Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar

Helen and I went for a walk this evening and passed by la Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar. Is is a baroque church built in 1732. We had walked past it dozens of times, but had never gone in.


We looked around a bit and noticed that the place was filling up. A few women were doing the Stations of the Cross and then a group started reciting the Rosary. It was then (good Catholics that we are) that we remembered that it was Lent. We decided to stay for Mass.


Being a Catholic is a little like riding a bike. You can feel at home in the Liturgy even if you have been away for a while. Even in Spanish, it was very familiar. We just said our responses in English because trying to remember the prayers and phrases was a difficult enough task without adding the one-the-spot translations.


It is a beautiful and ornate interior with many features you don't find in your local parish sanctuary. All catholic churches have relics--bones or blood or hair--from a martyr or saint for whom the church is dedicated. These are often encased in the altar itself. I was told by my parish priest that this is reminiscent of when the early Christians hid in the catacombs and actually held rituals on the tombs of deceased Christians.

Here there are actual sculls visible behind glass surrounded by elaborate ornamentation. Lifelike full size statues show Jesus and Mary in states of compassion pleading for the souls of the faithful.

Although we are not strict practicing Catholics, we go every year to the Easter Vigil back home. It is a lengthy ritual held at dusk on Easter Eve. It has all the old pagan rituals from millennia past: bonfires, intense, ritual mixing of fire and water, initiation of the converted, and, of course, the ritualistic cannibalism of the Eucharist. It is really kind of cool. I think we'll make a point of seeing what that is like here this Easter

Buenos Aires Delivers (Ken)

Almost everyone delivers here: ice cream, pizza, groceries, complete dinners. In the evenings, outside the restaurants, you will see scooters and mopeds with attached insulated boxes where the hot or cold food goes. You can here the loud two-stoke engines of the mopeds scream past my apartment well past midnight.

It is also common to see a mozo leave the cafe with a tray containing cafe con leche, media lunas and jugo de naranja and head down the calle to ring the bell of a nearby apartment building to deliver someone's morning coffee.

The apartment buildings here are all set up for this--at least in Recoleta where I live. There is a panel outside the building--a very attractive one all covered in brass--with the numbers of all the apartments. The delivery guy presses your buzzer and the phone rings in your apartment. He tells you where he is from and you buzz him through the door.

When we first got here, we went to the grocery store to pick up a few necessities. When it was our turn, the cashier asked, "Envios?" Well, we were stumped. Finally, she told us we were in the wrong line and pointed to the other section of registers. It was then that we noticed the signs: "Envios a Domicilio." Fully half--if not more--of the checkouts in the grovery store are for home delivery. Sin Cargo! Without Charge.

They box up your groceries in plastic tubs and drive them, push them, bike them, carry them right to your door. All this without any additional charge--just a $2 tip for the delivery guy.

I have seen deliveries by car, by can, by truck, by moped, by scooter, on foot, on bicycle, and on roller blades, . I even saw a man carry a side of beef down the street on his shoulders to deliver it to the almacén across the street. And just the other day, I saw a man balancing a basket on his head as he walked down Av. Libertador.

(If I ever get enough confidence to use the phone, I might even give the restaurant delivery a try.)

Porteños behind the wheel (Ken)

I post this picture because it is a rare sight. And you would be as surprised as I if you could see how these people drive.

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They are crazy--and I say that with complete admiration.

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Porteños have a Zen-like "one-with-the vehicle" mystical vibe going on. The lines on the road? Mere suggestions. The double yellow line down the middle of a two-way street? That means if you pass someone, it is your responsiblity to get back on your side before you hit an oncoming vehicle. Left turns from the right lane and right turns from the left lane must be something they teach here. It even happens at traffic lights when they first turn green.

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Speaking of traffic lights, they don't just go from red-to-green. They go from red--to yellow--to green, like the light tree at a drag strip, to give these guys a heads-up for when to punch it. Sometime, they don't even wait for it to switch from red to yellow before they head out.

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By far, the most amazing traffic phenomenon is that intersections that are not controlled by traffic lights are not controlled at all. No stop signs. The rule is that drivers yield to traffic on the right. There are lots of close calls but not many crashes.

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Taxis--the Gamblers in the Neon

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There are about 40,000 taxis in this city. These guys bob and weave their way though the streets trawling for fares and getting people where they want to go. At about US$3 (AR$9) to get from just about anywhere in the city to just about anywhere in the city, these guys have to get people where they want to go, and fast, to compete with the 80 centavo (about 25 cents) fare charged by the colectivos (City busses). There is a strange headlight flashing ritual that seems to indicate "You are in my way," or "I'd like to get on the other side of you, please." Blowing the horn seems to be a signal to another driver that, "I am getting ready to do something really dangerous, so you had better pay attention."

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A word of caution: taxis here are Peugots and Fiats , not Ford Crown Victorias. These are little tin can cars. USAmericans are accustomed to really giving the door a tug to get it to close. When you do that to one of these babies, you almost crease it. Taxi drivers HATE that. I have heard of them driving REALLY crazy just to get back at the tourist who dared to close the door too hard. But my favorite mode of transporations is . . .

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The Colectivo: Kings of the Road

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I take the 110 everyday to get from Recoleta to Palermo where I take my Spanish classes. I live not too far from the start of the line, so it is usually empty when I get on, but it fills up fast. You wait at the stop and hold out your arm to signal the driver to stop--they usually do, almost always. If there is a line, he waits until the last prospective passanger has lifted his foot from the street and he takes off. You had better hang on because you still have to pay. There is a coin machine right behind the driver. And I mean COIN. Don't even THINK about boarding one of thes bohemoths without coins. You can get change back, but the machines do not take paper currency. And you don´t mess with these guys. They are captains of their ships and it is an absolute autocracy.

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You have to hang on to a pole, feed in your coins, take your ticket, and get out of the way. The next stop is two-and-a-half-blocks away and that machine better be clear.

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These guys manuver their colectivos within millimeters of each other. They whip to a stop and open the doors for disembarkers several meters before actually stopping. If no one is getting on, sometimes they just coast and you jump. Unwary taxis find themselves in a rapidly closing wedge whenever these guys pull in, or away, from a stop.

