Postales de Argentina

Greetings Readers

2011-06-26T17:18:00.004-03:00

This is a blog my wife and I kept while we were in Argentina from December 2006 until June of 2007. You are invited to read about our experiences, observations, and impressions. We have great affection for Argentina and the friends we made there and we think of it and our friends often.

You are also invited to follow our current trip to Iceland, England, and Northern Ireland during the Summer of 2011.

You can find that blog here.
http://ken-kerr.blogspot.com/

Greetings Vistors

2011-06-22T11:20:00.000-03:00

This blog is a chronicle of my 2007 Argentina trip with my wife. We stayed just over 5 months in Buenos Aires. It is the story of our experiences, the friends we made, the things we saw, and what we learned--about Argentina and ourselves.
You are welcome to read and comment. But we also invite you to follow our new journey to Northern Ireland in the Summer of 2011: The Belfast Dispatch.
Thanks for visiting
Ken and Helen

Friends, Porteños, Countrymen

2007-12-06T18:09:00.002-03:00

I come not to praise this blog, but to bury it.

I started this blog a year ago in preparation for my sabbatical in Buenos Aires. I posted almost every day during my time in Argentina. But I have now been back home longer than I was there.

So, let’s put this one to bed.

I have begun a new blog about what is going on here in Frederick, Maryland. It is not nearly as interesting as Buenos Aires, but I thought some of my friends and readers may occasionally want to check in and see how things are going with Helen and Me and the family.
Thanks for reading. It was fun while it lasted.

Felices Fiesta a todo
Ken and Helen

http://concurances.blogspot.com/

Hay Progreso

2007-11-09T18:59:00.000-03:00

Since I last posted, there has been great progress on the parrilla. First, I had to build the soot shelf and adhere the fire bricks to the cooking chamber

I braced the row of fire bricks ar a 30 degree angle. I then wegded brick ties into the mortar between the bricks and tied those to pieces of rebar that extend behind the side rows of fire brick. I filled all that in with concrete. After the concrete dried, I completed the shelf with mortar and made a concave shelf. Luckily, when I removed the bracing, everything stayed in place.

I cut a length of angle iron to go across the front where there are no blocks. This will support the structure above.

My friend, Mark, and I built a wood frame for a vault. There is a smaller frame inside. The inside frame is 4 inches smaller to allow for concrete and reinforcing wire. My neighbor, Andy, came over to held with the concrete casting and bracing of the frame.
It took ten 80 pound bags of concrete to fill the frame.
I removed the frame today and it looks pretty good. I will eventually face the entire parrilla with stone from my property.
Here is a section where I have attached part of the stome facing ( and the gargoyle sconse to hold my beer).

And a detail of the exterior stonework.

I will still have to put two more course of block on the top to get a good draft. I also need to get the metal parts fabricated: the cooking surface, bar, chain and so forth.

The Birth of a Parrilla

2007-10-16T19:52:00.000-03:00

While I was still in Argentina, my friend , Charley, sent me some photos of my yard. I decided on this spot for the parrilla.

I dug a footer 22 inches deep to be below the frost line and so the poplar tree roots would not get under the base.

It took two yards of concrete to make the footer. My friend Mark joined the effort at this point.

Once the footer dried, we started laying block.

I could only do two courses at a time. It is autumn here now, and the sun goes down pretty early.

We then made a frame to pur a slab.

Mark tied the rebar to the wire mesh before we mixed the concrete. It took 16, 60 pund bags of concrete to complete the slab.

We made sure it was level.

Once the slab dried and we removed the frame, we started laying block again. My friend Richard joined the effort.

Last weekend, we had friends from Cordoba visit. I needed to get the parrilla functional so we could have an asado last Sunday. It is not finished but it is functional.

I'll have to disassemble the fire brick and finish the chimney. We will start on that next week.

But for now, we all had a good time, and I cooked my first asado.

Reflections (Helen)

2007-08-11T15:23:00.000-03:00

We have been home now for 2.5 months and I think I finally have some perspective on our time in Argentina. I think about BA in a sort of mental split screen. One side has a long list of positives - people, places, and things that I miss and would like to import here to the US. The other side is a sort of PTSD based entirely on my (and Ken's) inability to communicate for such an extended period of time. I felt like Blanche Dubois always "dependant on the kindness of strangers" to get through the day. And honestly, the Portenos were incredibly helpful and kind. But as more time went by, the helplessness and dependancy didn't resolve, it only became that much more of a burden. So, the negative side of the list is short but profound. I will use my experience in BA, here in the US, with our many immigrants. While I always had sympathy for their plight, I now have empathy as well.

As for the good stuff.....

I miss the relaxed, "easy" life style in BA. I know how crazy that could sound, because, honestly if there is a harder way to do something the Portenos will find it. I was always amazed at how people took 10 steps to do something that could be done in 2. Just going to the Post Office could take 3 hours. So, I can't really put my finger on it - life is just less complicated, easier somehow. Life in the US is more frenetic. We do everything as quickly and efficiently as possible. We take 2 weeks of vacation a year and fly through our destination on a mission to do as much as possible in as short a time as possible. The only things we don't do faster in the US are talk and drive.

I miss the restaurant life in BA. The cafes. Eating in a restaurant here can make me a nervous wreck now. There is even a commercial for a restaurant that is comparing their relaxed atmosphere to the average restaurant by showing the waitress asking the patron (muy rapido) - "do you want dessert? Ok, I"ll have it ready for you in the car." My first week back I went out to lunch with a friend and I swear that waitress asked us every 3-4 minutes if she could get us something. I had almost a full plate of food in front of me and she asked me if I was ready for dessert. I said, "I'm not even half finished with my lunch" and she very politely asked me if I wanted a box! I just smiled and said no, but on the inside I was saying "NO, I DO NOT WANT A BOX! STOP STALKING ME. GET THE F--- AWAY FROM ME". Of course, the upside to all this is that Ken and I are rediscovering privately owned restaurants and staying away from the corporate chains.

I miss the upside of how the Argentine gov't still doesn't regulate your every move. Por exemplo, the farmacia. I liked not needing a prescription for everything. On the otherhand, the selection of drugs in BA was poor.

I miss public transportation - even during rush hour when I just simply could not believe that the bus driver was going to stop and let one more person on that bus. I do not however, miss the noise and pollution of the bus.

Before Argentina I was angry at my gov't. I was angry at all the things we don't do better. Now, even tho I am still angry at the Bush Administration, I am also proud of how resiliently we will return to a better administration. I do not have to bribe policemen to keep my car from being impounded. I am not afraid my economy will collapse. I am not afraid of a military takeover (altho I think Bush was trying for that).

I miss the ex-pat personality. They are sterotypically an adventurous, open, friendly, confident, wanderlust, interesting group that were available in group-form at a moments notice.

I miss the flow of BA. The streets would fill up and then empty out everyday at the same time. It would draw me out of the apartment and into the flow of their well-oiled community-think machine.

I could continue to list the many things I miss, and then their flip side that I do not miss, but that is because with all good comes a little bad, and with all bad comes a little good.

People always ask me "Was Argentina fun?" No. It was hard. It was interesting. It changed me. I miss it. I don't miss it. I have enormous gratitude towards those people who made my visit good. I will always feel a certain melancholy when thinking of my time there. I had fun moments. I could go on.......

Helen's High School Reunion

2007-08-06T10:37:00.001-03:00

Last Saturday, we went to Helen’s 35th high school reunion in Silver Spring, Maryland. Helen was unquestionably the most beautiful woman in the room and arguably the life of the party.

She worked the room like a politician: telling everyone who wonderful they looked and how she has such fond memories of them from school. She was a star and the room was in orbit around her.

There was a really good Top-40 band fronted by a member of Helen’s class. Once the dancing started, Helen was getting groups together, making the wall flowers get up, even leading everyone in a conga line that circled the dance floor.

Every man in the room searched for an opportunity to talk to her.

I kept her drink filled, and checked in on her frequently. There was a caricature artist in the lobby. This was not my school, and no one knew me, so I told the artist that I was a computer programmer who has the hobbies of martial arts—especially the nunchucks-- and bow hunting.

I wanted a Napoleon Dynamite picture with my skills: “computer hacking skills, nunchuck skills, and bow hunting skills.” I thought 50 dead wolverines would be too much for him to draw.

The swinging nun chucks kind of look

like a wheelchair, and the bow hunting became archery, but I was laughing to myself the entore time he was drawing because it was so rediculous and he so totally believed me.

What I have been up to . . .

2007-08-01T19:38:00.000-03:00

Well, it’s August already. Sabbatical is officially over as of today. I had a meeting at the college and actually put on a tie. I have not been writing too much because—it’s not the same here. Nothing is really new and novel and exciting. Anyway, here is an update about what I have been up to.

I went to visit my mother in California. She lives in the Bay Area in a community for 50+ called Rossmore. She moved to California in 1992 after the last of the original neighbors left the street where she lived, and I grew up, in Baltimore.

Both of my sisters were already living near San Francisco, so it seemed like a good place for her to go. She is 83 now and does not drive anymore. My sisters check in on her and take her shopping and to the doctors. Twice a year I go out to give them a break.

When I arrived at the Oakland airport, my niece, Lauren, and her brother, Michael, were dispatched to get me. As we made our way to the Caldecot Tunnel, Lauren’s car overheated. My already-long journey was about to get longer. We had to wait for my sister, Karolyn, to rescue us in rush hour traffic.

I stayed with my other sister, Kathy. Her son, John, visited us while we were in Buenos Aires. Kathy was supposed to come and we were going to celebrate our birthdays together. She got cancer and has been undergoing treatment. While I was there, she went out without the head scarf for the first time. We thought it was amusing that we now have the same haircut.

Traveling between my sister’s house in Orinda to my mother’s in Rossmore, I pass Lafayette. For the past years or so, some people have been placing crosses on a hillside for each American soldier who has died in Iraq. While I visited, it was up to 3592; it’s higher now.

There was a bit of excitement one day at my mother’s. A power transformer blew and sparks ignited the hillside behind her condo. We watched the fire copter scoop water from the pond on the golf course and drop it on the fire. That was fun.

Another fun time was Friday the 13th. It was pretty strange that 777 and Friday the 13th occurred in the same week. Anyway, my brother-in-law, Dan, is a VIP in an accounting firm in the City. They were having their annual company meeting and family night and Dan got me a ticket. After their meeting, my sister and I met him at a really great cocktail party in the terrace of a hotel across from the ferry building. After getting all liquored-up there, I stumbled to the stadium to watch the Giants and the Dodgers. It was funny to think that two New York teams are now California teams and playing in San Francisco.

Barry Bonds went hitless that night, but that did not stop a thousand camera flashes with each pitch. In the seat in front of us was Meredith—a three-year-old who kept sticking her hand in Dan’s soda for ice and “allowing” us to shell peanuts for her.

Before my week was up, Lauren’s car was determined to be unfixable. Her dad went out and bought her a new Nissan as a wedding present. She gets married September 1st. (Dan has some scratch.)

So, I am back home now and have broken ground on my parrilla. I’ll keep you apprised on the progress.

Week Three (Ken)

2007-06-24T10:44:00.000-03:00

A few days after we returned, my friend, Alison, called to see if I was availabel to play a show at Theater on the Hill in Westminster, Maryland--"Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat." I gratefully accepted.

One of the things I really missed about being in Buenos Aires was that I didn't get a chance to play any music--I tried, there just was no opportunity. So this was great. Here I am in the orchestra pit at McDaniel College (glamorous huh?).

I was cleaning up the yard and had a little campfire.

Here is the site I am preparing to build my parrilla.

I am still feeling a bit out of sorts about being home--it's like I am neither here nor there. I am glad to be home, but someting is not quite right.

News from our backyard (Ken)

2007-06-13T15:14:00.000-03:00

We have been home for two weeks now. There is still a lot of work to do to get the house and yard (and Cars) back in shape.

The cherry tree out front gave us more than enough cherries for Helen adn Leah to make their annual grandmother/granddaughter cherry pie.

Both cars have been int he shop this week. Helen';s for a oil problem and mine for brakes. It makes me miss the colectivos and subways.

The strawberry patch we put in last year has begun producing. And the blueberries will begin to ripen in about two more weeks. We always have enough in time to bring a blueberry pie to our friend's house for a 4th of July party.

I rented a tiller and got the vegetable garden back in shape. We are little late, but I think we can still get some tomatoes and zuccini by Labor Day. The good part is that the little plants are on sale, so I got two-for-one.

There has been some interesting wild life in the backyard. I spotted tis red shouldered hawk sitting on a sheperd's hook taking a look at my fish pond. I looked him up in the bird book and fish are not part of his diet, so I won't worry about him too much.

I was happy to see the Northern Bluebirds in the yard. They have been in deline in recent years. Many people (including me) put up bluebird boxes and they seem to be recovering.

First week back (Ken)

2007-06-01T10:15:00.001-03:00

We arrived in the USA one week ago today. It has been a much easier transition back than I thought it would be. There is a lot a spring cleaning to do around the house since we were not here for the spring to do it. I still have to file my taxes—but that is another story.

I have been driving again for the first time in over 5 months. I noticed that it was not an adjustment at all. I am, however, surprised at hoe I immediately got aggravated at the other drivers. When I was in BA and taking colectivos everywhere, I never got aggravated at the other drivers. If we sat in traffic, I assumed that there was a good reason. I gave all the responsibility for getting from A to B to the colectivo driver. But here, in my own little pick-up truck, I get impatient if someone takes too long to make a turn or drives too slowly in the left lane.

I see restaurants are differently now. Since we had no food in the house when we got home, and because both of our daughters work in restaurants, we have been to several restaurants in the fist week. What I like about Buenos Aires restaurants is that the mozos are available but not ever-present. I met a friend for lunch Friday and we were greeted by a hostess who lead us to our table—rather than seating ourselves wherever we wished. The waitress took our drink orders and gave us menus. She was back in two minutes, “Have you decided?” she asked. “Decided!” I replied; I haven’t even considered.”

