group he had joined. The exposed brick walls were covered in big pieces of modern art. Obviously, the air was dusty and the lighting low.
I just finished Stephen King's The Shining, and I just want to let you know that Stanley Kuberick, no surprise, has again taken a great work of literature and turned it into an equivalently pleasing or even better movie. I even agreed with a few things he left out of the movie - for example, hedge animals that can move - a little hokey, King, even for you.
Some last short notes:
Why do all of the women here wear thongs (not the shoes) in the gym when they are "exercising"? I will bring back a really cool present for you if you tell me.
I went to kosher McDonalds and ate 6 McNuggets, fries, and a Coke. Yes, a Coke. I felt horrible, physically, for the rest of the day. I think need to re acclimate to deep fried fast food. But it was yum.
Parents will be here tomorrow morning!
Here are some other things I've been doing
The Ecological Reserve is, well, an ecological reserve at the eastern tip of Buenos Aires that sits along the large Rio del Plata (literally, River of Silver, but widely called the River Plate due to the English bastardization of Spanish.) It is on the far end of a district called Puerto Madero that sits across a series of dikes from the rest of the city. Puerto Madero is accepted as the rich, modern neighborhood in the city, and upon entering this district, it immediately becomes apparent that money there is considerably more plentiful. Now people, I know what you're thinking. How could the rich separatists deign to set up shop when there is an economically struggling city close by? Aren't they worried about infiltration of the poor into their classy territory? Fear not, dear reader, because this problem is being sufficiently taken care of. The closest subway stop to Puerto Madero is a half hour's walk to get over the dikes. There is only ONE public bus line that services the area. The next closest bus stop is another half hour walk. While these protective measures cannot assure that all monetarily challenged are kept at bay, rest assured that for the most part, it isn't worth their time to make the long journey.
Anyway, the Ecological Reserve is on the far end of Puerto Madero, and is now one of my favorite places (roughly) in the city. As soon as the entrance gates are a few feet behind you, all city noise mysteriously disappears and the only source of sound comes from surrounding wildlife, and the faint gentle lapping of the river water onto the shore. The walk that encircles the entire reserve is 7.9 km, and while the landscape isn't really varied (as many times as they call it a forest in the brochure, it can hardly pass as such,) it was a great way to escape the city "feel" and noise. There are plots cut out off the trail where visitors can picnic, or sit by the river (no swimming,) or do pushups mid-run (saw that a lot.) If it weren't such an inconvenience to reach (about an hour long journey from my apartment,) I think I would go there everyday.
(so close, yet so far)
(Rio del Plata)My days are still being spent exploring, and my nights, mostly, are as well. On Friday I went out to a delicious Thai restaurant in what clearly used to be someone's apartment - there is no storefront, but a secret set of stairs up to a room covered in murals of lotus flowers and other Thai-related images, with pillows on the floor for chairs, seemingly handmade lotus-lamp-thingers, and waiters in tunics. Surprisingly, my food was adequately spicy.
(sorry that I tend to look like a demon child)Afterwards, we went to a small jazz club to see a boy from my program play in an Argentine jazz group he had joined. The exposed brick walls were covered in big pieces of modern art. Obviously, the air was dusty and the lighting low.
I just finished Stephen King's The Shining, and I just want to let you know that Stanley Kuberick, no surprise, has again taken a great work of literature and turned it into an equivalently pleasing or even better movie. I even agreed with a few things he left out of the movie - for example, hedge animals that can move - a little hokey, King, even for you.
Some last short notes:
Why do all of the women here wear thongs (not the shoes) in the gym when they are "exercising"? I will bring back a really cool present for you if you tell me.
I went to kosher McDonalds and ate 6 McNuggets, fries, and a Coke. Yes, a Coke. I felt horrible, physically, for the rest of the day. I think need to re acclimate to deep fried fast food. But it was yum.
Parents will be here tomorrow morning!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
New South Park Tomorrow!
I start classes tomorrow!!
I went to the Recoleta cemetary, and even though I'd been there before I had a lovely time. My experience was rather intense because I was listening to Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions on audiobook while walking around, so it was kind of eerie. And that eerieness was compounded about a thousand times by 1) the gurney with flat tires that was left abandoned in front of one of the mausoleums,
2) the seemingly rabid cats that have completely taken over, and 3) the mausoleum that appears to have been broken into and now serves as a shelter for a homeless man.
(nice tourist elbow in the corner)
(When you're dead, maybe you will be lying underneath something like that.)