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I write this with respect and awe. There is no way USAmericans could drive like this. Not without crashes all day, every day. Porteños have to be the best drivers in the world.

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I have no desire to drive here. None. I do not miss my car one bit. What I will miss, when I come home, is this bus system.

So, I bought this bike . . .(Ken)

When I went on the bike tour of Tigre with Ana Inez, she told me I could probably get a used bicycle for about AR$100. Last Sunday, I checked Craig's List and there was a USAmerican from New York (Brooklyn) who was going home the following Wednesday and selling his bike for US$40 (AR$120).
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I contacted him and, as luck would have it, he lived a few blocks from where I go to school. I had to be back to Recoleta for an appointment right after school on Monday, but I would pay him and get the bike Tuesday. He showed up, I paid him, we met the next day, and I rode the bike back to Recoleta from Palermo.
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Traffic here is really crazy during the week. I probably told you that 3 million people live in Capital Federal, but 8 million people work here. So, it was a pretty scary ride home for a novice biker like me. The bike sat on my terrace all week until today, Sunday, when I tool it for my first long ride.
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Despite Sra. Ana´s misgivings , I headed back to the ecological reserve south of Puerto Madero. Today it is hot. It is 9:30 at night now, and it is still 84F and 74% humidity. WhenI was out this afternoon, it was over 90 with a heat index of 106.
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Things were going really well. I was exploring the city much faster than on foot and with a greater degree of personal safety in the dodgey areas. I was having a good time at the Ecological Reserve. There were lots of bike riders and joggers and families picnicing.
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I went about as far as I wanted to go and began to head back home when. . . the pedal broke. The metal just snapped. I was 3 or 4 miles from home. I began walking. By now all the sunscreen had been sweated off, and it was high noon with the summer sun as high as it could be in the diminished ozone layer of the southern hemisphere.
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I took off my shirt and fashioned a head dress somewhat akin to those hats worn by the French Foreigh Legion in the old movies. I hiked for about 25 minutes until I came to a slight decline in the otherwise-level path. I hopped back on the bike to coast. I thought I´d give the pedal nub a try to see if I could get a few more yards out of my bike when I realized that I could kind-of make the pedals work. Yeah! Things are looking up!
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It took me as long to get out of the Ecological reserve as it took me to get there from my apartment with a significant side trip near the port. And I still had to get back to Recoleta from Puerto Madero. It was not really that bad. I think I can fix the bike. There is a bike shop on Scalabrini Ortiz a few blocks from where I to school. Tomorrow, it is back to class. I guess I'd better finish my homework
¡Chau, Suerte!

Buying bus tickets (Ken)

The president of the college where I teach, Dr. Carol Eaton, was a foreign exchange student in Argentina as a girl. When I applied for sabbatical to come to Argentina to study Spanish, she was new to the college. When my sabbatical was approved, she made an appointment to meet with me to congratulate me for having been granted sabbatical and tell me that she was especially interested in my proposal because of her Argentina connection. She told me that she has kept in touch with her host family, and that their daughter, Monica, stayed with Carol’s family in the USA while Carol was in Argentina. (I think I have the story correct).

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Anyway, when I was making final preparations for my trip, I asked Carol to put me in touch with her Argentina "Sister" so that I could meet her. Carol was happy to make the introduction and we made tentative plans for Helen and me to visit Monica and her family in Córdoba while I was between classes at UBA. That is less than two weeks from now, so I had to make travel arrangements.

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Here in Argentina, the way to get around the country is by bus. For my friends in the USA, I do not mean a Greyhound bus. In Argentina, the busses do overnight trips in luxury. There are different classes of seats from semi-cama, which is a seat that partially reclines; to full cama, which is a seat that reclines 180 degrees, to a suite which is a seat large enough for you to sleep on your side with privacy curtains, a television, and meal service. The only problem is that I had to actually make these arrangements, in Spanish. My Spanish is improving, but it is not good--not even close.
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I have taken the train from Retiro, and am familiar with that part of the city (or so I thought). Several people told me, "Just go to Retiro, on the third floor there are dozens of bus companies." So, I went to Retiro. I wandered around the train station for 20 minutes or so until I gave up and asked someone where the bus companies were. A nice train attendant directed me to an office at the end of the train station. There, a confusing conversation took place where I was told there were no tickets until after March 22.
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I left and spotted a kiosk advertising bus service. I spoke to the nice man and asked him about service to Córdoba. He told me my options, but they did not include "full cama." I asked him if there were other bus companies. He said something like, "Well, yeah, there are dozens. Don’t you know about the bus station?" Terminal de Omnibus, he told me, was three blocks down and one to the left. OK, I am an idiot for the first time that day.

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I walked the four blocks and found the legendary "third floor." And, indeed, there are dozens of bus companies. After walking past each of them, I finally realized there is a color-code system. I was going to the "Red Zone" so I needed to look at the bus companies that had the red number signs. I went to one and asked for suite service. The sales agent told me that was the next window. I went to the next window only to realize that he meant the next bus company. Now I am an idiot for the second time.



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I shamefully walked to the next company, and they did indeed have suite service. I was making great progress. I told him where I wanted to go, when I wanted to go, that Helen was coming with me. It was going great until he asked for passports. Of course. Passports. Now I am an idiot for the third time. I carry a photocopy of mine, but I needed Helen´s as well. So, I headed home vowing to return the next day.
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Our friends Tom and Maya have a saying that if you don’t make a fool of yourself three times by lunchtime, you are not really trying. I probably still had 25 minutes to spare.
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The next day was yesterday, and Helen made the walk back to Retiro with me. We accomplished out goal in short order with no problems.
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That was my plan before I got here. Go out and try . . . and fail. Come home, figure out what I did wrong, and go back out the next day and try again.

Everyone says that three months of immersion is the magic number to get some skill at a language. Today makes eight weeks. In another month, I’ll let you all know if they were correct.