After ordering and the food arriving, she was back every five minutes inquiring if we needed anything else. She brought the check without being asked. At a breakfast restaurant the other day, the waiter was so overly familiar, that I thought he was auditioning to be a part of the family. I miss the Argentine “I am over here if you want me” style of service.

I have been to work a few times, and I already feel like people have a list of projects with me included. I really don’t have to be back at work until the end of August, but I am already feeling that pull to get back there and involved.

Tomorrow, Helen and I start Spanish classes again. We will go two days a week for four hours a day. We are afraid that if we don’t keep studying—we’ll lose all that we learned. It will be interesting to see the difference in teaching Spanish here from UBA.

We went to a neighborhood party Saturday. Everyone was asking, “Did you have a great time?” Well, it’s not like we can answer that question in 10 seconds over the steamed shrimp platter. Helen came up with the perfect answer: “It was like any other five-month period of your life. There were good days and bad days. Some time it was fascinating, sometimes frustrating. We didn’t go there to be on vacation; we went there to live.”

While it is good to be home, there are things and people I miss about Buenos Aires: morning coffee at Balcarce, an afternoon beer at El Alamo, long walks through the city. It is so quiet here at my house. I welcome the rest and ease, (and the streets are really clean here) but I think I will soon miss some of the excitement.

Leah (Ken)

2007-06-01T09:53:00.000-03:00

It was Field Day at our granddaughter, Leah's, elementary school yesterday. Our daughter, Kristin, Leah's mom, was starting a new job, so Leah stayed the previous night with us. I took her to school that morning.

Helen and I went back to the school and sat with Leah during lunch. I stayed and volunteered to help run the Field Day for the kids.

It was really hot here yesterday--today as well--with temperatures well into the 90s and high humidity. The kids were all well behaved and had a good time. The litle girl next to Leah, in the second picture is Alexandra. Surprisingly, her parents are from Argentina.

One thing I liked about Argentine schools was the "uniform." I thought it was brilliant that all the kids wore lab jakets. They could wear whatever they wanted under them--but they had to wear the lab jacket.

(We are always having discussion here in the USA about school uniforms. As far as I am concerned, Argentina has that one already figured out.)

In another three weeks, Leah goes to spend the summer in Oregon with her father, and we won't see her again until the end of August. So we are spending as much time with her as we can. She'll spend this weekend with us.

She is almost seven now and growing up very fast. But, at least for now, she is very sweet and likes spending time with us. So, we'll take advantage of these days.

Greetings from North America

2007-05-30T22:07:00.000-03:00

We arrived home wthout any problems. The plane was on time and we moved quickly throught Customs and Immigration. Our friend, Charlie, was waiting for us outside the international terminal to drive us home the 50 miles from Dulles International Airport to our home in Maryland. It is almost summer here. It was over 90 degrees today. Our house, yes, there is a house there in all those trees, was in good shape, but there was a lot of late-spring cleaning to do.Yesderday, I stopped by work and checked in on my office. It was pretty clean, just like I left it. Everyone at work was happy to see me. The neighbor were happy to have us back too. That's kind of nice: the people in Argentina were sorry to see us go ( and we were sorry to say goodbye) and the people in the USA are happy to have us home (and we are happy to be here). It all worked out.
Our 13-year-old dog, Jack, looks pretty good. He has been staying with our younger daughter, Katherine. He's kind of slow though. He barked at us when we got here, then he went away for a few minutes. He then came back waggin his tail and licking our hands. It seemed to take the old guy a minute to remember who we were.
We got busy right away cleaning up the house and the yard. Helen put quite some time into gettin teh back porch cleaned up--lots of pollen and spider webs. Our Granddaughter, Leah, was at our house when we arrived home. She slept there the previous night so she could be there when we got home. She left notes all over the house telling us that she loves us and welcoming us home. She spent the day helping me cleanup the yard and start the fire for the Memorial Day cookout.My fish seem to have survived the winter pretty well. It was nice to come home to see them swimming around rather than floating.
I prepared the Memorial Day cookout in a quasi-Argentine-asado style. By the end of the summer, I'll have a proper parrilla constructed. I'll keep you all apprised of the progress.

My girls and Charlie came over Monday night and we sat around the fire until well after dark. But it was work and school for everyone the next day. Helen went to Leah's school and had lunch with her today. I continued working around the house. The suitcases are all unpacked and everything put away. the house is slowly coming into order.

It was good to sleep in our own bed and wake up in our own house. It is so quiet here. I sat and listened to the birds our first morning home. I think my neighbors were a bit surprised when I reflexively kissed them on the cheek to say hello. I wonder who long I'll keep doing that.It is a bit surreal--Argentina and all my friends there seem so far away. We miss you and think and speak of you constantly.

I won't be posting daily anymore, but I'll let you all know how we are doing settling back into life in the USA.

Final Postcard from the Bottom of the World (Ken)

2007-05-26T12:45:00.001-03:00

I am writing this from a Locutorio on Avenida Las Herras. We returned home about midnight last night to find the laptop had crashed. (Perhaps as a result of all the attacks from the ongoing international blog wars?)

So this will be my last post from Buenos Aires.

Let me begin by saying: I got nothing-but-love for Argentina.

This trip has been fascinating, frustrating, educational, humbling, bewildering, inspirational . . .in short: everything I had hoped it would be--and more.

How much can a person really know about a country after only five months--and most of that spent in its largest city? Honestly, I´m not sure. But I am sure he can know more than if he had stayed home on his sofa watching Fox News. Over then next weeks and months, after some time and perspective, I suspect it will become clearer to me what it is I learned and how this experience has changed me.

This little blog started out after I began reading other blogs in my preparations for coming to Argentina. I found Alan´s blog and then Deby and Jude and Yanqui Mike and "Bloggers in Agentina." It occurred to me that this might be a good way to keep in touch back home. With postcards and letters costing four pesos and taking almost three weeks, this seemed a good choice. I saw a "hit counter" on the Salt Shaker blog and installed one on mine. No one was more surprised than I to find that I had more readers inside Argentina than I had back home. That changed things a bit. I didn´t start to write for a different (and inanticipated) audience, but I began to be read by a different audience.

Anyway, some of you have asked that I keep the blog going to document our return and re-entry into the USA and North American culture--part two of the expat experience. I will do that.

But I was not a blogger before I came here, and I doubt I will be a blogger much longer--once I write about my re-entry experiences. There just won´t be anything interesting to write about.

Thanks for reading. To many of you--thanks for your help and friendship. My next post will be from the USA.

**********
Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go.
I wanna be sedated . . .
The Ramones

Sweet Sorrow (Ken)

2007-05-24T23:08:00.000-03:00

The Farewell Tour continues.

Tonight we met friends at Antares in Palermo Viejo for drinks. It is the last time we will see Tom and Maya. They were very helpful our first week here. We met for coffee and they gave us our first few hints at living here. And, of course, Alan was there. This trip would have been very different if we had never found his blog last summer—almost a year ago. Perry and Holly and Kiki . . . all of whom we met first by reading their blogs or BAexpats and then met in person.

We have a tendency to keep our “virtual” and personal lives separate in the day of the Internet. I am exceedingly happy that we were able to have both a virtual and personal relationship with so these friends.

Last night, we went to the home of Ana and Carlos. Ana, from whom we rented our apartment, has been a great friend and a great help to us. We finally met her husband, Carlos. He took me to play a short round of golf and then cooked us a fabulous dinner. Their friend, Sophia, also joined us. It was a very relaxing evening because they can all speak English very well.

Carlos is an amazing man who has lived a fascinating life. I would have liked to have spent more time with him, but I am grateful to have spent even a few hours. From politics to parrillas, and from nationalism to the supernatural, we covered a lot of ground.

It is difficult to say goodbye. But it is even better to take the time to do so.

**********************
One last thing.

My friend Charlie told me that the moon waxes and wanes in the opposite direction in the North and South Hemispheres. I took this picture last night. Those of you in North America—click to enlarge it, see what direction the terminator line is, go outside and compare it to yours.

Here's something you don't see everyday (Ken)

2007-05-22T22:50:00.000-03:00

Quail eggs. This week has been a week of hurry-up-and-do-all-the-little-things-you-said-you-were-going-to-do-before-you-leave. Today, it was quail eggs.

I have seen them in the store and was thinking if I am ever going to have the chance to eat some quail eggs—it is here and now.

As you can see, it is about a 3:1 ratio with a chicken egg, and it is easy to overcook them. Yet, they taste remarkably like chicken eggs. I don’t know what I expected, and I probably would have been surprised either way.

I went for a walk today, just because I won’t have many more chances just to get out and see the city and the people. It is Semana de Mayo—May Week. On the TV today, there were man-in-the-street interviews asking people if they wear patriotic items or display the flag. Most enthusiastically said they do. Friday, May 25, is a national holiday commemorating the May Revolution. Argentine Independence Day is July 9. This begins the patriotic holidays.

On Avenida Santa Fe and Avenida Callao, there were girls with flags at all four corners of the intersection. When the light turned red, they ran out into the mass of idling cars and gave anyone who wanted one a flag—the kind that hooks to the car window. These were all over town. On Callao, there was a trailer with a radio station doing a live remote and they were handing out the flags to pedestrians. I got one. Maybe I’ll put it on my truck to celebrate 9 de Julio when I am back home.

A Change of Plans--Antares this Thursday

2007-05-21T16:30:00.001-03:00

I stopped by El Alamo this afternoon to check and make sure my reservation for tomorrow night was in order only to find a sign that says they are closed until May 29 for repairs. That's all I know right now.

Obviously, that means our Fiesta de Despedida cannot take place as planned tomorrow night. I hope no one shows up tomorrow night.

Alan and Frank have both suggested that we move the Fiesta de Despedida to Antares in Palermo Viejo. The address is Armenia 1447 (between Gorriti and Jose Cabrera).

We will move the day to Thursday, and the time is the same: 7-9 p.m.

Alan and I went there on St. Patrick's Day with Yanqui Mike and 99. You can read Alan's review here.

.Maya and Tom will be back from New York, and we can see them again before we head home.

OK, sorry for the change of venue. I hope everyone gets the message in time. Hope to see you on Thursday at 7:00.

Some Favorite Pictures (Ken)

2007-05-19T11:16:00.000-03:00

This is a really great statue of a gaucho. It stands in the square in Mataderos. I wish I could find a minuature replica to take back to the USA with me. There are many parallels between the American cowboy and the Argentine gaucho. Both have a cool mythology--but I think the gauchos edge out the cowboys in overall coolness.

Dogs are everywhere in Buenos Aires. Unfortunately, many appear to be strays. But what amazes me most is that they are so socilized--completely comfortable around people and other dogs. Many look sick and weak, and it breaks my heart sometimes. Overall, dogs here are well behaved. Often, they are walked on city streets without needing leashes. They pretty much ignore any human who is not their owner. They don't wander into traffic or bother other people. Yes, there is the problem of relieveing themselves on the sidewalk--but that is really the responsibility of the owner--not the dog.

Here is a picture I took of Iglesia Nuestra Señora del Pilar near the Recoleta Cemetary. It is a beautiful colonial chuch that is even more striking at night.

I love passing by these fruit stands. This one is on Zabala in Belgrano. They are so pretty and colorful. The vendors seem to take great pride and care to arrange and stack the colorful fruits a vegatables. Pictures like this actually take themselves.

Finally, Argentina has a really pretty flag. It looks especially beautiful against the clear blue Autumn sky.

Perhaps I like it so much because it holds a striking resemblance to the sun in the Kerr Family crest.

Fiesta de Despedida

2007-05-17T23:00:00.000-03:00

Amigos Mios

Our time in Buenos Aires is rapidly coming to an end. We arrived here in late December and had no idea what we were doing. All of you have helped make this experience remarkable and memorable.

We want to get together with you one last time before we leave.

Come and have a drink with us at Shoeless Joe's El Alamo in Recoleta on Uruguay between Arenales and Santa Fe next Tuesday--May 22--between 7:00 and 9:00 p.m.

Drinks are on us.

Un Beso--Ken and Helen

Strike Four--We're out!

2007-05-17T22:00:00.000-03:00

Helen and I had an appointment in Belgrano this afternoon. We decided to take the subway—our new mode of transportation. In the past, we have used the busses because we are not that close to a subway station and there are any busses a block from our apartment. But, lately, we have been making increased use of the subte.

We allotted ourselves 45 minutes: the 15-minute walk to the subway station at Avenida Santa Fe y Puerryedon, 15 minutes for the ride to Juramento station, and another 15 minutes for the walk to our destination.

The first part went fine until we arrived at the subway access to find it gated and locked. The subway workers are on strike. The sign said:

“Interrupción total: Medidas de fuerza gremio”

In other words: the subway is shut down because of a union work stoppage—a strike.

(This is twice now. First I write about crime and then I am a crime victim. Then I write about strikes and a strike affects my life. OK—I can be bought. What do you want me to write about next? Whatever it is, it is sure to be in the news the next day.)

Resourceful expats that we are, we quickly spotted a #118 collectivo headed the right way and took it as close as it could get us. We then walked the 8 blocks to where we needed to be and got there only 20 minutes late—on time, actually, by some standards.

I have noticed that workers in these essential service industries usually announce their strikes well in advance and usually for non-peak ours. Last week the colectivo (bus) drivers threatened a work stoppage between 10:00 p.m. and 5:00 a.m. but called it off at the last minute.

It is rare, in my limited experience, to encounter such a high-profile strike that was unannounced--especially on the heels of the riot yesterday because a train broke down and interrupted commuter rail service at a critical part of the day.

I can’t wait to see what the TV and newspapers have to say about it in the morning.

Three Strikes—yet nobody’s out (Ken)

2007-05-16T20:02:00.000-03:00

Strike One: Unpaid Professors

I read in the newspapers last week that a study done by the University of Buenos Aires revealed that as many as one-third of their faculty had received no pay in the previous five years of teaching. That means that something like 30,000 of the 130,000 people listed as faculty were not being paid—anything. The study then went on to say that these professors were entitled to at least a $700 a month salary.

I have been told that it is considered a privilege, and honor, and a valuable professional credential to be able to describe one’s self as a member of UBAs faculty. Helen’s dermatologist spoke impressively of the pathologist he instructed her to go to as, “The best in the city—he is on the faculty at the University Medical School.”

