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.

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.

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.

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"

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.