Drinking from the hose (by Helen)

When Ken and I went to the zoo there were men all over with hoses cleaning cage windows, sidewalks, etc. In front of the monkey cage while the windows were being cleaned, a boy came up to one of the men and asked for a drink. The man obliged and held out the hose from which the boy gratefully drank. The man smiled, the boy smiled, the mom smiled, and off the little boy went. Now when I was a little girl you never went into a neighbors house for a drink, you simply drank from the hose. Can you imagine that scene in the US today? The mom would be screaming and cursing that man for allowing her child to drink from a contaminated hose that emits all kinds of hose poison. And you know, there have been studies regarding that very hose poison. (Although I never met anybody who died by hose.) In the US nobody would have been smiling.

Just a couple of things that are different here (by Helen)

Every now and again I notice something that is different here then, for example, we learned in kindergarten. Lately, I have become aware of the crossing-each-other-in-a-confined-space-rule. For example, if you are approaching somebody on a narrow path, when it comes time meet, we don´t just crash into each other, but we always move to the right. Right? The person approaching will pass you on your left. Right? We learned this in kindergarten and almost without exception, and without thinking, we do this is the US. That is not the custom here, it seems to be hit or miss, or possibly even the reverse, I can´t tell yet. But I can´t tell you how often I have wanted to say ¨Wanna dance?¨, but they wouldn´t get it.

Another thing that is different is when the waiter (mozo) brings the check. For example, in the US, very often at breakfast or lunch, the check is actually delivered with the food. It´s not that the waiter will ignore us after that, and its not that we are being thrown out, its just that we are free to go at any time. However, I may add that it is sort of unstated that we are also not to stay TOO long, I mean, don´t you have a home?
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It is not like that here. First of all, when you order a cup of coffee, you get just that, A cup of coffee. No refills. The coffee is more like espresso, so I guess people don´t want refills anyway. In our little cafe across the street, the mozo brings you a cup of coffee, a shot glass of water and a small cookie or two, and then doesn´t return. They don´t leave the check either. Now, I wondered about this since I arrived and I think I finally figured it out. (Our Argentine readers can correct me if I´m wrong). They don´t return to the table because people rarely order anything else and they just leave you to relax and do what you want. The coffee is only part of the whole cafe experience, the rest is just spending time there. People talk, read the free newspaper, people-watch, work on computers, any variety of things. And very often they stay a really long time by US standards. And they can stay as long as they like and are NEVER expected to leave before they are ready. I think that is why they withhold the check. To serve the check before it is requested would be tantamount to asking the patron to leave, and that just simply isn´t done. So, when you want to leave, you have flag down the mozo and ask.

Buenos Aires Zoo (Ken)

I had a rare weekday off of school today, so Helen and I went to the Zoo. El Jardin Zoológico is a short ride to Palermo on Colectivo #10. Twelve-and-a-half pesos (a bit more than US$4) gets you into this 45 acre urban zoo that was first built in 1874. An even less expensive general admission of $6.25 gets you into everything except the reptile house, aquarium, tropica rain forest, and boat ride. However, the boat was being repaired, so we didn´t get to set sail on the zoo´s pond.



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The zoo is full of quirky buildings like an egyptian temple that houses the Miercat colony and a gothic aviary where the birds live. There is a pond that meanders through much of the compund and it is stocked with huge Japanese koi.



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Remember the old days when you could feed the animals? You still can here. For $6 you can buy a small pail of approved food. They even provide troughs for kids to slide the food pellets to the waiting mouths of the camels and zebras. You can even throw peanuts to the elephants if you brought some. Some cages have signs saying not to feed these animals unauthorized food, and some animals are not to be fed at all. Everyone seems to follow the rules and there is an attentive and courteous staff to make sure the animals and visitors are all kept safe.


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There is a small aquarium with some nice exhibits. The Megelanic penguins are always a hit. It was realy fun to hear the litte Porteño kids scream "Nemo!" when they saw the clown fish.



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Recently, this zoo made world news for its successful breeding of white tiger cubs. This is the best angle I could get. They were tucked in a shady corner away from the summer heat and there was some glare on the glass. But they are getting big. Mom was back there keeping them clean.





There are plenty of consession stands that, curiously, do not sell empanadas. Hotdogs adn hamburgers were the main item. Unlike in the USA, a fella can get a beer at the zoo, though. You gotta love that. You also have to admire the inginuity of the Argentine salesman. A man was selling cheaper-than-on-the-inside icecream from a cooler on the street through the fence. He had a rod with a bag on the end. Kids would put their money in the bag. He would take it, make change, and he would put the icecream in the bag and poke it back through the fence.





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As always, the most fascinating exhibit are the chimpanzees. Since they share something like 99% of our DNA, these little guys are something to watch. We got there just in time to see them get fed. The keepers first threw heads of lettuce to each of the three, a male, a female, and a young one. Then came bananas, ears of corn, peaches, apples, and baguettes.
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By the time the food was all there, the female had vegetables and fruit in both hands and both feet and walked around like that. They made sure each got a decent share. Then, each chimp picked out a spot to eat. The male then displaced the little one and the female moved into the male´s spot where she picked through his leavings. At one point, the youngster screamed at the female until she gave up some food. He quited down after that.

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We had a nice day at the zoo, now I have homework to do to get ready for tomorrow's class.

Waxing Philosophic (Ken)

We have now met, in person, several of our Internet friends that we made while preparing for this trip. First, there was Deby with whom we spent New Year's Eve, where we also met Perry. Shortly there after, we had coffee with Tom and Maya. Then I spent the day at the racetrack with Tom and Alan. Today we met Jude.
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Jude is a British woman from London who has been here a few years. She has a shop, that is remakably close to where we live, where she does waxing and makeup. I have been reading her blog since last summer, and she also is one of my myspace friends.
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Jude is also the co-founder of a non-profit organization called Aesthetic Argentina. This is an organization she started with her co-founder, Philip. They work with an organization called Piel.
This organization provides reconstructive surgery to poor children who were born with cleft palates or other facial deformities. As Jude says, "It gives them a chance at a normal life, to be able to speak properly and eat properly. It gives them a chance to smile."