This past weekend I took a little vacation to an area called Tigre with two friends (Alice and Renee.) After a $0.40 ticket and an hour train ride north, we ended in a small vacation town full of fresh air. Tigre itself is a large network of rivers that converge to create hundreds of little islands dotted with vacation homes, restaurants, kayak rental centers, and water taxi stands. After buying fresh herbed cheese, a large "field" breadloaf, an avocado, and fruit, we took a water taxi to Tres Bocas island. We spent most of the day walking around the startlingly tropical and humid vegetation until we found a patch of grass on which to enjoy our lunch. Sadly, it ended about ten minutes later when a possibly rabid dog with a chunk missing from its side that revealed bloody innards came to sit with us. It was revolting, and he was covered in mud, and we were scared, so we ran away and finished our food in proper chairs at a restaurant.
(walking to find our picnic spot on Tres Bocas)
I'm almost finished with Malcom Gladwell's The Tipping Point, which I am reading after having finished an enjoyed another book of similar construction, Blink. They are both nonfiction and based on results from various studies, mostly sociological in nature. I can't help but feel like a little kid reading his work, because the way he makes his points involves making a statement, explaining it, contextualizing it with examples, repeating it, and repeating it some more. I feel like the subject of some condescension on his part, but this method works, because I feel as though I really comprehend all of his points. Regardless of how his teaching mode resembles that of my preschool teacher, I recommend both of these books for some light reading for any curious human.
As I said before, the food here is good but spices and extra flavoring in general are used sparingly. Who know how intensely my cravings for spicy food would be? I met some friends at a Mexican restaurant, and was confused upon seeing the corrugated tin lining the walls. Chipotle, anyone? Upon further investigation and standing in line for my food, I noticed a few things. The place very closely resembles Chipotle in how it works and what it offers, except that the people behind the counter are less efficient, so the line takes longer. Also, NO ONE in the restaurant was speaking Spanish, except for the employees. I'm not joking - the entire restaurant was full of American students abroad in the city, getting their Mexican fill. There was so much loud English, so much Hollister, so much USA... I thought I would die. But it was great anyway, and I plan to go back for more of that fuego salsa.
Generalization time
The mutual eating of faces, to both put it bluntly and be true to the act, is a part of Bs As daily life that I don't think I will ever get used to. (And don't want to.) It comes as a result of a huge societal difference, which involves children living at home with their parents until around the age of 28-35, which results in sexually repressed and aggressive children. (Although I suppose at 27 they aren't really "children" anymore.) In response to this way of life, the society has developed institutions called telos,, which are hourly hotels. But this shouldn't bring to mind the motel behind the whorehouse, because supposedly these are classy and highly-visited institutions among even the most restrained of individuals. I heard that the 'themed' telos are in fashion right now - for example, a famous one is Arab themed, with brightly colored sheets streaming from the ceiling and ornate bedposts...you get the idea.
KBYE
PS. Here is me and my Argentine adoptive mother at a kosher parrilla. Notice that the table is filled with meat.
I went to the Recoleta cemetary, and even though I'd been there before I had a lovely time. My experience was rather intense because I was listening to Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions on audiobook while walking around, so it was kind of eerie. And that eerieness was compounded about a thousand times by 1) the gurney with flat tires that was left abandoned in front of one of the mausoleums,
2) the seemingly rabid cats that have completely taken over, and 3) the mausoleum that appears to have been broken into and now serves as a shelter for a homeless man.
(nice tourist elbow in the corner)
(When you're dead, maybe you will be lying underneath something like that.)This past weekend I took a little vacation to an area called Tigre with two friends (Alice and Renee.) After a $0.40 ticket and an hour train ride north, we ended in a small vacation town full of fresh air. Tigre itself is a large network of rivers that converge to create hundreds of little islands dotted with vacation homes, restaurants, kayak rental centers, and water taxi stands. After buying fresh herbed cheese, a large "field" breadloaf, an avocado, and fruit, we took a water taxi to Tres Bocas island. We spent most of the day walking around the startlingly tropical and humid vegetation until we found a patch of grass on which to enjoy our lunch. Sadly, it ended about ten minutes later when a possibly rabid dog with a chunk missing from its side that revealed bloody innards came to sit with us. It was revolting, and he was covered in mud, and we were scared, so we ran away and finished our food in proper chairs at a restaurant.
(walking to find our picnic spot on Tres Bocas)I'm almost finished with Malcom Gladwell's The Tipping Point, which I am reading after having finished an enjoyed another book of similar construction, Blink. They are both nonfiction and based on results from various studies, mostly sociological in nature. I can't help but feel like a little kid reading his work, because the way he makes his points involves making a statement, explaining it, contextualizing it with examples, repeating it, and repeating it some more. I feel like the subject of some condescension on his part, but this method works, because I feel as though I really comprehend all of his points. Regardless of how his teaching mode resembles that of my preschool teacher, I recommend both of these books for some light reading for any curious human.