In a country where a college education is absolutely free, there is no shortage of college-educated professionals. Therefore, in order to distinguish one’s self from all of the other professionals, teaching at the university—even for free—is a way to improve the resume.

The following day, a group of these unpaid professors demonstrated at Plaza de Mayo for their rightful pay. At first, I thought it was in response to a situation of which they had just become aware. Now, I see it differently.

UBA revealed this information from its own study. They are smart people and had to know what the study was going to say. They also had to know what the reaction of the unpaid faculty was going to be. I now think that UBA actually wants to pay these faculty and this is the first move in an attempt to procure additional funding from the government. At first I thought these professors were just happy to have the professional opportunity to teach and only protested after the size of the situation was brought to their attention by UBA. Now, I think it was all a plan by the university to encourage the unpaid professors to demonstrate after they had some data to back them up.

It's funny, kind of. At my college in the USA, we have a hard time finding part-time professors to teach a single class for US$2000 (6,000 pesos). Here professionals are eager to teach for free and only begin to ask for AR$700 (230 dollars) a month, for what amounts to a full-time gig, once the University brings it to their attention. We really do look at a university, and all that implies, very differently in our two countries.

Strike Two: Where’s the Beef?

I also read last week that the head of the organization responsible for sending live cattle to the slaughterhouses was reducing, by half, the number sent to slaughter. He assured the public, however, that there would be sufficient supply and that any shortages would be a result of governmental interference. Last Wednesday, there was a agreement between ranchers and butchers that allows the price of live cattle to rise between 6 and 18%.

At the Coto on French St. where we shop, there has been no beef in the store since Saturday. Today’s paper said that 6,800 cattle entered the Liniers stockyard for slaughter on Monday and 8,000 yesterday, “but retailers have yet to respond by either placing more meat on the shelves or lowering prices, pleading uncertainty.”

(The meat counter before, the sign announcing the problem, and the same meat counter after)

It seems to me that there is a culture here of high-quality, cheap beef, in abundant supply. Argentina may be at a crossroads where this tradition is concerned. I don’t pretend to understand it. I just don’t see how an empty meat counter and an election year can peacefully co-exist for long.

As for us, I guess that last package of taco seasoning we have been saving will have to wait a few more days.

Strike Three: “If that train’s on time, you can get to work by nine.”

I guess Bachman Turner Overdrive never tried to commute to Buenos Aires from the suburbs.

This one is not so much of a strike as it is a riot. Last night, train commuters, angered by technical problems that cancelled the trains they depend on to return home from work, rioted at the Buenos Aires City’s Constitucíon rail station. Over 20 people were injured—10 of them police—and 16 were arrested after over 100 riot police were called in to quell the demonstrators.

Here is the history as it has been explained to me. Argentina once had a great rail system, built and operated by the British. President Juan Peron, wanting to demonstrate Argentina’s ability to run its own rail system, purchased the trains from the British. I am also told he did so at an above-value price. However, Argentina did not have the money or technical expertise to maintain the system and it has slowly fallen into disrepair over the past 50 years. Today, there is only one line that operates with a great degree of reliability.

As I said before, this is an election year. I don’t know of this level of social unrest and demonstration is common during other years or not. There seems to be some level of dissatisfaction with the city government. From those I have talked to, it looks like current Mayor Tellerman will be defeated by mayoral candidate Mauricio Macri —the owner of the successful futbol team: the Boca Juniors. It also appears that there will be a Kirchner in the Casa Rosada for the next four years as well—we just don’t know which one yet. (Photos from La Nacion)

In any case, this is a country that has a longstanding tradition of strikes and demonstrations. There are powerful unions and worker organizations that can really exercise some influence in the lives of everyday people and cause some serious headaches for the elected leaders.

I think they protest a bit too much here. With all of the constant protesting, the really important issues get lost in a "Me Too!" situation. On the other hand, we don't protest enough in the USA. We let really important stuff go with little more than a mention during lunch at work sometimes.

Guest Bloggers--John and Tenaya

2007-05-15T11:44:00.000-03:00

Hello, it's John and Tenaya, Ken's sobrino and his novia, visiting from Seattle. Our trip was a mere 12 days--six nights with Ken and Helen in Buenos Aires, punctuated by two nights in Iguazu Falls (in the north, where Argentina borders Paraguray and Brasil) and three nights in Bariloche (a Swiss Alps aesthetic-obsessed town in the Andes foothills of northern Patagonia).

We've been looking forward to contributing our guest post since we read Charlie's, but now that Ken and Helen have chronicled so much of their ex-pat journey from F.O.B. (or, more precisely, F.O.P.) to Porteño, we've had to think a bit harder about what uniquely to contribute!

Ken and Helen were wonderful hosts, but because they've already have done a great job covering daily life in Buenos Aires, this post will focus on our travel beyond District Federal.
Internal flights. Semi-cama or full-cama, we didn't have time for overnight bus trips, so took domestic flights to go to Iguazu and Bariloche. Friends from Seattle who are spending a year in Cordoba (Argentina) warned us away from Aerolinas Argentinas, which has a reputation for scheduling twice as many flights as it intends to fly.

We opted to fly Lan, a Chilean airline which flies many intra-Argentina routes. Lan proved to be a great airline, with three flights on time and one just 20 minutes late, a far better record than we've experienced flying between Seattle and San Francisco on Alaska and Southwest. The airplanes (brand new!), service, and food were significantly better than on domestic American carriers (see the picture of Tenaya displaying our snack boxes of cheese crackers, lemon cookies, and Havanna brand alfajor). Amusingly, on one flight John bungled drink order in Spanish and "lost" his Spanish privileges--for the rest of the flight the flight attended continued to communicate with Tenaya in Spanish and John in English! Moral: Fly Lan.

Igauzu Falls. Spanning the border between Brasil and Argentina, Iguazu Falls is wider than Niagra Falls and rival Victoria Falls. The falls are an incredible natural wonder, but they are a self-contained international tourist destination and not really an Argentine cultural experience. Iguazu National Park has incredible infrastructure brings visitors to breathtaking viewpoints at the lip of the falls, but it's difficult to do anything else! Incomplete maps and the lack of a central information center frustrated our efforts to see wildlife (including the dog-sized rodent known as a Carpincho and the Toco Toucan), but we eventually managed to figure out a rushed, but nice hike in the sub-tropical forest on the Sendero Macuco.

Bariloche. Argentina's Lake District is in the Andes foothills in northern Patagonia. Bariloche is its largest city. Beautiful mountain and lake scenery, with a few interesting physical differences from comparable beautiful mountain and lake areas in the United States (e.g., there�s bamboo in the alpine forests, and deciduous forests are located between the evergreen forests and the tree line). Like Iguazu, Bariloche and the surrounding Lake District is very, very touristy. Indeed, tourism appears to be the primary industry in those parts. But it's different from Iguazu; the tourism seems to be largely domestic travel by Argentines, so even the touristy aspects of the area seemed more genuinely Argentine than they did in Iguazu.

Driving. We rented a car in Bariloche so we'd have the flexibility to drive around the mountains and go hiking on our own. After coming to Buenos Aires and watching the local drivers, we were a bit nervous about this, but we gave it a shot. We had a reservation with Budget. At the airport in Bariloche, there was no Budget counter, so John went to the Hertz counter to see what their prices were (for whatever reason, car rental companies don't require credit cards to secure reservations). Hertz's rates were higher than what we had reserved with Budget, so we asked where Budget's counter was. The woman at the Hertz counter told us that Budget is in town, not at the airport, but to look to see if they sent someone. For those of you who have rented a car in the United States, you're no doubt aware rental car companies do not "send someone" to pick you up. But this is Argentina. Indeed, Budget had sent someone with our car, delivered to us at the airport. He gave us a tutorial on how to put the car in reverse (pull up a ring, much like the 1984 Volvo wagon John learned to drive on), wrote down his cell phone number in case we ran into problems, and made sure we have the proper papers to drive into Chile in case we wanted to (we didn't even try). So, like Lan, fantastic service--far beyond what we are accustomed to from American rental car companies. But the car? Not so much. We reserved a midsize car because it wasn't much more expensive than the cheapest model, and we thought it would get us something a few steps up from an econobox. What we got was a tiny Chevy Aveo with removable radio, ~80K kilometers on the odometer (very high for a U.S. rental car), no power steering (lots of fun pulling out into traffic from a parallel parking space), and a trunk that could cause a concussion to the unwary.

We learned by observation that parking on sidewalks is normal, that lanes were merely suggestions, and left turns are *sometimes* made from the right lane (yes, you signal left, but move right and stop to wait for all the traffic to pass....). We were feeling good until we went to go get gas on our way to the airport. We pulled into what seemed to be the last gas station on the airport side of town. The attendant came over, looked at the car, and told us that we needed a "NAFTA" station, something this station didn't have. To John, NAFTA is the North American Free Trade Agreement because he wasn't listening when Tenaya told him that gas was called "nafta". As it turned out, we passed no "NAFTA" stations before reaching the airport (with no time to spare), but the Budget guy just charged us 60 pesos for a tank of gas, which seemed fair. We're still wondering what was sold at the other fuel station--we didn't see any references to diesel.

That's our $.02 on aspects of Argentina Ken and Helen have yet to see. We've had a great time and look forward to coming back in a few years so we can see all the parts of the country we couldn't make it to in this 12 day trip.

Lost in translation (Helen)

2007-05-12T21:43:00.000-03:00

Some things just don't get translated due to context clues. For example, it is almost impossible to order a cup of hot tea. My latest (but not only) example of this was while Jon and Taneya were here. We were out for dinner and I asked for a cup of té. People here do not drink tea with their dinner so the waiter didn't understand what I was saying. He assumed I was making pleasant small talk that he didn't understand and therefore I got no tea. I asked again, he didn't understand, I spelled it, still no entiendes. Taneya was saying "bebida" (beverage). I was saying aqua calliente con tè. Nothing. He went to get the manager, and by then we had written it down. Té. Oh! Tè! Then the waiter brought me my tea and very politely said "disculpa" (excuse me). I think I am the only person he has ever served a cup of hot tea to at dinner time.

Today I was buying a small gift for my granddaugher Leah. The nice man asked me what the name of my granddaugher was. I said "Leah". He asked me again, very clearly.

"Leah".

Now a woman joined in, and in her few english words explained to me that he was asking the name of my nieta.

Ella nombre es "Leah".

They very politely gave up. It took me hours to figure out that they thought I was saying something like "it read", the past tense of "to read" - leía. The name Leah is not used here, so they did they best they could.

Today I was paying for groceries and the total was 25.27. I gave her a hundred peso note plus 30 centavos. My change was supposed to be 75.03, but they don't give pennies, so I expected just 75 pesos back. She gave me 75.10. I gave her back the 10 centavos because that seemed more fair to me. Her response was a very sweet, somewhat confused, "gracias". When Ken and I left the store we figured out that she thought I had tipped her 10 centavos! Good grief, how embarassing! Who tips a dime?

This context clue thing works both ways. The first time I was asked "un pago?" when using a credit card, I had no idea what they were asking me, even though I understood the words "one pay". I just didn't have reference for such a question. But here it is very common to charge an item and have it charged to your credit card in several equal payments. I can't imagine how that system plays out by the end of the credit year.

Also, just an aside. Ken and I rode an elevator up and down twice the other day because we couldn't figure out how to get out of it.

Going home soon (Helen)

2007-05-11T18:19:00.000-03:00

Our time here is coming to an end – two more weeks. Before I came here I remember somebody telling me that following a similar trip, she couldn’t really answer people’s questions about it for quite some time. That sounded so odd to me. However, now I totally understand what she means. We didn’t come here for a vacation, we came here to live. Yet, that was naïve; we don’t live here, we are but spectators that live on the outside while maintaining our place in our own world. It is exhilarating as well as depressing.

It's strange having a foot in two worlds, you can't really live in either one. This one is temporary and home is unavailable. With all the ex-pats here, there is always an active social life available to us, with really interesting, adventurous and ecclectic people, but they will be gone soon, or we will be gone soon.

It will be good to be home with familiar people with whom I have a history as well as a future.

University of Belgrano (Ken)

2007-05-11T12:46:00.000-03:00

During my final weeks here in Buenos Aires, I have been meeting with people from the University of Belgrano about the possibility of having students from my college in Maryland spend a semester in Argentina.

Over the past two weeks, I have visited the campus four times and met with Sr. Alfredo Martinez, who is it the Director of Student Housing; Sr. Silvia Maggiorini, the manager of the Office International Students; and Dr. Martin Furlong, the Vice Director of International Programs. I had to work my way up to Dr. Furlong after it was fully understood that I work at a community college.

The Community College concept is uniquely North American; the people at the University of Belgrano needed some help understanding just what it is. I explained that in 1901 the community college was born in Joliette, Illinois in response to increased desire for higher education and limited capacity. It was at this time, in the middle of the Industrial Revolution, that the need for educating middle and top management—as well as technical and scientific expertise—became critical. Existing universities were not capable of or willing to educate this new type of student who came from working class families with no legacy of university education.

The community college was a new concept that served two purposes: to provide the first two years of general education (mathematics, history, sciences, composition) for students intending to matriculate to four-year institution to continue on to the baccalaureate, and to provide two-year professional programs for direct entry into the work force. Once I explained that our graduates, who transfer to four-year universities, typically out-perform those students who began at the four-year institutions, they seemed satisfied that my community college students were every bit as capable of having a positive study-abroad experience as the other international students with whom they have been working.

We both still need to prepare and present proposals to our respective superiors before this can happen, but I believe it can be done.

Frederick Community College already has a semester abroad program where we send students to London. It is a good and successful program. Building on that success, I think we are ready to expand to South America. After all, going to London, for a USAmerican, is rather like going to visit your grandparents in the family’s original home town—the accent is different and some things look strange, but, for the most part—it feels like home.

Argentina is altogether a different story. While the British Pound is at 1:2 for the US Dollar, the Argentine Peso is a 3:1. That is six times the purchasing power for our students, which makes Argentina an affordable destination.