The doctors at Piel perform these surgeries free of charge at Buenos Aires hospitals. The hospitals, however, charge for the use of the facility. Jude and her co-founder, Philip, help to raise these funds. Just US$150 can fix a child´s cleft palate. Jude hopes to raise US$100,000 to turn a Piel facility into a proper operating theater so more children can be helped.
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You can make a donation to help these children at this link.
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Oh, my reason for going to see Jude . . . I got my back waxed.

Before and After

Super Panchos (Ken)

Helen had a lunch date today with her new friend Deby in Palermo. The weather is rather bad today, 60s and drizzle, so I was at loose ends as to what to do with myself. So, I rode the colectivo to Palermo with her and walked back down Avenida Santa Fe to Recoleta.

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Along the way, I got an Argentine hot dog--a Super Pancho. Here they are served with potatoe sticks. Many people get them with mayonaise, but I ordered mine with mustard. However, the mustard here is more like Chinese mustard. (Charley, remember to bring some yellow mustard when you come).

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They don´t have much taste. It´s not Nathan´s of Coney Island or Hebrew National. But I am not giving up. I will buy some at the supermercado and see if I can Americanize them at home. Stay tuned.

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If I want something really authentic, I could get a chorizopan at the parilla across the street. Hmmm. . . there´s a thought.

The Week in Review (Ken)

It rained today. It is only about the 4th time it has rained in the seven weeks we have been here. That was OK though; it gave me an excuse to do nothing for the afternoon.

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My first week of my second-level Spanish class is over. Three more weeks to go. They finally split out large class of 18 into two classes. I was put in a class of 10 with other students who show up everyday. The other class of 8 has at least two students a day not show up. So we are a class of 10 and a class of 6. You may recall my earlier post where I wrote about the German girl saying that she didn´t like it that there were so many Americans in the class--there were 4 in the class of 18. Then she remembered I am an American and quickly said that she didn´t mean me--of course. It seems that she doesn´t like the way USAmericans pronounce Spanish and it is hard for her to understand them.

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Anyway, after the classes were split, the Americans were divided two-and-two. The Germans, however, all four of them, were all placed in the same class. I just could not resist. The following day, the same group of us from the first level class were talking on break when the German women were saying how much better the class was now. At that point I said, "Yes, but I don´t like it that there are so many Germans." I smiled when I said it . . .We all had a good laugh--fortunately. I am happy that I did not cause an international incident.

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Ana came over for a glass of wine after visiting her mother. She is the woman who has helped us so much and is renting us her apartment. We really like her. She is so interesting to talk to. She tells us about the country and encourages us to speak Spanish. We are very fortunate to have found her. She read my blog about visiting the Ecological Reserve last week. She told me I was lucky to be alive. "It has such a lovely name," she said, "The Ecological Reserve. But no one that I know has ever been there. Every time there is a murder, the body ends up there," she told me.

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OK. I hear her. I did get a kind of a wierd, gay-cruising vibe from the place. Here on the streets of Buenos Aires, no one looks anyone in the eye. You avoid eye contact all together on the street--just like any big city. However, when I was at the Ecological Reserve, I would pass men on the path and they would smile and say hello. And a lot of them were just sitting around with their shirts off. Maybe it was nothing, but it made me wonder . . .

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We branched out a bit with the food this week and got some carryout (para llevar) from the local parilla a few doors up from the cafe across the street. They only open for a few hours in the afternoon and then again at 8:00 in the evening. We ordered un porción de pollo y un porción de vació con papas fritas (some beef and chicken with fried potatoes). They cook the food over a big grille--the parilla. The cook, or cocinero, has most everything partially cooked and staying warm. When something is ordered he will move the pieves over to the hot coals. For my beef, he carved a huge--almost a kilo--piece of beef off a massive piece and placed it over the hot coals to heat up. The coals themselves are brought in from a back room by shovel when they need to be replenished. The meat is really almost more smoked than cooked. It has a distinct smokey flavor. I saw a bag of eucaliptus wood in the store next to the parilla supplies, but I don´t know if that is the wood they use.

We went back again tonight and Helen and I split the one order. It is incredible. Almost a kilo of beef with potatoes for $14 pesos--less than five dollars.

I am looking forward to the weekend off from classes. I am not sure what I am going to do. I am sure this city has something interesting to offer.

Television (by Helen)

When I first got here I watched a lot of telelvision. I didn´t watch anything in particular, just spent time vegging and staring at the few english channels. I know I have touched on tv before, so indulge me as I repeat myself. English CNN here is mostly segments called CNN Asia and CNN Africa.

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I had no idea that Nicole Smith died until Ken saw it on an expat e-mail. The bruha about Biden and his comments about Obama being ¨clean and well spoken¨ was barely a blurb in the local english newspaper. And I have to assume that was pretty well covered at home. Of course we hear about Israel and Iraq - all the damn time - but US news is not a priority.

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There is a local Argentina channel that has soap operas and movies. It is pretty interesting to try and mimic the lilt used when speaking the local spanish. And as I said before, you can watch Little House on the Prairie in spanish about 10 times a day. There are basically 5 english channels. (I will save Argentine channels for another blog). One is a lot of old, or cancelled ABC shows, one is WB, with all the old cancelled sci-fi stuff, and then the third one that I can´t describe, has comedys, like the Adventures of Old Christine (plays 3 times a day), old Frasiers (2 times a day), Friends (2 times a day), Seinfeld (maybe the same episode even 3 times a day). There is also VH1 where they play re-runs of Flavo-Flav giving clocks to women if they win his affection, and a movie channel that plays ¨They Came to Talk Movies¨. Some of these movies are pretty good, fairly recent, and unknown in the US even tho they have some big name stars. There is a BBC channel, but it is mostly news (Asia and Africa), no shows like Are You Being Served.
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This past week we decided to watch the new episode of Lost on the internet. We got the lawn chairs from the terrace, put pillows on them, and set them up in front of the computer. We got beverages, and were all content to settle into watching a little Lost. We clicked on play - and guess what!? - unless you are located in North America, you are unable to watch these episodes. Bummer.
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The F word is readily spoken on the tube here, and after 1am there can be some pretty explicit sex. Full frontal nudity of males and females can be viewed by all. Now that´s something to line the lawn chairs up for!