As I said before, the food here is good but spices and extra flavoring in general are used sparingly. Who know how intensely my cravings for spicy food would be? I met some friends at a Mexican restaurant, and was confused upon seeing the corrugated tin lining the walls. Chipotle, anyone? Upon further investigation and standing in line for my food, I noticed a few things. The place very closely resembles Chipotle in how it works and what it offers, except that the people behind the counter are less efficient, so the line takes longer. Also, NO ONE in the restaurant was speaking Spanish, except for the employees. I'm not joking - the entire restaurant was full of American students abroad in the city, getting their Mexican fill. There was so much loud English, so much Hollister, so much USA... I thought I would die. But it was great anyway, and I plan to go back for more of that fuego salsa.
Generalization time
The mutual eating of faces, to both put it bluntly and be true to the act, is a part of Bs As daily life that I don't think I will ever get used to. (And don't want to.) It comes as a result of a huge societal difference, which involves children living at home with their parents until around the age of 28-35, which results in sexually repressed and aggressive children. (Although I suppose at 27 they aren't really "children" anymore.) In response to this way of life, the society has developed institutions called telos,, which are hourly hotels. But this shouldn't bring to mind the motel behind the whorehouse, because supposedly these are classy and highly-visited institutions among even the most restrained of individuals. I heard that the 'themed' telos are in fashion right now - for example, a famous one is Arab themed, with brightly colored sheets streaming from the ceiling and ornate bedposts...you get the idea.
KBYE
PS. Here is me and my Argentine adoptive mother at a kosher parrilla. Notice that the table is filled with meat.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
STILL in limbo. Make it stop
So, classes still haven't started, but I'm taking all the time I can to get to know the city. I think I have pretty much finished my learning period for the subte system, since there are only five lines, but I am still struggling to understand fully the bus system. I think it takes years of living in the city, as well as a certain degree of the distinct porteño mindset. Okay, so here is what I have been up to lately, and some related thoughts.
Since we have orientation through lunch everyday, my friends/other kids on the program have taken to trying a new cafe for lunch everyday that is near our FLACSO office (our home base, to put it simply.) We have found some good ones, and some pretty bad ones. Luckily, everything here is incredibly cheap for Americans. For example, we tried an organic, vegetarian, health-orientated restaurant for lunch yesterday. I got a one of the specials that came with roquefort cheese on top and pumpkin puree (the degree to which they eat pumpkin here makes one think that the there was a gross over-harvest in the pumpkin crop this year.) We also split a fancy salad, and quinoa pancakes with spinach, pumpkin and goat cheese. We also tried sesame ice cream. At the end of the meal, I owed about US $10.
I have been to a few museums and touristy stuff - Museo Eduardo Sivori, and MALBA (Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires) - if you come to this city, you HAVE to go to MALBA. It's the best collection of Latin American contemporary art I have ever seen. Of course, I also went to different parks and plazas throughout the city. Here are some photos from these wanderings:
The Pink House (picture Evita)
A big park with a lake
...and overly manicured gardens
One of my favorite peculiarities here is the shortage of monedas (coins.) The buses in the city, on which everyone relies heavily, only accept coins as fare. However, there is a serious lack of coins that is felt throughout all of Buenos Aires. It is so serious, in fact, that often in stores they will give you more change than is owed because they just do not have the coins to make up the correct amount. I imagine some greedy, clever porteño hoarding mountains of coins in his apartment and watching the city slipping into chaos from his penthouse in Puerto Madero (the rich area.)
Two days ago I was taking the bus to go exploring in a certain area of the city after it had been raining all morning. The bus drove through an area where the streets were so flooded that debris was floating along the street and parked cars were completely filled with water. The water was even streaming in through the doors of our bus, and when I stepped off onto the sidewalk, I was trudging through water that reached above my knees. I really wish I'd brought my camera. Sorry. Anyway, someone ought to look into the drainage system here.
I am sick, so I haven't been experiencing the night life to its fullest, but I've been doing a little here and there. Yesterday we found a bar with live music, full of locals, and many people there started tango-ing around the tables.
School starts in about a week, and we're in the middle of the course selection process. I'm having such a hard time deciding whether I'm more here to take classes (AKA take the courses that will teach me the most) or to get to know the city (AKA take courses with the least amount of work involved.) I will let you know what happens.
BESOS
Since we have orientation through lunch everyday, my friends/other kids on the program have taken to trying a new cafe for lunch everyday that is near our FLACSO office (our home base, to put it simply.) We have found some good ones, and some pretty bad ones. Luckily, everything here is incredibly cheap for Americans. For example, we tried an organic, vegetarian, health-orientated restaurant for lunch yesterday. I got a one of the specials that came with roquefort cheese on top and pumpkin puree (the degree to which they eat pumpkin here makes one think that the there was a gross over-harvest in the pumpkin crop this year.) We also split a fancy salad, and quinoa pancakes with spinach, pumpkin and goat cheese. We also tried sesame ice cream. At the end of the meal, I owed about US $10.