Another attractive reason is that, for most USAmercans, Latin America begins and ends with Mexico. It will be good for more of us, especially young Americans, to come here. We will never really know what the world is like unless we see it for ourselves. We need look no where other than the White House to see the truth of that.
On the evening of the 4th of May, there was a Noche Internacional where all of the International Students (of whom there are now 2000 a year at the University of Belgrano) were invited to set up a booth to share something of their culture with the others. I stopped by and talked to the kids from the USA. They were all happy with their experience in Buenos Aires and at the University.

In their booth, they had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread, hot dogs, apple pie, Oreos, and Peanut M&Ms as examples of American cuisine. For American culture, the boys set up a Beer Pong game and broke out the Beer Bong. So much for American culture!

Why Argentina (Buenos Aires) is like the USA in the 1960s (Ken)

2007-05-10T11:59:00.000-03:00

Everything is done by hand: demolition, ditch digging, cement mixing, and street cleaning.
In the United States machinery has replaced so much of this manual labor, or labor has become so expensive that entire industries have closed. This has destroyed cities. Baltimore, for example, where I grew up, lost almost its entire employment base and half its population when the ship yards and steel mills shut down. It was cheaper to buy imported steel and ships. Now the city is riddled with poverty, crime, and drugs. I don’t know if it will ever recover. If there is no work and no opportunity, what are people to do?

Returnable bottles
Well, we have those in the USA too. Some cities even charge deposits on cans and plastic bottles. But the bottles here are the heavy glass bottles that I saw as a kid. It is rather nostalgic to see them again. In the USA, they are sometimes collectors’ items or sold in specialty stores at a higher price.

Everything is delivered—even groceries and alcoholic beverages.
Not just pizza. Several grocery stores tried to make use of Internet ordering and home delivery of groceries. I think they are all out-of-business now. It just costs too much money to deliver things in the USA. And I don’t know of any pizza chain that will deliver beer like some do here.

Manual transmissions
The automatic transmission is practically non-existent here. I asked about it while I was in Córdoba and was told that Latinos—not just Argentines—like manual transmission because they like to be in total control of their automobiles. I like that explanation.

Air conditioning is not standard equipment in houses and apartments—even in new construction.
My friend, Tom, told me that when he bough his new apartment in Nunez, he had to order the AC. And it gets hot here. I understand why old buildings are not retrofit with AC, but I am surprised that it is not standard in new construction.

Elevator doors don’t open automatically.
This one has embarrassed me more than once. I have been stuck in an elevator that I didn’t know how to get out of. Helen and I rode the elevator up and down eight floors—twice—until I asked the portero what the trick was. “¡Empuje!” he said. We rode it up again, pushed the door, and sheepishly walked out.

There are specialty stores rather than department stores.
In the USA, it is almost impossible for shops that only sell one type of item to exist. Even the gas stations sell newspapers, magazines, cigarettes, sandwiches, groceries, and any number of other items. This is because the profit on a gallon of gasoline is so small that they need to do this to survive. Large US corporations have squeezed out the little guy and a person who would once has owned a small shop now has to work for the corporation that made his shop unprofitable. Here, a guy can still open a small shop and make a go of it.

No dishwashers, you have to defrost to refrigerator, No garbage disposals in the sink, No ice makers, you have to light the gas stove with a match each time you use it.
These are strictly matters of convenience, and, mostly, I am just whining here. I am surprised, however, to find that these things have not made their way here in great numbers yet. In many ways, however, these conveniences are energy wasters—pilot lights that constantly burn gas, refrigerators that heat themselves up every day to keep frost from building. But the refrigerators in the US have become so efficient that if ANYTHING goes wrong, you can’t correct it. Where I live in Maryland, we lose electricity frequently—sometimes for over a day. There is a drip pan in the bottom of the refrigerator that collects the water that is melted from the automatic defrost cycle. When the power goes out, the fan that evaporates it does not run. The water stagnates and stinks. I called the company and asked how to empty the stinking water. I was told that was not possible, and that I should try and throw some baking soda in it—if I could reach it—to absorb the smell. Sometimes, I feel "convenienced" to the point of inconvenience.

People dress more formally—they don’t dress like slobs in public.
Seriously, people here simply look better. You rarely see anyone under the age of 30 in exercise clothes unless they are actually exercising. After 5 months here, I am sure I will be shocked upon my return to the US if my memory of what slobs people in the USA are is accurate.

Single pane windows—with no screens
Mosquitoes here are a problem. Unless an apartment or a house has air-conditioning, it can get pretty bad. Maybe this year was just a really bad year for mosquitoes, but I think Porteños may want to consider this window screen option.

You can get stuff repaired—TVs, shoes
We don’t fix anything in the USA. Well, we fix our cars until they are paid for and the repairs cost as much as a car payment. But we don’t re-sole our shoes, put a new zipper in a jacket, or repair the DVD player—we throw it away and buy a new one. While I have been here, I have gotten shoes re-soled that I would have thrown away in the USA—and I like them. It’s not that you can’t get things fixed in the USA; it’s just cheaper to throw it away and buy something new. Why is that? It seems so wasteful.

Corner Hardware stores
This is like the specialty shops. Back in Frederick, there is still May’s Hardware, and I go there whenever I can just to give them my business. But usually, I just go to Home Depot. In Buenos Aires, there is Easy, it’s kind of like a Home Depot, but it is far away and there is a hardware store every couple of blocks here in Buenos Aires. They have just about anything you need. I am amazed that the city can support so many of them.

Corner bakeries
The bread here is really good. There are bakeries every few blocks and they deliver fresh media lunas to the cafes all day long. When I get home, I will be eating far less bread than I eat here. In the USA, the bakeries just can’t compete.

Family get-togethers on Sundays.
This is nice. Sunday time is family time. Smoke from parrillas wafts through the city. I think I will institute this when I get home. I’ll tell my daughters that there is a standing Sunday asado. They are encouraged to attend. (Once my parrilla is finished, anyway. Charlie can come too).

Multiple daily newspapers with multiple ownership groups
In the USA, almost all the media is owned by five conservative corporations that have most USAmerican convinced that the media is biased to the left. There is very little objective news reporting, and anything that criticizes the government is criticized as being disloyal and aiding the terrorists. Newspapers are more maverick here and not afraid to criticize the government.

No wall-to-wall carpet
It amazes me that in the USA, some people actually cover their beautiful hardwood floors with carpeting that collects dirt. This started happening in the 1970s if I recall correctly

You can feed the animals at the zoo.
This is fun. You can buy a big bucket of food for a few pesos and feed almost any herbivorous animal at the Buenos Aires Zoo. Some of the cages ask you not to feed certain animals anything, but it is really fun to throw a food pellet to an elephant and watch him pick it up. I don’t know why it’s fun—it just is. You used to be able to do that in the USA, not anymore.

Cashiers count out your change in your hand.
Coin-by-coin, bill-by-bill. I don’t know whether it is a matter of courtesy or mistrust, but it is a nice touch.

People work to live rather than live to work.
I may be imagining this, but it seems to me that when I was a kid, people were not as materialistic as they are now. If your dad made enough money to keep you in a home with regular food and an occasional vacation trip, life was good. Now, there is so much emphasis on material gain that we are working more and enjoying life less. That change does not seem to have happened here yet. I hope they can hold out much longer.

Police on the corners
You see police here on the streets walking beats. I have heard many different opinions on the police here that I won’t get into here—that’s not my point. In the USA, it is rare to see a policeman outside of a police car unless he is actively engaged in hands-on police work.

People sell things on the street without a business license--even food, cooked food.
We are so over-regulated in the USA that it is almost impossible to sell a hotdog. There is a “First Saturday Gallery Walk” in the town where I live. The art galleries would put out some wine and cheese or food items for the visitors. The health department insisted that everyone get a permit and submit to inspection each and every time. The permits could only be valid for the one day, so it involved applying every month. They made it so difficult that most of people just stopped offering food. That does not seem to be a problem here. In the USA, one person gets ill and there is a lawsuit.

They spend money on public parks and public art
In the five months I have been here, I have watched many lovely parks throughout the city get renovated. All throughout the cities of Buenos Aires and Córdoba, I saw public art—and not all of it old work. New sculptures appear frequently. And the parks here are used all the time. As soon as the park near my apartment reopened, it was full everyday. There is a county commissioner in Frederick, where I am from. In a public candidate forum, I pointed out to him that Frederick spends about 17 cents per citizen on the arts while nearby Montgomery County spends $1.74. He said that if he had his way, it would be “zero.” He was re-elected.

Kids don't ride in car seats, there are no head restraints in car passenger seats, and people ride motorcycles without helmets.
This may not be safe, but it speaks to personal responsibility. In the USA, you are fined if your child is not in a car seat—not just babies, children. You are fined if you don’t wear a helmet while riding a motorcycle. In many places, children are REQUIRED to wear a helmet to ride a bicycle until age 16. I think these are matters of personal choice. I like it that people here take responsibility for their own decisions. It is like they are saying to the government, “Leave me alone and let me decide what is best for me and my family.” With People for Science in the Public Interest telling us we can’t eat Movie popcorn anymore, and the Fundamentalist Christian Right attempting to constantly legislate morality—I find this behavior refreshing.

People litter
I don’t understand this. This is a beautiful city. In the USA, we used to litter too. There was a commercial with an American Indian in a canoe. As he paddled, the river became more and more choked with trash. The commercial ended with a closeup of his face with a tear running down his cheek. There was also Woodsy the Owl who said, "Give a hoot--don't pollute!" We are better about littering now.

But I remember that, as children, my friends and I would count on it. We’d walk the mile to the country store with no money hoping to collect returnable bottles (like the one’s I mentioned above) and get enough money for some candy. We were rarely disappointed. But there is a lot of trash on the street here, and I see people just dropping their trash as they walk. It is a pity. It really does diminish the beauty of the city. The mayor even complained that it was a contributing factor in all of the flooding that happened in the heavy rains here this summer. The trash would clog the drains. He, Mayor Tellerman, has ordered thousands of trash dumpsters to be stationed all over the city to see if that will help the problem.

You can open the windows on the subway cars.
I was amazed to see this. In the USA, the people are so frightened of law suits that all the windows in any moving public vehicle are sealed. In Argentina, if you get hurt doing something stupid in an open subway window—it’s your own fault.

People protest against the government--Imagine!
Maybe they protest a bit too much, but who am I to say? My point is that in the USA, we don’t protest enough. I know that many USAmerican will disagree with me, but . . . how did we let this president get us into this Iraq mess. Did we protest? No, we re-elected him.

To summarize, the things that are different here, and that remind me of the USA in the 1960’s, all seem to relate to two factors: huge corporations and rampant litigation.

Huge corporations have put small businesses out of business. Health care cost—again related to huge corporations—have raised labor costs so high that we have displaced and marginalized entire sectors of society: the under-skilled and undereducated. We are so afraid of a lawsuit that our freedoms and ability to make personal decisions have been diminished.

In another 40-50 years, will the same thing happen here? I hope not. I hope that Argentina learns from our successes—but also learns from our mistakes and prospers without losing that sense of personal rights and responsibilities.

The Local Bar

2007-05-04T22:50:00.000-03:00

I love bars and bar culture. I have been going to bars since I was old enough to sit on a bar stool—at least that is what my uncle Tony tells me. My dad was a bar patron extraordinaire, and he acculturated me when I was barely out or diapers. I guess that is why I have a strange attraction for bars and why I am always drawn to explore them. My father died when I had but 14 years. Perhaps I go to bars to understand him.

There is a bar, the “Pool Bar” on Calle Ayacucho not but two blocks from my departemento. I have passed it over 200 times in the over 120 days I have been here—vowing each time to enter. And each time passing by—except for tonight. Tonight, I went in.

Unlike most Buenos Aired drinking establishments, this bar has an actual bar with bar stools. Most bars are cafes that serve alcohol at tables—but this was a bar. I went in, sat on a stool, and order a “Botella de cerveza.” No chopp (draft) here—only bottles. The bartender, who could only be described as “disinterested” opened the half liter in front of me, as they always do, gave me a glass, and sat back down to resume futbol match that was demanding the balance of his attention.

I settled in and watched the futbol game—Gimnacia y Chicago—while young people came in and ordered drinks and bought tokens for the pool tables. After a while, I started taking pictures of the place—with the flash off to avoid being too obvious. Apparently, my clandestine picture taking attempts were all-too-obvious because the man in the stool near me tapped me on the shoulder and mugged for the camera. This was followed by other poses.

He introduced himself as Miguel and told me he is an artist. An Argentine, but not a Porteno, he came to Buenos Aires at age 32 because he, as he said, “Buenos Aires IS Argentina.” I am not sure I agree—but I know what he means. He said he has lived all over. He went to Catholic University, he has lived in Peru, Uruguay, Brazil, Mexico . . .but he now chooses to live and paint in Capital Federal.

We had a long, and—at times complicated—conversation. He asked me what I like most about Argentina. I told him, as best I could in my limited language ability.

In the United States, there is always someone, something, some group, some law who will tell you want is best for you. In Argentina, the people take responsibility for their own lives. In the USA, people give away their responsibility in the name of safety and security. Here, in Argentina, they fight to keep it and are willing to take the consequences.

In the USA of my childhood, we had that. We lost it. Or we gave it away. We got lazy and complacent. We are no longer responsible for anything. We are a culture of victims. Things happen TO us. We are passive and reactive.

Argentinos live on the edge. They pay their money and they take their chances. In the USA, we take our chances only if it’s someone else’s money.

I am glad I had a beer in that bar. And Miguel helped me find the reason.

Fernando and Liliana (Ken)

2007-05-02T13:08:00.000-03:00

I panic when the phone rings. Usually a “Hello?” in my very-best American accent is enough to elicit a quick hang-up on the other end. But occasionally someone actually wants to speak with me—in Spanish.

A few days ago, Adrianna called. She is the widowed Argentine daughter-in-law of my neighbors back in Frederick, Maryland. She was calling to invite us to an asado at the home of her friends’ on May 1st—el Dia de los Trabajadors (Labor Day). I go the date and time right, but I had to call her back to ask her how to spell the name of the street—Yatay (Zhja-Tie).