Classes at UBA (Ken)

Classes started back up at University of Buenos Aires--there are my Español para extranjeros classes. I am now in level 2. The class has grown to 17. That is strange because all the literature specifies the classes are capped at 14.

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Five of us moved on from the level one class. The other 12 either switched from the other campus of tested in to level 2. The class is big for an immersion class. It is easy to get lost. It is easy to hide. I went the whole day yesterday without getting called on. If I didn't volunteer a response, I was not called on. There is a certain amount of learning that goes on and attention that gets focussed when you can be put-on-the-spot at any moment. Now, that is missing in this class. There are plenty of students who are excited to be the first to answer everything.

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The two women from my first class, Maria from Sweden, and Barbara from Germany, complained to the coordinator at break time. While they were telling me about that, Ulrike, also from Germany, came up and said, "I just asked them it if was too late to get my money back." They told her they were thinking of splitting the class in two. I guess we´ll see what happens when we show up in the morning.

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Oh, and one funny thing . . . While we were talking about the class, one of the women said,"And I don't like it that there are so many Americans." (There are four USAmericans in the class of 17. ) Then the other two nodded their heads in agreement, and then remembered I am a USAmerican. "But, we don't mean you, of course," they said.

Bueller´s Brew Pub (Ken)

For those beer drinkers among you who are in Buenos Aires or planning to visit, you may find yourself growing tired of Quilmes and Stella. My friend and fellow blogger, Alan Patrick and I went out to Bueller's Brewing Company in Recoletta to see if we cold find a palatable pint. We ordered a sample of all six micro brews and delved a bit deeper with a few of our favorites. Here is what we found. You can also read Alan's review on his website as well

Bueller´s IPA

We found this little brew to be not particularly aromatic. It had a slightly cloudy appearance, yet translucent with a hint of gold. It had a modest head that held its own throughout the pint. The hoppy-ness was underwhelming, just a hint, and you had to look for it. The flavor had a hint of apricot or banana. The finish was not as clean as we would have liked with a bit of a bitter aftertaste. Not that bitter is bad, but it is definitely there. For an IPA, it does not quite live up to its name.

Cream Stout

This pint behaved like a stout showing definite evidence of nitrogen. It settled very quickly, not nearly as long as one would wait for a Guiness to calm. It had a creamy head with a definite terminator. It was jet black and completely opaque—even at the edges. There was an immediate taste of coffee. Rather like those coffee-flavored chocolates one finds in the selection box. The ones that everyone leaves for last after all of the caramels and fruit creams have long been eaten. The barley was roasted but not to the point of being burnt. It had a coffee start and a chocolate finish.

Light Lager

This lager arrived with an anemic head that dissipated quickly. This lager was clear with a light amber appearance. It was light bodied, but with a definite body. We found it to be slightly complex in a simple way. It had a shandy-like , spritzy quality. There was light, playful carbonation that tickled the tongue. It was a refreshing brew. On a summer’s day, this is the choice. We found it very drinkable. When you drink a Quilmes, it drinks back. This little beer behaves itself and accepts its fate.

Cream Pale Ale

This clear calabasa colored ale arrived with a creamy head that remained throughout clinging to the inside of the glass. It had a malty start that was consistent to the finish. It had a thickness on the tongue, a full-bodied flavor. Yet, like its cousin, the IPA, it is not a particularly interesting beer.

Honey Beer

The head on this pint hold up for you until you are ready to drink. It is a clear standard colored lager with an aroma of citrus. It is sweet with honey comb flavor. Curiously, it had slightly more hop flavor than did the IPA and the Cream Pale Ale. At 8.5% alcohol content, it is the strongest of the beers, yet it hides the alcohol well. This was our favorite of the day deserving a second pint.

Oktoberfest

This is the darkest of the clears at Bueller’s. The head waned a bit while waiting to be drunk. It had a strong yet indefinable aroma that we decided was somewhat akin to cotton candy (or candy floss for our UK readers). The initial sweetness transforms into a malty tartness in the finish. Not a bad beer, yet not it did not make our first tier.

Our recommendations:

If you are headed out for an evening of beer drinking and plan to drink quite a few, stick with Bueller´s Light Lager. For a flavorful paint, take in the Cream Stout. Rounding out our top three is the Honey Beer, yet watch yourself with the 8.5% alcohol in this one.

The Oktoberfest is the lone resident of our second tier. It is worth consideration, but not quite as good as the top three.

Bringing up the rear in Bueller´s lineup of in-house brews are the ales. For anyone who truly enjoys the flavor of ale, you will probably be disappointed.

When you think of American food, think spray cheese (Ken)

When you think of American food, what comes to mine. I mean, what is American food? Hot dogs and hamburgers? No, I think we origionally got those from Germany. Meat and potatoes? Wrong again; the way they do that here puts the USA to shame.



Most great culinary cultures have signature foods that they can call their own. When you think of Italy, Mexico, China, Greece, a whole array of nation-specific dishes come to mine. So what is USAmerican food? Is there such a thing?



According to the United States section at Jumbo, the big grocery store in Buenos Aires, it is peanut butter, maple syrup, A-1 sauce, and cheese in an aerosol can.


For some strange reason, Tabasco sauce is in the USA section while pringles are in the North American section. I still can´t figure that out.

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So for those of you who were wondering what the rest of the world thinks of when they think of American food--they think spray cheese. Oh, and McDonald's--the shame, the shame.

Bike trip to Tigre and San Isidro (Ken)

As I was walking back home from the Ecological Reserve, I ran into the Bike Tour group I had read about in Lonely Planet . There were about a dozen people milling around Plaza San Martin just before 2:00, so I asked about the tours for tomorrow. They said, just show up about 10 minutes before the tours starts. I decided to go in the morning ad got there at about 9:15. Nobody was there.