I have been to a few museums and touristy stuff - Museo Eduardo Sivori, and MALBA (Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires) - if you come to this city, you HAVE to go to MALBA. It's the best collection of Latin American contemporary art I have ever seen. Of course, I also went to different parks and plazas throughout the city. Here are some photos from these wanderings:
The Pink House (picture Evita)
A big park with a lake
...and overly manicured gardens
One of my favorite peculiarities here is the shortage of monedas (coins.) The buses in the city, on which everyone relies heavily, only accept coins as fare. However, there is a serious lack of coins that is felt throughout all of Buenos Aires. It is so serious, in fact, that often in stores they will give you more change than is owed because they just do not have the coins to make up the correct amount. I imagine some greedy, clever porteño hoarding mountains of coins in his apartment and watching the city slipping into chaos from his penthouse in Puerto Madero (the rich area.)
Two days ago I was taking the bus to go exploring in a certain area of the city after it had been raining all morning. The bus drove through an area where the streets were so flooded that debris was floating along the street and parked cars were completely filled with water. The water was even streaming in through the doors of our bus, and when I stepped off onto the sidewalk, I was trudging through water that reached above my knees. I really wish I'd brought my camera. Sorry. Anyway, someone ought to look into the drainage system here.
I am sick, so I haven't been experiencing the night life to its fullest, but I've been doing a little here and there. Yesterday we found a bar with live music, full of locals, and many people there started tango-ing around the tables.
School starts in about a week, and we're in the middle of the course selection process. I'm having such a hard time deciding whether I'm more here to take classes (AKA take the courses that will teach me the most) or to get to know the city (AKA take courses with the least amount of work involved.) I will let you know what happens.
BESOS
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Ramblings of an Insomniac
So, I am finally here in Buenos Aires! Sadly, my life is still as transitional as ever, since classes will not start for another two weeks. On the bright side, without any school work or commitments, I have plenty of time to update this guy.
Since coming here, we have had orientation activities for the program that included information about the colectivo (bus) and subte (subway) systems here, as well as presentations about school, Spanish placement tests, and other boring ways to spend my time in a room with 100 American students. I've been able to explore a little bit but mostly walking around, and not actually doing much. Part of our orientation involved a guided tour of a specific part of the city - my group was assigned the tour entitled "The Paris of South America" and focused on the Parisian-influenced architecture in the Retiro and Recoleta area. A few pictures:
I know, not the best, but we were walking quickly. Anyway the interesting part of this building is the specific type of roof. It was developed in France to deal with snow, and adopted by the porteños (Buenos Aires dwellers) in an effort to Europeanize the city, even though Buenos Aires got its only light dusting of snow once in about 90 years. So illogical, overly ornate, and beautiful.
And here is a randomly selected apartment building in the area, but I promise there are many, many more just like it.
I am living in an apartment in the City Center with an older woman who has three daughters (two married, one engaged.) I have met all the daughters and their significant others, and they are really nice people who promise to take me out to futbol games and dancing, etc. My host mom is a really good cook, and I am glad to say that part of our first meal together included knishes.
Finally, to answer the question from earlier, (by the way thanks for all the comments - love them) mate is a really popular drink here. Many people you see walking on the sidewalk carry with them a thermos full of hot water and a hollowed gourd filled with an herb called yerba mate, that is very flavorful and filled with caffeine. It reminds me of emptying a teabag of green tea leaves straight into my mouth. Instead of using a straw, they use a bombilla that is like a straw with a strainer on the end, since it sits amongst the loose herb leaves. It's really delicious, and meant to be shared. I think I will buy my own because, well, I don't so much love other people's germs all over my bombilla.
Okay, sorry for the lack of substance this time. I promise that in two weeks when school starts I will either stop posting altogether or have much to share! (Just kidding....or am I?)
BESOS (kisses!)
edit: turns out if you click on the pictures above they are enormous because I uploaded them differently than the others. Sorry. All the better for checking out the details on the buildings, I suppose.
Since coming here, we have had orientation activities for the program that included information about the colectivo (bus) and subte (subway) systems here, as well as presentations about school, Spanish placement tests, and other boring ways to spend my time in a room with 100 American students. I've been able to explore a little bit but mostly walking around, and not actually doing much. Part of our orientation involved a guided tour of a specific part of the city - my group was assigned the tour entitled "The Paris of South America" and focused on the Parisian-influenced architecture in the Retiro and Recoleta area. A few pictures:
I know, not the best, but we were walking quickly. Anyway the interesting part of this building is the specific type of roof. It was developed in France to deal with snow, and adopted by the porteños (Buenos Aires dwellers) in an effort to Europeanize the city, even though Buenos Aires got its only light dusting of snow once in about 90 years. So illogical, overly ornate, and beautiful.