Helen has not been feeling well (it’s her turn to be ill), so I took the #10 colectivo to Plaza de Mayo and then the A Line Subte to the Rio de Janiero stop in Barrio Almagro. I buzzed at the gate of the three-story brick house and was met by Fernando and the family dog. I was welcomed inside where Adriana was waiting. I then met Fernando’s wife, Liliana. Guadalupe, Adrianna’s 18-year-old daughter was there as well. I then met Agustina, also 18, and Cecilia her younger sister who has just started secondary school.

I was ushered trough the house to the small enclosed jardin with a parrilla already started with vacio, asado, and chorizos. We all sat at the table with all eyes on me. Show time. As no one else spoke any English, the next four hours were completely in Castellano. Agustina has taken some English in school, but she would not speak it in front of me. She was useful in helping when I was reaching for a word—but that is all the English she offered.

The conversation was lively and varied: politics, education, economics, Argentina and Argentinos, North Americans, cars and drivers, food, customs, education, what I have been doing, what I still want to do, my family, my job, my dog, their dog.

We moved inside to eat, and I was surprised to see Liliana acting as asador. She is educated as an architect, but does not work outside the home. Sola una ama de casa. She is a very good cook; the meat was tender and done perfectly. We had tiramisu for desert that was really tasty.

After we ate, I was welcomed upstairs. This level is only for los asados and las fiestas, I was informed by Cecilia. Before going upstairs, Fernando showed me his double basses. He is a bassist for the opera orchestra at Teatro Colon. He let me try out his 18th Century bass that is as old as the United States of America. I have never touched—let alone played—any instrument that old. You can see where the wooden tuning peg holes were filled in when the modern brass tuning machines were installed. It is a remarkable instrument.

Upstairs the conversation continued. I learned that Fernando is the childhood friend of Adriana’s recently deceased husband (who was the son of my neighbors back in Maryland). Their daughters, Guadalupe and Agustina, were born a few weeks apart, and the girls grew up together with one family hosting the other for an asado each Sunday for the past two decades. The older girls took themselves up to Agustina’s room while Cecilia stayed and talked with the old folks. She is really cute. They have a family place en campo where she caught a sapo (toad) and brought it to school for show-and-tell. It now lives in their jardin. It rained while we were eating and, after it stopped, she called me to the window to see her toad as it was hopping around the yard. Although Cecilia said she has studied some English in school, when I asked her how to say a word (“Como se dice ‘elect,’” I said), she stood up and called, “Agustiiiiinaaaaa!!!” I guess she was not ready to show off her English skills.

Fernando’s father makes and sells replicas of aboriginal art here at the fair in Recoleta right near my apartment. I have been to his booth many times and planned to buy some pieces before I came home, now I will make a point of doing so.

With the girls needing to do some homework and studying—Agustina is studying biochemistry, Guadalupe studying literature, and Cecilia needing to complete a presentation on the history of timekeeping—we said our goodbyes and I headed back to the subway.

I have said it before, but it is worth repeating: these are our favorite times in Argentina when we spend time with the people in their homes. These are the memories I will keep.

Got a new camera--Blog functioning at full capacity

2007-04-29T23:35:00.000-03:00

My nephew, John, and his novio, Tenaya, are visiting from Seattle. They arrived on Thursday morning and, well you know how it goes when you have out-of-country guests—not much time to update the blog. They are in Iguazu for two nights, so I’ll give you all an update. And . . .they brought me a new camera so the blog is back to full operation.

Thursday was our last tutoring session with Nieves. We had previously arranged to go out to sightseeing for our last class, and she said it was fine to bring John and Tenaya along.

We went to the Recoleta Cultural Center to see an exhibit on the Malvinas: Islands of the Memory . . . Public Images, Private Objects. It was very moving.

The war took place 25 years ago. My understanding is that the military dictatorship was growing increasingly unpopular and decided to express its territorial claim to these small islands off the southern coast. The islands are claimed by Great Brittan who refers to them as the Falklands.

Argentine troops, poorly trained and equipped, arrived on these islands, located near the Antarctic Circle, in fall as weather was getting cold. This was the first time many of these young men even knew the islands existed. They were not dressed for the weather and the Argentine military command did an inadequate job of re-supply.

The war began on March 19 with the Argentine reoccupation and ended on June 14 with the Argentine surrender. Argentina had 649 killed, 1,068 wounded, and 11,313 taken prisoner. For the British, 258 were killed, 777 wounded, and 106 taken prisoner. In the past 25 years, over 300 Argentine Malvinas veterans have committed suicide. That is more than the total of British war dead.

“Y por qué? Por nada,” I often hear. I have also heard that the 11,000 prisoners were well cared for by the British. I have also been told that the veterans have better feelings about their adversaries than their own superiors over how the war was carried out. I don’t know. It is just what I have been told. Mostly, it is just a sad thing. I believe Argentina has a legitimate claim to these islands. All the maps here show them as Argentine territory.

Argentine dead were buried quickly and only much later repatriated or placed in marked graves. The original wooden crosses that marked their graves are displayed in a moving three-dimensional array fronted by insult covered silhouettes of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher.

From there, we walked to the University of Buenos Aires law school. John and Tenaya are both lawyers in Seattle. We had a good discussion with Nieves about law and political attitudes of young Argentines.

John keeps kosher. For his first night here in Buenos Aires, he had found a kosher parrilla in Barrio Once. The four of us went out for kosher asado. It was nothing remarkable, just more expensive. The most fascinating aspect of the evening was the young Orthodox Jewish family at the table next to us. A young man, his infant son, and totally beautiful wife. Tenaya pointed out to us that she was wearing a wig. Not only that, but it was actually a really good wig, and tasteful make-up, nice boots with stiletto heels and a skirt to the top of the boots. She was very fashionably and totally in keeping with Jewish conservative rules of dress.

Friday, while Helen studied, I took them out for a sightseeing walk. We walked to Plaza San Martin, then down Avenida Florida (always an adventure) to Plaza de Mayo and the Casa Rosada. We saw the famous balcony where Eva Perone (and later Madona) made her heartfelt speech announcing she would not seek the office of vice president. Oddly, the speech is not made from the main balcony of the Government House, but from a smaller balcony much closer to the ground where people could have almost touched her.

From there, we walked to Puerto Madero—the new and trendy barrio where once abandoned brick warehouses have been refurbished into trendy restaurants and the like. I have been several times, but I have never been on the 19th century Fragata Sarmiento, a floating museum that was once an ice breaker. This is an example of what I love about Argentina. A docent in naval uniform welcomed us aboard, told us we were welcome to explore the entire ship except where indicated, to take as many photos as we like, to go below, to go above, and be careful and watch our heads. That’s it. We were left alone to negotiate the slippery decks, the steep ladders, and the low passageways. There were no nervous attendants telling us not to touch things, there was no part of the ship that someone else decided was too dangerous for us to explore. If we wanted to go below and thought we were physically capable of going up and down a steep staircase, go for. Take responsibility, make up your own mind if you can do it, assume the risk, and do it. Just don’t complain if you get hurt—he did tell you to be careful.

We headed back to the apartment in Recoleta and got ready for an expat gathering that night at Cheff Iousef restaurant in Palermo. The event was the monthly gathering of the BAExpats group. There were about 40 members and friends there that night to meet and have Lebanese food. I knew several: Pericles, Maya and Tom, Alan, Kiki, and I also met Igor who was very helpful some months back when I had computer trouble.

Buenos Aires has an active expatriot community that is valuable for newcomers. These people have been here and made all the mistakes already. That didn’t stop me from making the same mistakes, however, because I didn’t know what mistakes I was going to make until after I had already made them. This group, however, let’s me know I am not alone. We also send news of ATM trouble, where to find peanut butter, and the best place to find sushi, a tutor, or how to start the residency process.

Saturday, Helen and I took John and Tenaya to La Boca. What is there to say about la Boca? Well, like it or not, it is the iconic image of old Buenos Aires. Its colorful buildings and dilapidated wharf are symbols of a storied past. Today, however, it is little more than a tourist stop—and not a very good one. I think we spent more time in the colectivo coming and going than we did in the barrio. I did get to see the Bombanera—the Boca Junior’s home football stadium.

We got our required “pose in front of the Caminito sign” photos, watched some street tango, browsed some souvenir shops, and headed back. John and Tenaya had a much better time in Coto—the grocery store. Grocery stores are really fun. Seeing how the whole food thing works in another culture is really fascinating. While taking them through the store, I was lamenting that we didn’t have anyone to walk us through our first time: “Efectivo? Un pago? Disco Plus? Para enviar?” all these embarrassingly awkward moments could have been avoided.

This morning, we took them for a quick look at the Recoleta Cemetery before their remise picked them up for two nights at Falls Iguazu. Helen and I are planning a trip there, so John and Tenaya can return the favor and give us travel tips when they return Tuesday (for one night before they head out to Bariloche).

I am sooooo tired . . .

2007-04-24T19:42:00.000-03:00

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. . . of feeling stupid.

There is a woman in my hometown of Frederick Maryland who is a medical doctor from Russia. She moved to the USA recently and thought, although she had limited English, that her medical skills and education would be valuable in the job market. She knew she couldn't be a physician, but surely she could get some job in the healthcare industry.

She sells shoes at Payless.

Customers tell her that they can't understand her and that she can't possible be competent enough to help them find a pair of shoes. They ask to speak to the manager. This Russian doctor is not qualified to sell shoes?

I have a doctorate. I am an English professor.

I coinsider myself to be pretty smart. I can be witty, and charming, and have interesting things to say.

But not here in Buenos Aires. Here, like the Russian physician, I am incompetent. Take today, for instance.

We gave our notice to the woman, Ana, from whom we rent because our stay here is nearing an end. This morning, the Internet stopped working.

Any URL I entered I got this (see above) screen. Now you tell me. What would you think if you received this message? (Go ahead, click on it, and see it in detail.)

OK, so I spent the entire day on this—going to Internet cafes, on the phone, trying different work around—and it turns out that this is just a promotion, a commercial, an attempt to get me back as a customer. All I have to do is click on the little box that says (to me, anyway) “No thanks, cancel my account,” and I am restored to full access. Once I bothered Ana all day with this, and only after she made several calls to Fibertel and then patiently explained it to me, did I finally figure it out.

Ah dios mio, this is frustrating. I felt so stupid.

It (Argentina) is very humbling. At home, I am totally in the moment. No nuance, no detail, no aspect excapes me. Here, it is like I am mentally retarded. Conversations go on, and I nod, and smile, and hear the words. I even understand most of it. But I am not in it. I am on the side. I am peripheral. I am not integral.

It must be very difficult for people who come to a new country without the language, without money, and without support to survive. No wonder they cluster together in communities and hesitate to integrate. No wonder they keep to themselves. No wonder they seek anything familiar.

I know I have learned something very important today. It is, however, going to take me some time to figure out exactly what that is. I'll have to ask the Russian doctor what she learned.

The mystery of the missing monedas (Ken)

2007-04-23T10:04:00.000-03:00

There is some oddness that goes on here with the money. After four months of observing it, I am sure it is not my imagination.

You have to manage your money here. I don’t mean saving, investing, and budgeting. I mean you have to make sure that you have a variety of bills and coins at all times. This is not as easy as it sounds because people don’t like to give change or break big bills. Also, the ATMs dispense $100 bills unless you request an amount under 100. For example, if you punch in $400, you get four 100-peso notes. If you punch in $390, you get three 100-peso notes, four 20- peso notes and one $10. You are still stuck with those $100s that no one wants to take.

“¿Tienes más pequeño?” seems to be the mantra for all sales clerks here.
However, the coin situation is even more odd. First, there are no one-centavo coins (well, there are no one-peso bills either). So everything is rounded up or down to the nearest five centavos. No problem there; it all seems to work out: sometimes in your favor, sometimes not, but it all works out over time. But the strange thing is that no one wants to GIVE coins, they only want to GET coins.

If my purchase if $17:55, the clerk will ask, “¿Tienes cincuenta y cinco centavos?” OK, so if I dig through my pocket and give her $20.55, she gives me back $3. However, since there are no one-peso bills, she needs to give me back a $1 coin. I have even been in the situation where she gave me back six 50-centavo coins because she was running low on $2 bills—and that is AFTER she just asked me to give her 55 centavos in coins.

The alamcen across the street is one of the worst where this is concerned. One day, after Helen told the woman she had no monedas, the woman opened a drawer under the register that was FULL of coins. (This is also the woman who likes to say she has no 5-centavo coins and offers a small piece of 1-centavo candy in its place)

It is like people hoard coins. And we all need them. The colectivos only take coins and there is no one on or near the bus to give change.

To break the big bills, we have to wait in line at a bank—usually the bank where the ATM was that we got the big bills in the first place. But, because people here don’t use checking accounts and pay all there bills in cash at the bank, the lines are long. You have to take a number like at the deli counter. So I have worked out an ingenious solution to the big-bill dilemma: The race track.

Hipódromo de Palermo is a short colectivo ride away (and 80 centavos that I have to make sure I have ahead of time). At the race track is a huge slot machine casino with many cash cages. I take my big bills and go from cage-to-cage saying, “Cambio por favor,” until I have changed my big bills to small bills. There are no coins though. You feed bills into the slot machines and get your winnings in the form of a paper voucher that you take to the cash cage to exchange for money. So, I need to make sure I have the 80 centavos for the colectivo ride back home.

So I have devised a work-around for the big-bill situation, but I am still puzzled by it. I have been told that there have been coin shortages in the past. Argentinos remember them all-too-well and the stores have developed these practices to make sure they never run short of coins. But the big-bill aspect of it all is confusing. Wouldn’t it be easier to close out a register at the end of the shift by counting big bills?