Just before 9:30, some girls started arriving with bikes and two other tourists gathered. In all there were three guides and three tourists. They asked what a tour I wanted and I told them I wanted to go to Tigre and San Isidro. This involves taking a train about 15 miles north of Buenos Aires. I expected them to say that since the group was small would I mind taking the tour with the other two. But no, “Great,” she said. “You will go with Ana.”

The tour is 4 hours and $90 pesos. We took the bikes and headed to Ritero train station. The train system was built by the British—and you can tell because the trains run on the wrong side of the tracks. Ana gave me my tour in Spanish. She was very kind and repeated for me. When I totally didn’t understand, she’d throw in some English. She encouraged me to ask questions, but I had to think of questions I was able to ask that would elicit answers I was able to understand.

The train ride as just as odd as you would expect. Men selling things would take turns giving their sales pitches. They all went something like this guy selling those little portable book lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention for just a few moments. I have here a very special product. It is a nightlight that, with the press of a button unfolds to reveal this powerful light. You can clip it on a book or a magazine and read. It makes and excellent nightlight and an excellent gift. Now you may expect to pay 15, 18, even 20 pesos for such an item. But no, today it is only 5 pesos. Five pesos, nothing more.”

He then makes his way up-and-down the train car seeing if there are any takes. On that day, I had the opportunity to purchase a measuring tape, a ruler with cartoon characters, a plastic pen and pencil case, a set of colored pencils, a recorder, and was serenaded by a Peruvian pipe-and-stringed instrument musician, and a blind harmonica player.

So we got to Tigre. This is a delta where there is fertile land that was used for growing fruits and vegetables. However, it flooded so much that, when transportation became better, the Argentines gave up and moved elsewhere. It is now a tourist destination. A 45 minute train ride for less than a peso can get you out of the city into trees, and water, and quiet. The old Fruit Port is a tourist market. There are boat tours and boat rentals and houses up on stilts to protect against the floods.

We got back on the train, my beautiful tour guide and I, and went to San Isidro. This is where the wealthy live. They have large houses up on the hill with a panoramic view of El Rio De La Plate. Next, Ana took me to a place where I could see the City Of Buenos Aires off in the distance. Up close, the river, full of silt from its journey through the delta, looks like the color of Café con Leche. But, when you see the full expanse of the surface of the water, it is silver. The sun catches the shiny edges of the silt and reflects off.

We got back on the train, heard a few more sales pitches. I got a glimpse of the Misery Villages just across the railroad tracks form the Palermo Race track. It looks like Haiti, very sad.

I got home in once piece and, after four hours, I was Spanished-out!. School starts again Monday, so my weekdays will once again be filled with classes, homework, and studying. At least I got some sightseeing done and got out of the city during my off week.

What to wear, what to wear . .(Ken & Helen) (JOS, we were not quite thru with this blog, re-read)

Ken says:
After my "Jeans and Sneakers" fiasco, two of my blog readers (both women) have asked what women wear in Buenos Aires. It seems that women--over 25--do not wear sneakers, tennis shoes, running shoes or the like unless they are exercising. What they mostly wear are sandles an open toed-shoes.

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Skirts are very popular, especially those loose cotton skirts that go mid calf. You can´t really go wrong with a pair of kakhi slacks. You don´t see many women wearing shorts; if they do, they are rather long--just above the knee. You will occasionally see jeans, but they are tight, often rolled up to capri length. Also the capris are longer that in the USA going 3/4, or mid calf. If they do wear jeans, they are often rolled up to capri length and worn with a decorative belt.

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Many women wear tops that are bare-shouldered. Curiously, brown is a popular color. The combination of black and white is also a safe choice. Argentinas are not overly fond of loud colors or prints. They also avoid excessive jewelry.

Hope that answers your questions.

Helen says:
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Usually when Ken and I travel, he packs the BIG suitcase and I bring the tiny suitcase. I always prefer to travel very light, with the opinion that there is a Walmart in every city in the US. If I forgot something, or need something, then I can easily replace it. I would not suggest packing for BA with that attitude. First of all, there is really no one-stop shopping here. Shopping requires a little more time, and it is more of an art. You can get good at it, but it takes time. Also, clothes here are more expensive than I thought. It isn´t that you can´t get expensive stuff a little cheaper, its that you can´t get stuff cheap. You know how Penneys just gives things away a few times a year? I haven´t seen that here. So, pack what you will need. Women here dress a little better. You know how you can go the mall and just people watch? And you just CANNOT believe that people leave their houses that way? You won´t see that here. I can honestly say that I have not seen a slob once (except for the homeless). No sloppy sweat suits, etc. Clothing is tidy, not loud, and feminine. Very few shorts or sneakers. Capris are good, and lightweight slacks. Flip flops are good - all kinds (get a pedicure). Bring a good pair of leather shoes to walk in, like Easy Spirit, and you will blend in fine. Even the old ladies with saggy skin wear tank tops and spaghetti straps. Lots of dresses, skirts, pretty things that flow, yet not overly dressy. I see very little jewelry, unless it is obviously costume. I think that is for security reasons, so just leave it home. All-in-all the people here look good. As an aside, I was told before I came here how obsessed the women are with being very, very skinny - flaca. I haven´t really seen that to be true. The difference is, I almost never see an overweight person. In general, people just seem to be a healthy weight. Oh, for people who want to stay here for a while, bring your best underware, because you will be having strangers do your laundry at the lavodora.

Lost Horizons and Neon Signs (Ken)

This is my week off from school. My new class at Universidad de Buenos Aires begins Monday, so I have been trying to cram a lot in this week.

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Today, I my goal was to see the horizon. I have been here just over 40 days and have not seen the point where the sky meets the earth since my plane landed. All I see are buildings. I have a new appreciation for the phrase "Concrete Jungle."

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So I set out today to see el Río De La Palata y la Reserva Ecológica Cotenare Sur--the Ecological Reserve. During the military dictatorship of 1976-83, plans were made for a new city along the river. Sediments dregged from the river were deposited as landfill for this new city. As usually happens here in Argentina, the money "disappeared" and the city was never built. However, native trees and grasses took hold. The area has now become a nature preserve.