And here is a randomly selected apartment building in the area, but I promise there are many, many more just like it.I am living in an apartment in the City Center with an older woman who has three daughters (two married, one engaged.) I have met all the daughters and their significant others, and they are really nice people who promise to take me out to futbol games and dancing, etc. My host mom is a really good cook, and I am glad to say that part of our first meal together included knishes.
Finally, to answer the question from earlier, (by the way thanks for all the comments - love them) mate is a really popular drink here. Many people you see walking on the sidewalk carry with them a thermos full of hot water and a hollowed gourd filled with an herb called yerba mate, that is very flavorful and filled with caffeine. It reminds me of emptying a teabag of green tea leaves straight into my mouth. Instead of using a straw, they use a bombilla that is like a straw with a strainer on the end, since it sits amongst the loose herb leaves. It's really delicious, and meant to be shared. I think I will buy my own because, well, I don't so much love other people's germs all over my bombilla.
Okay, sorry for the lack of substance this time. I promise that in two weeks when school starts I will either stop posting altogether or have much to share! (Just kidding....or am I?)
BESOS (kisses!)
edit: turns out if you click on the pictures above they are enormous because I uploaded them differently than the others. Sorry. All the better for checking out the details on the buildings, I suppose.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Goodbye, Montevideo
Hellooo,
My last week here has been, well, relaxing to say the least. I made the weekly Arielle/Jen peanut butter-chocolate chip cookies for the family. After they came out of the oven and we gathered around the table to try them and with that offer the first taste of peanut butter to many present, my efforts to convince everyone to actually drink milk from a glass - plain, from a glass - was rather like pulling teeth. After a few minutes of begging, we finally enjoyed cookies and milk like a proper (North) American family.
Jani and I watched some good movies with her friends (Charlie Wilson's War had a really fantastic script that was not at all captured by the Spanish subtitles. The Hours was another good one, especially after reading the novel on which it is based as well as some works by Virginia Woolf.) I finished A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Solzhenitsyn (a real upper about life in a Stalin-era concentration camp,) and am now in the middle of some short stories by Pushkin. (Am working my way through the Werner household hand-me-downs.) I also went to the local theater with Jani and Graciela, but it was a really awful production. So awful in fact, that we left halfway through. Graciela still has not stopped apologizing for putting me through that, even though it is in no way her fault. Saul took me on a tour of the city and I was able to visit the museums and sites that remained on my list of places to see here in Montevideo. In other words, my days have been completely mine, and as much as I am enjoying this period, I think I need to go to school to maintain some sort of mental health. Life is tough when the only structural part of the day involves the time-table for classes at the local gym. At least I wake up, walk out on the balcony of Jani's room, and see this:
(an unusually cloudy morning that cleared up about an hour later)
OK, well the time has finally come for me to move to Buenos Aires and actually go to school and do something productive with my life. I will miss traipsing around this city. As a parting gift to Montevideo, I offer a few reflections:
Malls
I have concluded that malls are universal. The ones I have visited in Spain, Uruguay, Argentina, Canada, Ecuador... All boast the same stores, the same flourescent lighting, high ceilings, overwhelming advertising, and McDonalds. Prices are the same, and each building is completely devoid of the culture in which it is situated (except maybe American culture... I think that just might be everywhere. Maybe American culture is actually embodied by the mall structure itself. How sad.)
The Gym
The local gym that I have been visiting most days is in the city, so there are five floors that each serve different purposes (a horrible walk all the way up to the top.) While the machines are pretty much the same, exercise classes demonstrate a few interesting differences than the ones I have been to in the US. In general, the instructors do not actually do the exercises with you - they are there to teach and to help you improve. Also, motivation is conveyed in a dissimilar manner. Instructors hoot, hollar, whistle and clap at participants. It's kind of scary, especially in really fast Spanish.
The City
Montevideo is a really unique city. Its inhabitants are, as a whole, quite friendly, and I feel safe in most areas that I have encountered. I think much of this uniqueness comes from, as I discussed earlier, a strange necessity that Uruguayans feel to separate themselves from their larger, richer, and more famous neighbor, Argentina. This neighbor will soon be my home, and I hope to really explore those distinctions myself once I go there. I'll let you know what I find.
I think one of my favorite aspects of the city is the rambla (boardwalk along the beach) that skirts along the entire coast of the city. I have spent a lot of time there reading, walking, and people-watching. I was also able to spend time by the rambla at night, when I spent some time with another former Akron exchange student, Ari (he went to Revere HS for the year.)
The Food
In general, I am really enjoying the food here. I've found that it's very simplistic - with the exception of one restaurant, the food is prepared with negligible spices, and emphasis is placed rather on the quality of the main ingredients in the dish. There is never pepper on the table, though salt and olive oil are used with everything. Except, perhaps, chivitos. This is a very important part of Uruguayan food culture, and is comparable to our hamburger. It involves a tenderized slice of steak, a fried egg, bacon, ham, tomato, lettuce, olive tapenade, cheese, and various spreads. They are available on every block that I have yet visited in the city. One of my favorite desserts is a delicious Uruguayan specialty that I believe is also available in surrounding countries is called pastaflora, a simple pie made with quince marmalade as the filling.