Rain and Mosquitoes (Ken)

2007-04-20T08:33:00.000-03:00

I read in the newspaper yesterday that Buenos Aires Mayor Tellerman said that the rainstorm we received earlier this weekend dumped as much water on the city in one hour as it usually gets during the entire month of April. If that were not enough, see the current weather forecast:

Buenos Aires Weather: Friday 20 April 2007

Today: Rain. High 64F. Winds SE at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 80%. Rainfall around a half an inch.
Tonight: Steady light rain this evening. Showers continuing overnight. Low 58F. Winds SE at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 70%.
Tomorrow: Cloudy with a few showers. High 68F. Winds ESE at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 30%.
Tomorrow night: Rain likely. Low 58F. Winds E at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 90%.
Sunday: Rain. Highs in the low 70s and lows in the low 60s.
Monday: Rain. Highs in the upper 60s and lows in the upper 50s.
Tuesday: Showers possible. Highs in the mid 60s and lows in the mid 50s.

There were huge floods in the city. The mayor asked the city residents to stop littering (a problem here by North American standards) because the trash is clogging the storm drains and causing the street flooding.

I mentioned this before, but it is worth repeating: the windows in Argentina do not have screens. That is particularly important because the city continues to be invaded by mosquitoes--billions of mosquitoes. It was nearly 90 degrees yesterday, so the windows had to be opened in our non-airconditioned apartment. As the evening cools, the mosquitoes enter before we can shut them out.

The TV news reported this morning that the mosquito problem is going to continue, por lo menos dos semanas mas. This is not the first mosquito prediction I have heard. Last month we were told to just wait until the weekend was over and the mosquitoes would be gone. But they are worse than ever.

Our day (Ken)

2007-04-18T21:48:00.000-03:00

Apparently, there are two routes for colectivo #37. The one we took got us nowhere near the MALBA this afternoon when the driver told us to get off because this was the last stop on his route.

We were right near the US Embassy. The flag was at half mast in respect to victims of the Virginia Tech tragedy. It is tragic news here. The story has been on the front page of both Clarín and La Nacion for the past two days. People here ask me about it and why things like that happen in the United States. I have to tell them I don’t know.

It’s not because I don’t think I have enough Spanish to explain. It is because I honestly don’t know. If I had a clue as to why this seems to be a USAmerican problem, I’d certainly try and explain it in my broken Spanish. But I just don’t know. It’s not that we have a lot of guns. Canada has a lot of guns. It’s not that we have a lot of violence. I read everyday here in the news that someone was shot because he resisted a robbery. But the rest of the world does not seem to think that killing dozens of people followed by suicide is an appropriate means of self expression. If I had a clue, I would try my Castellano-best to explain. But I just don’t.

So we finally made our way to MALBA. We passed the planetarium. (I mention that simply because it gives me an excuse to use an old photograph, as my stolen camera is yet to be replaced.) There is a new exhibition of Brazilian artist Alfredo Volpi that was interesting. But we went to see the David Lachapelle photo and video exhibit. That stuff was intriguing. They also had a showing of some of his music videos. They were live-action realizations of his photos and a bit redundant. We watched Gwen Stefani and Christina Aguilera do just about the same schtick in two separate productions.

We made out way home—on foot and (eventually) by collectivo. I used some of the spices Suzie sent us to make chicken parmesan that turned out pretty well.

Feria de Mataderos (Ken)

2007-04-17T09:20:00.000-03:00

There are many fairs throughout Buenos Aires each weekend. We have been to Recoleta, San Telmo, and Puerto Madero, but, by far, the best we have been to is La Feria de Mataderos—the Fair of the Slaughterhouses. This fair has Argentinos in mind—not tourists—and it is a fascinating and fun afternoon.

This fair is in the barrio of Mataderos, or Nuevo Chicago on the edge of Capital Federal. It is called that because it is the former area where all the cattle were brought to be slaughtered, just like Chicago in the USA.

This fair began in 1986 as a place where Argentinos could explore their cultural roots. Unlike the other city fairs that focus mostly on Porteño culture, like the tango, this fair focuses on the culture of all the provinces.

Over the past 20 years, it has become a place for all Argentinos to gather and share their common culture. There are three basic types of culture: traditional crafts and food, artistic crafts, and Gaucho skills.

Dance groups and music groups from across the country are scheduled as featured performers each weekend. Additionally, fairgoers can participate in traditional dance right in the street—many in traditional costume, many not. Everyone is welcome to join the dance.

The most fascinating event is the Carerra del Sortija—the Race of the Ring. A strip in the center of a city street is covered with an inch or so of sand. Upon this surface, men race their horses at full gallop toward a small ring suspended from a metal frame 100 meters away. They stand in the stirrups and attempt to spear a ring—no bigger that the diameter of an American quarter dollar coin—with a pointed stick not much bigger than a pencil.

Because this is Argentina, spectators can stand as close as the wish to the action. They can experience the thrill and power of a horse at full gallop less than a meter away. When the gaucho spears the ring, the crowd cheers. He returns holding his trophy high as the boys and girls hold their hands high to see if he will give them this souvenir.

This was the first Sunday of the regular season for the Feria de Mataderos. It is a long bus ride—about an hour on the 92 colectivo from Recoleta—but well worth the effort.

Thanks for the pictures, Tom

There is no hot water---but there's TACOS!!!! (Ken)

2007-04-14T20:49:00.000-03:00

We have not had hot water for two days now. And it is not going to be fixed until Monday at the earliest. The only comfort we take in this situation is that the portero, encargado and dueña of this apartment also live here and also have no hot water. If there were possibly something they could do to get it, they would. So, I guess we all bathe in the sink with boiled water for a few more days.

However, I got a call from José Luis, the portero, this morning to say I had a package downstairs. It was from my sister-in-law, Suzie. She sent us some spices that we can’t find here and two packages of taco seasoning. We have not had anything like tacos since before new years.

I went to the supermercado to see if I could fill out the remaining ingredients. Tomatoes, lettuce—no problem. Sour cream—well, mendi cream will do. But what about tortillas? I looked in the aisle where the empanada shells were and was thinking they would work. They are more like a pastry shell, but this is Argentina and one must improvise (that may even be the national motto).

Just then, a Porteña came up to give me advice on the brand of empanada shell I should use. Apparently I had selected an inferior product. When I gave her the deer-in-the headlights look, she said, (and I translate) “Oh, you don’t speak Castellano.”

“A little”, I said. “Well try English and I’ll see if I understand you.” I went for it in Spanish.

(Again in translation) “I am trying to make a Mexican meal, and I am looking for tortillas. There are two types: corn and flour.”

“Oh, I know what you want. Follow me,” she said.

She led me to an isle and pointed out the Bimbo brand Rapidadas. They sure looked like flour tortillas to me. “Muchisimos Gracias!” I said. And I was on my way.

So, tonight we had what was a very close approximation of tacos. I ate waaaaaay too much, and will most likely pay for it tomorrow. But it was worth it.

Helen was much more restrained.

But it will still be until Monday before I can take a shower.

P.S. Thanks Suzie!!

Shopping (Helen & Ken)

2007-04-13T19:25:00.000-03:00

Ken and I still laugh-cry every day about our shopping experiences. It is just so different.
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I wanted something to read and so we found our way to the english book store. And, of course we chose exactly the wrong day to shop there. It was the Saturday before classes begin, and all the students who attend english institutes buy their books there. The word crowded qualifies as a classic understatement. Ken even refused to go in, but I dragged him. The store is not very big, and much longer than it is wide. The back half of the store was roped off (no idea why). The front half of the store was literally shoulder to shoulder and back to front. I know this sounds like exaggeration, but I promise you it is not. I squeeze and wiggle and push my way to the paperback books looking for Maeve Binchy. I find her!! I claim my square foot of space and look thru her section until I find "The Copper Beach". Meanwhile, thank God, Ken has found the number-ticket machine and taken a number. They are on number 79 and we have number 1,240 (Ok, that is an exaggeration). We wait our turn and when she calls my number I worm my way to the front and hand her my book. I also ask how much another small paperback book that is located behind the counter costs. Many minutes pass. She looks it up. God forbid the price should be actually ON or Under the book. 110 pesos!! Nevermind, I'll just take this. More minutes pass and she produces a computerized 8" x 6" sheet of paper with the name of the book on it. I try to hand her my money, but she directs me to another line. I have no idea why she cannot take the payment - that is just the system. I stand in the payment line. I wait again. At this point we notice the store is thinning out. My turn!! 32 freaking pesos for a paperback book!! This is a lot of money if you live on pesos.
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Meanwhile, the reason the store is thinning out, is because it closes early on Saturday. The security man has not only locked the door, but lowered the security gate. The security gate has this little Hobbit door in it that is about 3 feet tall by 18 inches wide. Each customer must bend down and squeeze thru this little door to exit the store. This is common.
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One last thing about the book. As I am reading page 24, it ends with the sentence, "Perhaps she thought her daugher Madeleine was intended for something more elevated than workin in .... page 25..."Jesus, you're a stubborn woman". HUH? I look again. OK, now I am on page 153. I assume the pages are out of order. I look for page 153 expecting it to be missing. Nope. Its there. I have pages 153-184 of another book called "Out of the Shadows" by Kay Hooper, and am missing pages 25-56 of "The Copper Beach". Confundas? Try shopping here.
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Now for Ken - -

Here is a picture of Helen and Monica in Córdoba at the neighborhood almacen getting some groceries. Notice that the store is a fortress. Unless you know what they have, you can't buy it. Often we do not know the names for items here, but we can bring them to the counter and buy them anyway--in this case, if you can't ask for it, you can't have it.

I bought some shoes the other day. I was very proud of myself that I could use my Castellano to tell the girl what I wanted and what size and then ask for a different style and size. Then, once i had the right size and style, I began to walk around a bit to see how they felt. "Señor, no puedes." she says. (You can'tdo that). ¿Por qué? I ask. "Porque es sucio. (Because it is dirty), she replies. She tells me I cannot walk in the shoes I want to buy because I will get them dirty! Ana--the woman from whom we rent and whom we like very much--says that many shoe stores have a small length of carpet that customers are welcome to use to tryout the shoe. This store had no such accommodation.

To paraphrase Waylon Jennings: "It 'aint wrong--it's just different."

Cementario Recoleta

2007-04-13T07:34:00.000-03:00

Yesterday, Helen and I went on a guided tour of the Recoleta Cemetery. We took the English tour with an international group of about 15. There were about 6 or 7 USAmericans, two Canadians, some French, Swiss, and an Argentina.

Our guide, Florencia, we charming and witty. She would often say, "Come close. There are gossips I must tell."

I have been to the cemetery at least a half-dozen times before, but just wandering around by myself. With Florencia, we were shown the historical, the interesting, and the downright strange.

"All the streets of Buenos Aires are buried here," she told us as she began to show us the tombs of Argentinas political and historical figures. There are many past presidents, military heroes, and a large mausoleum build for a Nobel Prize winner.

The cemetery is full. There are over 30,000 structures there. Rent is due each month, and cemetary property can be seized for tax auction after 40 years of non-payment. The catch is, there is no pre-paying. The rent must be paid every month. The currency here is so volatile that the cemetery board is afraid that next year's rent--paid in advance--will be nearly worthless when next year arrives. What makes it more difficult is that Argentinos do not use checks to pay bills. Almost everyday, we see lines outside of bank with people cued up to pay their bills in cash. All-too-often, the person in front of us in the supermarket line, who looks like he has but a few items, will reveal a stack of bills he wants to pay. Each of these must be paid individually. Anyway, back to the cemetery . . .

Florencia also told us that whenever there is a financial crisis, old, establish, aristocratic Argentine families will sell their cemetary property. These properties sell for almost the price of an apartment to well over a million dollars--not pesos--dollars. While we were there she pointed out some sarcophagi that were for sale and one that had recently sold. that one was open and being repaired. We peered inside and were surprised to discover how deep the tomb goes--at least 10 meters.

Of course, Evita is there. Now anyway. Florencia joked that Argentinos travel more in death than they do in life. Several times, she told us of political grave robbers who would hold remains ransom for political gain or political statement. Eva Peron's died in 1952 and she was embalmed--something that Argentinos do not regularly do. She was not buried, however. Her embalmed body was found by the military dictatorship that overthrew her husband, Juan. Fearing that she would be made a de-facto saint by her throngs of impoverished followers, they sent her off to Italy to be buried under a false name. It was later discovered who and where she was, and Juan Peron, having been re-elected and restored to power, arranged to have her returned in the early 1970s; he died before that could happen. His wife, who was his vice president and successor, did not want them--Eva and Juan--buried together, and gave the body to Eva's sister who had her buried in the Duarte Family crypt.

It is rumored that Evita's coffin has a glass cover over where her face is so that her family can view her embalmed remains.

Visiting the cemetary, we were told, is something that is odd to Porteños. It was strictly a tourist thing. Until ten years ago, nobody visited the cemetery. Now, with its popularity with tourists, the school kids take field trips there.

Fellow Blogger Contest (Ken)

2007-04-11T13:11:00.000-03:00

If there is one thing that bloggers like, it is knowing that people are actually reading their blogs. We all post links to our favorite bloggers so that our readers can easily check them out. My friend, Alan, told me about his friend Ceasar, and a win-a-steak contest he is having to try and get some new readers the website he and some friends have.

Steak or not, I am always willing to help out fellow bloggers, so here are my three favorite posts from Argentina's Travel Guide. (Just click the underlined word to read the post.)

1. Because Helen and I are planning trip to Iguazu, I enjoyed Danielle Del Balso's description of the boat ride under the falls.
2. Ushuaia was in the news quite a bit recently as President Kirchner was supposed to make a major speech there on the 25th anniversary of the Malvines/Falklands war. I was hoping to get south, but with colder weather coming, and not having proper clothing with me, I guess I'll have to settle for Samantha Walters' description.
3. Finally, I enjoyed Danielle Del Balso's description of grocery shopping in Buenos Aires. My post on the same subject got quite a lot of discussion.

Happy reading!

Profesores Particulares: formal and informal (Ken)

2007-04-11T11:55:00.000-03:00

While I continued with the next level of classes at Universidad de Buenos Aires, Helen began studying with a private tutor--una profesora particular. Now that my UBA classes are over, I decided to do the same.

Helen and I brought our textbooks from the USA that are used at my college for Spanish 101, 102, 201, and 202 classes. Our tutor, Nieves, is using these materials as well as her own materials to teach us.