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I walked from my barrio of Recoleta to Puerto Madero (you may want to take a look on Google Earth). It was a pretty hot day today. You can imagine my surprise to see this guy in my path. You don't often see these guys wandering across the trails in the Catoctin State Park abck home.

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He stared back at me for a while, and it was only when I knelt down to get his picture that he strolled back into the treeline.


As I said, it was hot today and I knew I was going to do some serious walking, so, for the first time, I wore the combination of jeans and sneakers.

I have worn blue jeans with my brown loafers, and I have worn my Nikes to run, but I had not worn the combination. I felt like I was wearing a neon sign. I have not been approached by so many people asking of money since I got here. I look around at what the men are wearing, and I dress like they dress. I even bought clothes here to blend. But today, I dressed like a USAmerican and I looked like one.


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Lesson learned. Tomorrow, it is back to dressing like a Porteño. Maybe it's just that I was self conscious about my appearance and that gave off that "I am not from here" vibe. I don't know--perception is reality. Tomorrow, I am back to altering my reality.

American nostalgia with subtitles (Ken)

If you have seen Robert ltman´s movie, you´ll recall Dusty and Lefty on stage at the "Prairie Home Companion" radio show doing the song about Bad Jokes. Dusty says something like, "There was a man in the front row at the burlesque show and the stripper says to him, 'Do you want super sex?' and the man says, 'I'll take the soup.'"

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Now imagine trying to translate that into Spanish and make it funny. It's not.

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Tonight we went to the movies at Cine Recoleta, a megaplex in an upscale mall a few blocks from our apartment. For our first attempt at going to the movies, we wanted to pick an American film with Spanish subtitles so that at least something would be familiar.

Wednesdays are bargain nights and the tickets are 11 pesos, five pesos off the usual adult admission. There was a long cattle chute that snaked its way to the ticket counter where a flashing number directed you to the next available teller--like the Motor Vehicles Adminstration only not as long of a wait.

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Helen asked for "Dos billetas por "Noches Magica"' (the Spanish title of "Prairie Home Companion"). There is aways a twist; nothing is ever as you rehearse. "¿Qué precentación?" the girl asks. The movie starts in 5 minutes and the girls wants to know which showing we want. Helen was not flustered, "Ahora," she replies. Then the girl wanted to know where we want to sit. That was too much. Who could possibly anticipate and rehearse the Spanish exchange of having to express a seating preference for a movie. Helen did great though. The girl brought out a seaing chart and Helen pointed--the old universal-index-finger-comunication-option. It was odd to have reserved seating on a Wednesday night in a mall cineplex.

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This is an odd movie to see in a foreign country. I mean, "Prairie Home Companion" is a bit eclectic even if you are an avid NPR listener. The quirkiness is headshakingly odd even for the initiated. Now imagine enountering it with subtitles. We know enough Spanish to know that what was written was not aways even close to what was said. All the puns were just substituted with some innocuous, unrelated text.

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Next time, maybe we'll work up to an Argentine film. The novelty alone will make it interesting at least once.

Sala de Slots a Hipódromo de Palermo (Ken)

This beautiful building is the entrance to El Hipódromo de Palermo. Behind it is a huge horseracing track. Under it is a cavernous complex of modern, well lit room containing thousands of slot machines.

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Helen and I ventured out last night to see how this "racino" differed from our usual haunt back home, Charlestown Races and Slots." You´ll have to settle for this outside picture because here, like so many plaes I have encountered in Buenos Aires, does not allow photographs. This is the most camera shy place I have ever been. I actaully had a street magiciam--working for tips--tell me I could not video him the other day. I mean, what was I going to do? Use my video to expose him as a fraud to the world? No modedas for him.

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We wandered around and couldn´t tell if the machines took bills, or coins, or vouchers. I took a $100 peso note and went up to the cash window. "Me puede decir cómo jugar." He broke my hundred into smaller bills and told me just to feed them into the machine and start pressing buttons. The machine will print out a voucher of my winnings and I bring that back to him when I am done and he converts it to cash. If you are done playing a certain machine and still have money in it, you can have the machine print out a voucher and use that vouchers to put your winnings in another machine.

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At this point, you probably want to know how we did. For those of you who know me, you understand that I enjoy a wager now and again. I am also aware that the object of playing a slot machine is to play--not ot win. Anyone who believes otherwise is destined for disappointment. So you can believe our amazement when we actually came home with a modest profit.

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OK, I did manage to go back and take a clandestine photo:

The Superbowl in Argentina (Ken)

Like my old friend Dave Horch always used to say, "you never get your picture." He meant that what you imagine in your head is never what plays out before your eyes.
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The idea of watching the Superbowl in a bar in Buenos Aires intrigued me since the moment I realized I´d be in Argentina for the big game. I made my plans early to head to my favorite expat hangout--Shoeless Joe´s--for the festivities.
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There was a $30 cover that included two drinks (for those of you who still have not adjusted to the exchange rate, that´s ten bucks).
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Every USAmerican in Buenos Aires was either here or at the Hard Rock cafe. And is was a scene quite like any American bar on Superbowl Sunday. There were the buy-a-square grids where you can win money at the end of the quarter, there were drunken football fans, there was cheering and fight song singing.
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But there were the things that were missing.
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The play-by-play was in Spanish. The titles and graphics were in Spanish "3rd and 10" was "3º y 10 yardas" and . . .
NO COMMERCIALS. The entire cultural experience of the superbowl commercial was missing. That is easily 50% of the event.
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We watched the game over the Internet of wide screen flatpanel computer displays.
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It was an experience. One that I never imagined having, but once imagined, this was not exactly as I expected. Dave is right, you never get your picture.
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I miss the commercials.