Okay, so now I am off to Argentina. I have a little more than a week before school starts in Buenos Aires to acclimate myself to the city. Until next time, I leave you with a photo of the living room in the Witkind's apartment. (I spy a Don Drumm bowl)
Ciao ciao (bye bye)
My last week here has been, well, relaxing to say the least. I made the weekly Arielle/Jen peanut butter-chocolate chip cookies for the family. After they came out of the oven and we gathered around the table to try them and with that offer the first taste of peanut butter to many present, my efforts to convince everyone to actually drink milk from a glass - plain, from a glass - was rather like pulling teeth. After a few minutes of begging, we finally enjoyed cookies and milk like a proper (North) American family.
Jani and I watched some good movies with her friends (Charlie Wilson's War had a really fantastic script that was not at all captured by the Spanish subtitles. The Hours was another good one, especially after reading the novel on which it is based as well as some works by Virginia Woolf.) I finished A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Solzhenitsyn (a real upper about life in a Stalin-era concentration camp,) and am now in the middle of some short stories by Pushkin. (Am working my way through the Werner household hand-me-downs.) I also went to the local theater with Jani and Graciela, but it was a really awful production. So awful in fact, that we left halfway through. Graciela still has not stopped apologizing for putting me through that, even though it is in no way her fault. Saul took me on a tour of the city and I was able to visit the museums and sites that remained on my list of places to see here in Montevideo. In other words, my days have been completely mine, and as much as I am enjoying this period, I think I need to go to school to maintain some sort of mental health. Life is tough when the only structural part of the day involves the time-table for classes at the local gym. At least I wake up, walk out on the balcony of Jani's room, and see this:
(an unusually cloudy morning that cleared up about an hour later)OK, well the time has finally come for me to move to Buenos Aires and actually go to school and do something productive with my life. I will miss traipsing around this city. As a parting gift to Montevideo, I offer a few reflections:
Malls
I have concluded that malls are universal. The ones I have visited in Spain, Uruguay, Argentina, Canada, Ecuador... All boast the same stores, the same flourescent lighting, high ceilings, overwhelming advertising, and McDonalds. Prices are the same, and each building is completely devoid of the culture in which it is situated (except maybe American culture... I think that just might be everywhere. Maybe American culture is actually embodied by the mall structure itself. How sad.)
The Gym
The local gym that I have been visiting most days is in the city, so there are five floors that each serve different purposes (a horrible walk all the way up to the top.) While the machines are pretty much the same, exercise classes demonstrate a few interesting differences than the ones I have been to in the US. In general, the instructors do not actually do the exercises with you - they are there to teach and to help you improve. Also, motivation is conveyed in a dissimilar manner. Instructors hoot, hollar, whistle and clap at participants. It's kind of scary, especially in really fast Spanish.
The City
Montevideo is a really unique city. Its inhabitants are, as a whole, quite friendly, and I feel safe in most areas that I have encountered. I think much of this uniqueness comes from, as I discussed earlier, a strange necessity that Uruguayans feel to separate themselves from their larger, richer, and more famous neighbor, Argentina. This neighbor will soon be my home, and I hope to really explore those distinctions myself once I go there. I'll let you know what I find.
I think one of my favorite aspects of the city is the rambla (boardwalk along the beach) that skirts along the entire coast of the city. I have spent a lot of time there reading, walking, and people-watching. I was also able to spend time by the rambla at night, when I spent some time with another former Akron exchange student, Ari (he went to Revere HS for the year.)
The Food
In general, I am really enjoying the food here. I've found that it's very simplistic - with the exception of one restaurant, the food is prepared with negligible spices, and emphasis is placed rather on the quality of the main ingredients in the dish. There is never pepper on the table, though salt and olive oil are used with everything. Except, perhaps, chivitos. This is a very important part of Uruguayan food culture, and is comparable to our hamburger. It involves a tenderized slice of steak, a fried egg, bacon, ham, tomato, lettuce, olive tapenade, cheese, and various spreads. They are available on every block that I have yet visited in the city. One of my favorite desserts is a delicious Uruguayan specialty that I believe is also available in surrounding countries is called pastaflora, a simple pie made with quince marmalade as the filling.