Helen has come up with a pretty good way of setting up her lessons. She writes narrations using present and past tense about what she has been doing or what she did the day before. Nieves then reads them and teaches the finer points of the language and usage. Helen is now branching out and writing in different verb tenses--what she would like to do, plans to do. She hopes to work up to the very tricky verb construction of "what she would have done."

I am currently reviewing preterit and imperfect verbs. I took a few weeks off to let them sink in, and they seem to be making sense to me now. I am able to remember and use them better.

The young people at the café continue to be our tutors as well. We have coffee there later in the morning when the place is empty. Often, we are the only customers and they talk with us for what seems like a really long time.

We talked about the differences in Easter/Pascuas customs. Rather than an Easter basket, in Argentina, they get a large, hollow, chocolate Easter egg--huevo de Pascuas chocolate--that is filled with candy. They also don't have the hide-the-eggs tradition here. No ham and potatoes au gratin here, Melissa had pasta for Easter dinner.

We also had a lengthy discussion about women's underware yesterday--Helen can give you the details on that one. Some days, a relaxing cup of coffee is anything but. It becomes an on-your-toes conversation with on-the-spot mental translation.

Another of our informal tutors is Laura. She works in the fiambiaria on the corner. We met here way back with the "jamón común" episode. She is very nice and takes an interest in our Castillano progress.

Then there are the guys in our building--José Luis, the portero; and Miguel, the engargado. They meet and greet us whenever we enter or leave the building. Aside from the social-courtesy exchanges (Hola, que tal? Como andan? Todo bien?) they ask us where we are off to and what we have been doing. That makes us use past and future verb tenses.

So that is where we are in our studies now. Our informal teachers are sometimes more valuable than our formal teachers.

Protest march for Carlos Fuentealba (Ken)

2007-04-09T18:43:00.000-03:00

There was a big protest march today in Buenos Aires.

Teachers here in Argentina have been protesting all across the country for better wages and working conditions. The national minimum wage for teachers was just raised to $1040 per month (about US$335 or about US$4,000 a year). In the province of Neuquén, in Patagonia, teachers were protesting last Wednesday when a police officer fired a tear gas canister, point-blank, at the head of Carlos Fuentealba, a chemistry teacher, fracturing his skull. He died over the weekend.

Teachers in Buenos Aires, and from all around Argentina, gathered with other social and human rights organizations beginning at 10:00 this morning. As a teacher myself, I went to march with them.

(Photos are from Clarín as you are now aware of my unfortunate camera incident. I did, however, take some video.)

Everyone gathered at the Obolisco and marched down Diagonal Norte to the Province House of Neuquén at the corner of Maipú where there were many passionate speeches about civil and human rights and state repression at the hands of the Federal Police.

All along the route, I saw some interesting protest signs. Let me translate a few for you:

"We work--they exploit us.

We negotiate--nothing changes.

We protest--they kill us."

"Chalk will not write in blood."

"We are in the street because our friend was "assasinated."

The protest made its way to Plaza de Mayo, where all protests inevitably find their way.

Many other city services shut down in protest as well: public schools were closed, Buenos Aires University cancelled classes, many of the colectivo driver unions stopped running between 2 and 4. The hospitals refused to see all but emergency patients after 9:30 this morning.

I marched with a groups of teachers from Capital Federal. Everyone was calm. I encountered a group of Zona Norte protesters who were a bit agitated and scary, I got away from them. There were so many people, I had to leave the march and walk down parallel streets to get to the back of the speaking area to hear the speeches.

It will be interesting to read the papers tomorrow and see how much I missed. I was in the middle of a crowd and had a difficult time seeing the forest for the trees.

10-4-07 UPDATE: La Nacion says there were 30,000 people there yesterday. CNN also has a story. The Washington Post also covered the event.

Felices Pascuas! (Ken)

2007-04-07T23:04:00.000-03:00

Helen and I were both born and raised Catholic. Although we don’t really practice, we go to the Easter Vigil each year. Our younger daughter, Katherine, usually goes with us. But tonight, we were in Recoleta. So we went to Inglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar.

We were amazed how the service was just like home. Same fire, same candles, same melodies of the hymns. It was rather reassuring to lean agains the cool wall of an 18th century church and watch the Easter vigil just like people have done for almost 300 years.

Tomorrow, we will get up and have coffee with our Rosca and have Easter dinner together.

Felices Pascuas! mis amigos

17 things I like about Argentina and . . . (Ken)

2007-04-06T20:34:00.000-03:00

After over three months, I am ready to make a list of things I like about this place:

1. I am tall here.
2. Eating in restaurants and cafés.
3. Public Transportation
4. The "Live and let live" attitude.
5. The ketchup, mustard and mayonaise that come in bags instead of bottles and jars.
6. I don't have to drive anywhere, ever.
7. The bread.
8. Really good street musicians.
9. The weekend artisan fairs.
10. I can afford to drink nice wine.
11. The weather.
12. Empenadas
13. The people are really nice looking here.
14. Universal health care.
15. Personal responsibility.
16. Parrillas and asados
17. Exploring the city on foot and on my bike.

. . .and 17 things I miss about home:

1. My dog.
2. Variety in (and good tasting )beer.
3. Speaking English.
4. Quiet.
5. Trees.
6. Playing music with other musicians.
7. The ease of buying things.
8. CNN and NPR
9. Reading the Sunday paper and watching the Sunday political talk shows.
10. Feeding the birds in my backyard.
11. Seeing the stars at night.
12. Working on projects in my yard.
13. Window screens.
14. Spicy food.
15. Following local politics.
16. Making good coffee at home in the morning.
17. Going to work, being with my students and my colleagues.

. . .and again! (Ken)

2007-04-05T20:37:00.000-03:00

You will notice that there is no photograph accompanying this blog entry. That is because my camera was stolen from me today on the street in the middle of the afternoon. Helen and I were taking a city tour. I was looking at some architectural features of a particulalry interesting building when I felt someone crash into me, wrap his arm around me to hold me still, rip my camera case from my belt, and run across Ave. de Mayo.

It took two seconds.

Ironic, isn't it. I write about crime and the next afternoon become a crime victim.

Crime and crime again (Ken)

2007-04-04T10:18:00.000-03:00

Last Sunday, I left my building and noticed two federal police walking into the café across the street. As they entered, Leo, one of the mozos who is very helpful to us, was gesturing in a manner similar to describing the height and build of a man.

Helen and I stopped in for coffee yesterday and I asked him why the police were there Sunday. He told us he had been robbed. It was pretty much the classic MO I hear very often here in Buenos Aires. According to Melissa, a man walked in acting very friendly, “Hola! Qué tal? Como te va? Then his pulled out a pistol and stuck it in Leo’s ribs and said, “Darme todo de la plata!” Leo handed all the money over and the guy left the café and hopped on the back of the motorcycle driven by his waiting accomplice.

We told José Luis, the portero in our building, what happened and he told us, “ésa es tres veces” (That makes three times now). I don’t feel unsafe in this neighborhood; I am always cautious, but when it happens that close, it is disconcerting.

Another favorite is the “Bird dropping” trick. Almost every week someone posts on the BAnewcomers discussion board that it happed to them or someone they know. It is so prevalent that the police call them “The Bird People.” Here is how it works: a kind man or woman comes over and points out that you have a pigeon dropping on your clothes. On cue, an accomplice arrives with water and paper towels to assist (paper towels in Buenos Aires should be your first clue that something is not right). As the accomplice distracts you with the cleaning, the other goes through your pockets or purse helping himself to your wallet, money, credit cards and digital camera.

Our only experience, that we know of, as potential victims, happened at the bus station in Retiro when we returned form Córdoba. I was waiting for our bags when I felt a hand go in the front pocket of my pants. I thought Helen had joined me, but when I looked over, I saw a woman moving swiftly away. Nothing was taken.

Helen was given, and unwittingly tried to pass, counterfeit money. She gave the pharmacy a 10 peso note and the cashier handed it back to her and said "falso", then made the action for her to tear it up. We kept it to bring home.

We have been told that this was not so much of a problem before the 2001 economic crisis. People here became so desperate that many turned to petty crime. Still, it is not an unsafe city, and you just need to take the same precautions you would take in any major city.

I do feel badly for Leo, though. When he handed over the money there was not quite $1000 pesos. The robber was angry that there was not more money. No one deserves to be threatened with a gun for a few hundred pesos. I am sure he was frightened. He has a young daughter and a child on the way.

Adriana (Ken and Helen)

2007-04-02T11:22:00.000-03:00

Our neighbors back home in Frederick, Maryland, Julio and Maria Euginia, are from Argentina. Julio’s son died last year and his widow, Adriana, lives in Palermo Hollywood here in Capital Federal. Maria has been encouraging us to visit with Adriana. However, Adriana does not speak English and our Castillano, well, you know . . .

Anyway, after some phone tag, we made plans to have lunch at her home on Saturday. Remember, this was a telephone conversation, so we were pretty happy that we got the day, time, and address correct. Helen was very nervous about going because she was certain that she would either clam up totally, or babble in incoherant spanish all day.

We had to take two busses to get there, which was a small victory. Arriving at Adriana’s, we were happy to be expected. We were greeted by Adriana and her daughter, Guadalupe, and Monica, her housekeeper. We spent the next four hours speaking nothing but Spanish. Lupe knows some English, but she is shy and uncertain and would not attempt to use it. We understood totally.
-
We sat and talked and shared photographs. It was funny to see pictures of our Maryland neighborhood and Washington DC while sitting in a living room in Buenos Aires. Monica made us a wonderful meal and we settled in at the table. For the most part, the conversation was smooth and easy. Adriana spoke slowly and, we are pretty sure, simplified her vocabulary. We know that our verb tenses were not always correct, and we sometimes had to look up a word or two on Helen’s pocket translator, but we were right there in the conversation the whole time. It was very generous of Adriana to be so welcoming and patient with us. At one point Helen even asked her if she understood what we were saying, and she very kindly assured us that she did.
She didn't spend the day correcting us, or speaking beyond our ability, she just very aptly crafted a day of conversation that made us feel really good and gave us a lot of practice.

Adriana is very pretty, interesting, and pleasant to be around. She showed us some photos of her wedding party from about 25 yrs ago. They had slowly roasted an entire cow over wood coals on an iron cross for the party. It was facinating. She was very young and just as cute as can be.

We had just a wonderful afternoon. What we thought would be an awkward day of language humiliation turned out to be a lovely day with lovely people.

Good Bye Charlie... and other stuff (Helen)

2007-04-01T10:10:00.000-03:00

Charlie came and went like the wind. Definately the worst part about his being here was that he went back home. Ken blogged on everything that he did and saw, but Ken didn't mention what a good guest he was. First of all, I was in awe of his stamina. He arrived with some kind of chest cold that I was fairly certain was on its way to pneumonia, but he never complained. Ken kept him on the move constantly - I stayed home for half the activities because I am a wussy - and he just kept going. Also, the walking, walking, walking - if you don't do it all the time can wreak havoc on the feet. I know b/c I spent the first month here with my feet covered in bandaids. We didn't even know Charlie had blisters until practically his last day. And also, he is incredibly low maintenance! He slept on an air mattress on the floor, ate whatever, whenever, and was always happy. He even brought us things we needed from home, and complimented me on my spanish skills! What a saint.

Now for other stuff: We have been here for half of our time now. Like anything, the more you learn, the less you know. I realize how little we know about the people here. Not what they eat, or how weird they are about the coins, or how they dress, but about their social opinions, expectations, prejudices, fears, etc. Our conversations are too superficial, and our ability to evesdrop too limited. One example of unstated, yet understood, behavior is the open display of disobeying the law. They even have a spanish expression for this behavior. But, they do follow codes of behavior, which are too complex for Ken and me to understand in this short amount of time. By contrast, US citizens are rule followers. We drive in the lines on the street and will reprimand anybody who does not do the same. If a sign says to stay off the grass, by god, we stay off the grass! And if somebody else walks on that hallowed grass we yell at them "Can't you read the sign!". We follow laws that we think are ridiculous because it is the law. Occassionally we engage in civil unrest to change a law, because if we don't change it then we have to keep following it. With the exception of big-business, we don't bribe our policemen or local officials. It is against the law. We don't butt in line.

Codes are more subtle, but just as effective. This whole chaotic, seemingly random driving technique, for example, is really a very organized dance with accepted and unaccepted behavior, that appears to have nothing to do with the rules. There are, of course, the codes between gender. Women board the bus first. Seats are always surrendered for older women. On the flip side, women do not look men in the eye on the street. If I came here to find a man and get married, I would have no idea how to play the game.

These are the beginnings of some things I am starting to understand - unless, of course, I am totally wrong.

Now you see it, Now you don't (Ken)

2007-03-29T23:35:00.000-03:00

Finishing up the backlog here--got behind while Charlie was in town.

A while back, El Presidente Jorge W Bush, was in the neighborhood and -- well let's just say Argentina and the Kirchners were not in his travel plans. His Latin-America-thorn-in-the-side, Hugo Chavez, shadowed Bush throughout the region holding protest rallies. These were only moderately-attended affairs and, I reluctantly have to say Bush may have left the region scoring more points than were scored against him. Evidence of this is the grafitti that appeared near my apartment was removed within 48 hours of its appearance. Other grafitti on other topics remains all over the city, but the anti-Bush stuff, it was scrubbed clean. In Recoleta, anyway, Now-you-see-it-now-you-don't.

Vonage is in a bit of bind and that is making many expats nervous who rely on this service to transact business in the USA while living in Buenos Aires. Vonage allows them to have a USA local phone number that rings right here in Buenos Aires. It is local call for their customer, and the customer is none-the-wiser that he is doing business with someone in Argentina--or the rest of the world for that matter. However, all that may be coming to an end as a federal judge issued an order for the company to cease this service under patent infringement law. Vonage stock dropped. After having a 52 week high of 0ver $17 it fell to under $3 on the news. It's not looking good for all those expat Vonage users. Now-you-see-it-now-you-don't.