I miss my language (by Helen)

I have had this realization how much I miss hearing, speaking and seeing my language. And not for all the obvious reasons, but for more of a deep longing to be myself. One of the main reasons we wanted to come here was to totally immerse ourselves in another language, and intellectually we knew it would be hard. It is like before your first child is born and you intellectually know that your life will change, but you don´t really know. Not being around my language is a profound change. We didn´t really know what that would mean. I express who I am through how I communicate with others. It has amazed me how much communication can take place between people with barely speaking a word, and while it is often warm and welcoming, it is mostly utilitarian, it is not the poetic dance that conversations can be. Ideas cannot be shared, debates cannot be had, intimate humor is not possible. Daily familiarity is lacking in all our surroundings. Every sign, every product in the grocery store, every item on the menu is a mystery. Even the computer knows where we are, and speaks to us in spanish. You know how sometimes you want to accomplish something on the computer and so you just weave and bob your way through drop down windows? Well, that is nearly impossible in a foreign language. Interestingly though, I hear a lot of music in english. Credence Clearwater on the bus, classic rock in the café, & Celine Dion in the supermercado. Also, there are some english TV channels, but mostly they show old shows, and shows that were cancelled in the US. CNN has an english broadcast, but it is very different than the CNN at home. We are lucky to have met some people who speak english, and we can have a relaxed dinner out and easily converse; I truly enjoy those hours. Living experiences like this helps me understand others. I have heard immigrants say how much they miss the beauty of their language, and now I understand what they mean.

Avenida Florida (Ken)

It is another hot day in the world´s 8th largest city. The second day in a row that the mercury has boldly invaded the upper reaches of the thermometer. And I wandered into the thick of it to exerience the city´s pedestrian shopping mall in the heart of El Centro. Epicenter for this pedestrian-only shopping area is the intersection of Calle Lavalle and Calle Florida. These street,

now lined with pavers, are foridden to vehicles and are storefront-to-storefront with weekend shoppers.

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THIS is where tourists will find those Argentina Tango refrigerator magnets and Porteños will find their Boca and River team jersies.

The aggressive sales staff from the casas de cuero accost every fannypack-strapped, ballcap-lidded, New Balance-with-socks- wearing middle aged man who happens by to purchase his very own custom-made leather jacket.

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Hawkers from the casas de cambio (exchange houses) also see this as fertile feeding grounds for uninformed USAmericans with dollars that need to be changed into pesos (for a higher-than-average fee). I walk past them to the ATM and withdraw pesos directly from my USA account with no fee at all.

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The problem I have with buying things here is that there is no self serve. To buy anything, you have to get a salesperson to get it for you. Once you engage the sales staff, you have an unspoken committment to complete the sale. As a result, I don´t buy much. If I could hold things in my hand--walk around with them a bit, get used to the idea of owning them--I would probably buy more things. But, most of the time, I just don´t feel like getting involved speaking the Spanish, asking the price, blah, blah, blah. These Porteños don´t understand USAmerican buying habits and the WalMart concept.

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I did get my shoes shined, though. Nice job. Five pesos.

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There are lots of people begging here. Tired and sad looking mothers with dirty-faced babies in their arms asking for modedas, then there are limbless and physically challenged people with signs explaining their plight, and others who seem well and able, but ask for change none-the-less. Sometimes, the little kids set up shop with mini accordians and howl away in mimiced tango-like song.

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And it IS hot. It is after 4:00 and still at 97F. With no air conditioning, there is only so much these ceiling fans can do. We have been told that the hottest of the summer is over by mid February. We can only hope that is true.

Finally, some home cookin´ (Ken)

For those of you who have been keeping up, you know we have had food issues. The restaurants here are very good--even if we don´t always know what we are ordering and what arrives is often a surprize. But sometimes, we just want to stay home and cook something familiar.

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However, so much is different here: the cuts of meat are called different things and sometimes look strange, the vegetables are inconsistent, they are not much on spices here.

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We have been told, and rightly so, that the best vegetables are not in the grocery store, but at the fruit and vegetable stands. OK, but the best chesse is at the Quesoria and the best deli meats are at the Fiambria, and the best bread is at the Panaria, and on, and on . . .

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Shopping for food becomes a part-time job. But last night, Helen had a brainstorm. Looking at the available foodstuffs within the confines of the Disco, she suggested pot roast.

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It was great, it tasted like home. It was a little piece of the best part of the USA created right here in our little kitchen in Recoleta.

Dog Day Argentina: Pasedores de Perros or The Dog Walkers(Ken)

The concept of dog walking as a profession is relatively new to Buenos Aires. In fact, many Porteños take credit for inventing the concept.

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Here is how it works. An enterprising young Porteña or Porteño agrees to walk your dog for $100 pesos a month. That means Monday through Friday, no weekends and no holidays. If you look at the calendar here, there is a holiday about every ten days.

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Many do not walk your dog if it rains. These are salaried jobs.

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For this $100 pesos (about US$33) your dog is picked up at your departemento in the morning for a five-hour-day of fun with his perro amigos. As they are being colleceted, they yap in anticipation of the arrival of the new compañero--or at the annoyance of having a good walk spoiled by waiting--I prefer to believe the former.

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Tied up to a tree outside an edificio, the pant and bark and all look expectantly at the door waiting for the next arrival. When he joins the pack there is the requisite play fighting and growling and smaking each other around youd expect when a bunch of youngsters get together.

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Harnessed up, the pack proceeds to the next pickup. There are remakably well behaved dogs. They have little interest in human passers-by and only occasional interaction with one another as they stroll through the city street on their way to the park. Occasionally, an ill-behaved K9 will be muzzled. Then, of course, there are the ubiquitous piles of dog crap that are left on sidewalks as fetid landmines for inattentive Porteños. On almost every block, you will see a skid as evidence of an unlucky pedestrian´s encounter with these putrid piles. One month in country and I have avoided such a fate--I probably have now jinxed myself.

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Puppy playtime takes place in one of the many parks in Buenos Aires. In some areas they are permitted to run free and play and wrestle at will. Other pasadores perezosos simply tie the perros pobre to a fence and nap in the park drinking mate until it´s time to go home.

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Let´s do the math. Most make $100 per perro per month. The good-size pack is about 10 perros. That is $1000 pesos a month--I asume it is tax free. Some even do two shifts. No worries about employer-provided health care here because health care is good and free--that´s right USA. It is FREE.

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That is just a bit less than a police office takes home and more than the $800 a month salary a university-educated teacher makes.

Argentina is going to the dogs--or the dog walkers.