Okay, so now I am off to Argentina. I have a little more than a week before school starts in Buenos Aires to acclimate myself to the city. Until next time, I leave you with a photo of the living room in the Witkind's apartment. (I spy a Don Drumm bowl)
Ciao ciao (bye bye)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Montevideo
Hellooo,
It's Thursday now in Montevideo and I've had a pretty fun week. I've been
-to the beach (burnt my legs,)
-running on the rambla (boardwalk,)
-roaming around the city (introduced to the strange horse-driven carts for dumpster divers that get paid for returning certain products in the trash,)
-reading in the park (next to a group of singing kindergarteners,)
-to Medialunas restaurant (delicious croissants - Jani and I met with some of her friends there)
-Perfin gym (spinning class with Jani, and to exercise with Saul,)
-Read Blue Diary by Alice Hoffman (decision not yet fully formed)
Yesterday I finally thought to bring my camera with me and
took a few pictures. I walked from one side of the city to the other to the Parque Rodó, in which an art museum is happily situated along a grove of cyprus trees. The park is pretty large, and has a small amusement park (which was closed yesterday. I couldn't help but think, if it isn't open during the summer in 75-degree weather, when does it operate?)
Also in the park was this freestanding fort...or castle... or hacienda...
or something. Anyway it had a sign that said "edificio libre" (free building,) so I went in. It was just a structure with turrets, a courtyard, stairways up to the roof, and a possibly rabid dog. Turns out the few rooms inside the building were all sections of a public library! I just had to take a picture, even though it doesn't capture the whole coolness of the place.
The museum in which I spent a few hours is called Museo Nacional de Artes Visuales, and is a pretty modest space, which boasts mostly Uruguayan artists. There is even a small section with videos of a performance art series the museum supported earlier this summer. There was a really interesting exhibit by an Ecuadorian artist by the name of Oswaldo Guayasamín. I took a few photos of his stuff, and what I took from reading his mission statement (it was in Spanish so no promises,) was that much of his work involved the idea that human anguish eternally crosses political and cultural boundaries, without exception. Below are a few of his pieces.
L-R: Hope, IX, X, XI ('68-'69)
L-R : The Jewish Man, Eichman, The Black Child (all '63-'65)
Here is a final shot of the bottom floor of the museum, taken from the second floor. I think it's a really nice little space, even if the sculptures were a little dusty.
Okay, that's all for now. Tomorrow we're going back to Punta del Este for my last weekend before I go to Argentina on the twenty-first. I had better get in all my relaxing while I can.
It's Thursday now in Montevideo and I've had a pretty fun week. I've been
-to the beach (burnt my legs,)
-running on the rambla (boardwalk,)
-roaming around the city (introduced to the strange horse-driven carts for dumpster divers that get paid for returning certain products in the trash,)
-reading in the park (next to a group of singing kindergarteners,)
-to Medialunas restaurant (delicious croissants - Jani and I met with some of her friends there)
-Perfin gym (spinning class with Jani, and to exercise with Saul,)
-Read Blue Diary by Alice Hoffman (decision not yet fully formed)
Yesterday I finally thought to bring my camera with me and
took a few pictures. I walked from one side of the city to the other to the Parque Rodó, in which an art museum is happily situated along a grove of cyprus trees. The park is pretty large, and has a small amusement park (which was closed yesterday. I couldn't help but think, if it isn't open during the summer in 75-degree weather, when does it operate?)Also in the park was this freestanding fort...or castle... or hacienda...
or something. Anyway it had a sign that said "edificio libre" (free building,) so I went in. It was just a structure with turrets, a courtyard, stairways up to the roof, and a possibly rabid dog. Turns out the few rooms inside the building were all sections of a public library! I just had to take a picture, even though it doesn't capture the whole coolness of the place.The museum in which I spent a few hours is called Museo Nacional de Artes Visuales, and is a pretty modest space, which boasts mostly Uruguayan artists. There is even a small section with videos of a performance art series the museum supported earlier this summer. There was a really interesting exhibit by an Ecuadorian artist by the name of Oswaldo Guayasamín. I took a few photos of his stuff, and what I took from reading his mission statement (it was in Spanish so no promises,) was that much of his work involved the idea that human anguish eternally crosses political and cultural boundaries, without exception. Below are a few of his pieces.
L-R: Hope, IX, X, XI ('68-'69)L-R : The Jewish Man, Eichman, The Black Child (all '63-'65)
Here is a final shot of the bottom floor of the museum, taken from the second floor. I think it's a really nice little space, even if the sculptures were a little dusty.
Okay, that's all for now. Tomorrow we're going back to Punta del Este for my last weekend before I go to Argentina on the twenty-first. I had better get in all my relaxing while I can.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
First Legitimate Post
Hello all,
I have just returned from a weekend at the Witkind's beach home in Punta del Este. I drove there with Saul and Graciela (parents) on Thursday, and the kids (Jani, Roní, and Marcel [aka Matthew Golden]) joined us on Friday evening right before Shabbat dinner. It's a bit strange to start dinner between 9:30 and 11:00pm each night. Luckily Graciela bought me some peanut butter. During the days we spent our time lounging around the apartment, by the pool, and on the beach, except when it was raining.
One fun outing that we took was to an area called La Barra, which is a through-and-through surf town that has been infiltrated by commerce and tourism. The steep slope down to the shore is spotted with homes that are gravitate between shacks with corrugated tin roofs and enormous haciendas with great bay windows facing the ocean.
For some reason I've gone running everyday here, and it has been an interesting way to explore the area in Punta. The beach is lined by a boardwalk that is frequented by all manner of people and businesses, and also skirts along a marina and area that boasts trendy indoor/outdoor bars.
We ate some really delicious food, mostly made by Saul at the apartment (I will never be able to go back to American meat,) but today we had a particularly special lunch. The restaurant was called Ruben, and it is a parrilla (a special type of grill) that prides itself on being representative of the pure gaucho culture that lives (mostly in memory) in Argentina and Uruguay. We just ordered a bunch of dishes to share. Aside from the salad, everything on our table had been wrapped in tin foil and then thrown onto the grill. These included sweet potatoes sprinkled with sugar in the raw and thick eggplant slices with grated cheese and herbs. Mmm.
I am now under the impression that Uruguayans either live in, or feel that they live in, a country that lies within the humbled shadow of an imposing and grandiose Argentina. The richest tourists there, according to my hosts, are Argentine. Saul even took me aside when he saw me reading a book about the history of Argentina, and told me "Arielle, Argentina is a very, very rich country. They have fertile land and many resources. This is all you need to know." I guess I'll see for myself in a few weeks.
Now I'm back in Montevideo and will be here until next weekend when we return to Punta. I plan to go wandering in the city (mostly on my own since everyone else has work.) They live just a few blocks away from the beach, so I doubt I will ever be bored. Don't worry.
Okay, bye for now.
-Side note: I don't know who recommended the book Empire Falls by Russo, but it was a huge disappointment. I thought I'd bring it with me to read about small town America, obviously to ease myself into the culture. But what it turned out to be was a novel absolutely brimming with underdeveloped characters that offered no surprises in their dealing with various difficult situations. I also found that it was overloaded with Christian morals and characters that only survive their trials after exhibiting Christ-like behavior and, while he didn't directly admit it, finding their place in the way of the church. 500 pages of wasted reading, I think.
I have just returned from a weekend at the Witkind's beach home in Punta del Este. I drove there with Saul and Graciela (parents) on Thursday, and the kids (Jani, Roní, and Marcel [aka Matthew Golden]) joined us on Friday evening right before Shabbat dinner. It's a bit strange to start dinner between 9:30 and 11:00pm each night. Luckily Graciela bought me some peanut butter. During the days we spent our time lounging around the apartment, by the pool, and on the beach, except when it was raining.
One fun outing that we took was to an area called La Barra, which is a through-and-through surf town that has been infiltrated by commerce and tourism. The steep slope down to the shore is spotted with homes that are gravitate between shacks with corrugated tin roofs and enormous haciendas with great bay windows facing the ocean.
For some reason I've gone running everyday here, and it has been an interesting way to explore the area in Punta. The beach is lined by a boardwalk that is frequented by all manner of people and businesses, and also skirts along a marina and area that boasts trendy indoor/outdoor bars.
We ate some really delicious food, mostly made by Saul at the apartment (I will never be able to go back to American meat,) but today we had a particularly special lunch. The restaurant was called Ruben, and it is a parrilla (a special type of grill) that prides itself on being representative of the pure gaucho culture that lives (mostly in memory) in Argentina and Uruguay. We just ordered a bunch of dishes to share. Aside from the salad, everything on our table had been wrapped in tin foil and then thrown onto the grill. These included sweet potatoes sprinkled with sugar in the raw and thick eggplant slices with grated cheese and herbs. Mmm.
I am now under the impression that Uruguayans either live in, or feel that they live in, a country that lies within the humbled shadow of an imposing and grandiose Argentina. The richest tourists there, according to my hosts, are Argentine. Saul even took me aside when he saw me reading a book about the history of Argentina, and told me "Arielle, Argentina is a very, very rich country. They have fertile land and many resources. This is all you need to know." I guess I'll see for myself in a few weeks.
Now I'm back in Montevideo and will be here until next weekend when we return to Punta. I plan to go wandering in the city (mostly on my own since everyone else has work.) They live just a few blocks away from the beach, so I doubt I will ever be bored. Don't worry.
Okay, bye for now.
-Side note: I don't know who recommended the book Empire Falls by Russo, but it was a huge disappointment. I thought I'd bring it with me to read about small town America, obviously to ease myself into the culture. But what it turned out to be was a novel absolutely brimming with underdeveloped characters that offered no surprises in their dealing with various difficult situations. I also found that it was overloaded with Christian morals and characters that only survive their trials after exhibiting Christ-like behavior and, while he didn't directly admit it, finding their place in the way of the church. 500 pages of wasted reading, I think.
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