Finally, my lifeline to the English-speaking world was severed this week when my cable provider unceremoniously deleted from its lineup CNN International and BBC World News--my only two English language TV news sources. All I have left now is the Internet and the Buenos Aires Herald. It's not the same.
Where I am I going get my up-to-the-minute Cricket scores now?

Now-you-see-it-now-you-don't.

Damn, now I'll never find out what happens to Anna Nicole's baby !

Colonia, Uruguay (Ken)

2007-03-29T22:10:00.000-03:00

Today, Helen and I had an expat rite-of-passage. We went to Colonia, Uruguay to renew our tourist visas for another 90 days. When you enter Argentina on a USA passport, you are automatically granted a 90-day tourist visa. Since we are here much longer than that, the most expedient way of extending the stay is to exit and re-enter the country. It is rumored that thousands of expats have lived in Argentina for a decade or more on nothing but a passport and a series of every-three-month visits to Colonia.

Originally named Colonia del Sacramento it is a city in southwestern Uruguay, by the Río de la Plata, facing Buenos Aires, Argentina. It is the oldest town in the country and capital of the departamento of Colonia. It has a population of 21,714 most of whom are involved in, benefit from, or are employed by the tourist trade.

It was founded in 1680 by the Portuguese, Colonia del Sacramento. This is still evident in the architecture of the town and its culture. The Portuguese claim was later disputed by the Spanish who settled on the opposite bank of the river at Buenos Aires. The colony kept changing hands under treaties like the Treaty of Madrid in 1750 and the Treaty of San Ildefonso in 1777, until it settled, for a time, with the Spanish. Then back to Portuguese control again, and later to the Brazilians.

Today the original part of Colonia still keeps the odd, terrain-fitting street plan in the oldest part, built by the Portuguese, contrasting with the wider orthogonal calles in the Spanish area. Between “traveling” streets are “drainage” streets were it is difficult to walk, but the protruding stones slow the drainage water from above as it makes its way to the river below. It is a walled city and the original gate and part of the fortress remain.

We took the Buquebus from Puerto Madero at 9:45 and arrived in Colonia in about an hour. The experience was interesting to say the least. In Buenos Aires, we got our tickets and headed to immigration. There, we waited in line a short time before being summoned to a desk with two people. We gave our tickets and passport to a young woman, whom we later determined was the Argentina immigration official who processed our exit from Argentina. As this was day 90 of our 90 day visa, there were no problems—thankfully. Once she stamped our passports as leaving Argentina, she handed them to the man seated next to her who examined them and stamped them indicating we had entered Uruguay. We them went through the x-ray and metal detector, and boarded the ferry.

It was a rainy, windy day in Southern South America, and the Rio de la Plata was choppy. It was a bumpy ride on this high speed ferry and Helen was all-too-happy to be on (relatively) dry land again.

We rented a golf cart and tooled around in the rain and drizzle for the better part of three hours. We returned to the ferry for our voyage back to Argentina, and the process was reversed. We checked in (and paid our port tax of $10 to leave) and headed back to immigration. The Uruguayan official processed us out of Uruguay and handed our passports over to the Argentine official who granted us an additional 90-day tourist visa.

That’s it. We walked on the ferry.

The ride back, with the wind at our stern, was fine. We exited the ferry expecting to clear customs again, but, because we had no checked baggage, we walked right out on to the street.

At first, I was a bit surprised, and then I was delighted that there are still places in the world where the people don’t see Al Quida lurking around every corner.

So, Helen and I have experienced an expat rite-of-passage: our first (and apparently last) out-and-in visa renewal.

Goodbye Charlie (Ken)

2007-03-29T21:46:00.000-03:00

Our good friend Charlie has come and gone. His visit was like a letter from home. He is the first familiar face—the first familiar tangible thing—we have had since we got here. We enjoyed every minute of his time here. Not only that--he brought us supplies and care packages.

His first day, I walked him all around town until his feet were literally blistered. We went to the Cemetery and all aver Recoleta ending up at Shoeless Joe’s for some Quilmes (Which I am sure is now his FAVORITE beer). That night was dinner at one of our neighborhood restaurants.

The next day we headed out for more adventure around town. Helen took him to the Artesian fair at Recoleta and that night we went to Dana and Gabriel’s home for an Argentine asado. We had a lovely evening visiting with a family that lives and works in Buenos Aires. It could not have been more perfect—not just for Charlie, but for Helen and me too.

Sunday, I took him to San Telmo for the street fair and made him walk back to Recoleta on his blistered feet—it was then he asked for band-aids and I found out his feet were really blistered.

Monday, we went to the horse races at Hipodromo de Palermo and another dinner out.

Tuesday, I took him guitar shopping at Talcahuano y Saramento. Then around town for a thrilling colectivo ride home. That night, we ate some regional food at La Querencia—Helen and I like to call it “Argentine comfort food.” It is the kind of stuff that you’d want to eat if you were feeling overworked and under appreciated. It would remind you of your mom and your grandmother, and everything would seem OK again.

Wednesday, he went back to the guitar store and bought his Argentine guitar. We made it back just in time for his remise and we had to say goodbye to our emissary from home.

I called him tonight to see if the trip went well. It did. He was in the grocery store bagging his American food and said, “I can’t tell you how great it feels to have people speaking English to me.”

Anyway, we were happy to have him; his visit was too short. It did, however, let us know how far we have come. And, it gave us a chance to show off—if just a little.

What did I miss Charlie? Fill us in.

Winning Hearts and Minds (by Chas)

2007-03-25T22:31:00.000-03:00

Tonight, we have a guest appearance . . .

Now that the Great World Peas Summit of 2007 appears to be drawing to a close, I think it might be safe for me to tiptoe onto the scene to offer some of my embryonic impressions of Buenos Aires. I’ll try to be brief, but I will almost certainly fail.

Let me start off by saying that linguistically, my situation is in no way similar to Ken’s and Helen’s, in that they’ve have really had to penetrate this language barrier as a matter of survival. With the exception of my very first hour in country, all my encounters with the locals have been with the safety net of Ken or Helen by my side to bail me out of the inevitable jam that ensues when you can croak out some semi-intelligible noises in a foreign language, but literally lack the capacity to comprehend even one single word of the response. The Plan for my arrival, painstakingly arranged in advance by Ken, was that when I emerged from Customs, Ernesto, the remis driver, would be standing there holding a sign with my name on it. Well, apparently, checking for last-minute flight time changes is not part of the service, so when my plane landed an hour late, Ernesto had already been standing around for an hour, wondering where this inept traveler could be. By the time I got there – and I’m absolutely sure I was standing in the right place – there was no one holding a sign of any kind. Ok, time to go hire a remis on my own. When I confidently announced my intentions, in what I considered to be Spanish, the girl in the booth somehow surmised that my native language was English. To her credit, she answered me in Spanish anyway, which quickly proved futile. She switched effortlessly to English, and things went much better. Ultimately, I ended up having to pay both my driver AND Ernesto (the next day), because his service insists that he was there at the appointed time, and that he waited 90 minutes. (I have reason to believe he really was there, but if he and I were in the same place for thirty minutes, why, why, WHY didn’t I see him? Never mind, it’s only money.) I had just had my first taste of what Ken and Helen have been enduring every day of their lives for the past 10 weeks. My hat is off to these two – they’re now having relaxed conversations with waitresses and store clerks in a language that sounds way different in life than it did in my textbook back in 1971. Don’t get me wrong – I’m sure they’re saying “Please to permitting for we taking thirteen coffee please,” but they’re getting the job done, and I’m certainly not. I’ve been here four days, and I still can’t understand a word. Ken says it takes two weeks to get the ears attuned to the sound, so I better keep them close by at all times.

My Kerrs have some mad survival skills. In the two months they’ve been here, they’ve assembled a social network. Last night we had dinner at the home of Dana and Gabriel, and it was just the most delightful time. They’re both from here, but they speak English almost without an accent, as do their kids, and they seem to know more about the subtleties of life and politics in the US than most Americans I know. Much food, much wine, and much laughter – what more can a guy ask for? Ken has, I think, already expressed his desire to blend in, and not stomp around the city with his American flag flying, but I’m glad if people know that these warm and engaging Kerrs are Americans. I think we could use the positive representation. Looks to me like they’re busy spreading smiles and goodwill throughout the neighborhood.

Another impressive accomplishment of these two is that they seem to have figured out this fairly complicated bus system. (The buses, by the way, roar by at about 9000 decibels. I’ve never heard such a cacophony in my life.)

The apartment is small, but very nice. I have a room to myself, and it has one-and-a-half baths, so we’re never crashing into each other during our morning routines. And by the way, if all the above is not impressive enough for you, let me just say that they immediately figured out what the bidet is used for.

Dragon de Oro, un Restaurante Chino en Buenos Aires(Ken)

2007-03-24T16:46:00.000-03:00

Our friend, Charlie, those of you who follow the comments on this blog know him and love him as “Chas,” is visiting. The other night, a group from my class at UBA got together for dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Yi Le, from Shanghi, organized the evening and got us a big table in the back. She did all the ordering so that we could have as authentic a Chinese dining experience as possible in Buenos Aires.

Charlie had just arrived that morning, so he was having a bit of a surreal experience—he was in Buenos Aires, at a Chinese restaurant, with people from six different countries, and the only common language was Spanish.

As if that was not surreal enough for him, while we were there, a Chinese wedding reception took place in the room where we had our table. We stayed around to watch. Guests began to arrive and a Hostess/Karaoke singer served as emcee.

The groom stood at the door of the restaurant with a silver tray of single cigarettes each decorated with a red band around the filter. Reception tables had nuts and candies and fruit juice. The happy couple arrived to firecrackers, music, and applause. Then the food started to come out—lots and lots of food.

Then the traditional rituals took place. As the bride and groom stood next to the hostess, she instructed the groom to put his face in a bowl of powdered sugar to retrieve individually wrapped candies that he then had to transfer mouth-to-mouth to his bride. Then they had two red balloons placed between them and they had hug until both balloons popped.

There was a tower of wine glasses that were filled by the couple with cascading Argentine Malbec wine before the room toasted the couple. They then went from table to table with a tray of candy giving a piece to each guest and clinking glasses in a toast with each person at the table before moving to the next table.

It was a fun evening. Charlie had a unique first night in Buenos Aires and we got so visit with our friends from UBA.

In search of world peas (Ken)

2007-03-22T09:36:00.000-03:00

In the USA, we eat a lot of green beans and broccoli. Those are almost unseen here. When we do see them--in the almacen or vegetable stand--the green beans and broccoli don't look very good.

In the USA, we also have a variety of canned vegetables of assorted types and a mutiplicity of manufacturers. Here, there seems to be only canned peas. Shelf after shelf of canned peas.

In most of the restaurants, the accompaniment is usually puréed potatoes or squash. Here they tend to prefer starchy vegetables.

When you ask for a salad, you have to specify which ingredients you want in your salad: lettuce, carrots, celery, onions, eggs (they are big on the eggs here). As for salad dressing, it is oil, vinegar, lemon. You will not get the choice of thousand island, bleu cheese, or French. You can find them in the grocery store in the imported foods section. And they are fairly expensive at $7-12.

The best food deal in town is lunch where you can find the menu ejecutivo. This comes with a appetizer, drink, entre, and desert or coffee--all for about $20. Sometimes, there are a few selections; other times, it is menu del dia--you get what they made. It is consistently good, and I can almost never finish all of it. The portions here are not America-huge, but the food is more substantial.

And once I got used to the restaurant culture--if you want the waiter's attention, ask for it--I now find the restaurants and cafés to be a relaxed and unhurried experience.

But, in Argentina, if you are cooking at home and looking for a quick and easy vegetable side dish--think peas.

Las propinas--tipping in Argentina (Ken)

2007-03-20T20:51:00.000-03:00

USAmericans tip. It is part of our culture. Both of my daughters work in the restaurant business. Helen and I have both been waiters. As recently as ten years ago at age 40, I was a waiter in Ocean City, Maryland for a summer making money so my younger daughter could go to a private school that year. I understand North American tipping well. Maybe that is why I have trouble with it here in Buenos Aires.

I belong to a Yahoo discussion group, BAnewcomers. The topic of tipping has been thrashed about this week, and it got me thinking on the topic again. Here is some of what was said:
Tania Lee wrote:
“I just asked my Argentine work mates and they all agreed that 10% was normal - as long as the service was good, if the service is bad they don't leave anything and if it was not good but not terrible they would leave less than 10%. Apparently Argentines never leave more than 10%.”

“Rshpuntoff” wrote:
“Let me give you the rules again. Note these are the rules of thumb for how Argentines tip: spare change in a café, 10% in a real restaurant, and nothing for taxis though if you want to round up so the driver doesn't have to give you change it is considered very ‘amable’ of you.”

He continued later:

“Enough of the guessing!“10% is considered a STANDARD tip here in restaurants. Anything above 10% is considered either generous or a courtesy because you appreciated the service.“In cafes it is normal to leave "some change." 25 centavos is fine and 50 centavos is nice. If you feel you made the waiter / waitress work a lot you can always go crazy and leave a peso. If you don't leave anything it isn't necessarily that big a deal.“Yes, some Argentines leave less than the standard ... they are considered cheap. I know. I married one.”

I went out for a long walk today to think about it. After two hours of walking and thinking, I went into my favorite watering hole for some almuerzo. I now have enough language skills, so I did my own informal surveys with the mozas. Marina and Mercedes were not too busy and they were wiping down some trays nearby. Pedí, “Tengo una pregunta. Por favor, explicar las propinas a mí.” I got a one word answer: “Malo.”

They went on to tell me that the Spanish, French and Brazilians are really bad tippers. The North Americans, according to them, are the most consistent. For the most part, North Americans have caught on the 10% rate, according to the girls, but larger tables sometimes tip more. Argentinos are poor tippers.
I went home and Helen wanted to go across the street to the café. I met her there and, once they were not busy, I asked Leo, Marisa, and Romina about tipping. “Los Argentinos, son propinosos?” Leo shook his finger; again, a one word answer, “No.” He then said, “Solo extranjeros” [Only foreigners]. He went on to explain that up to about $10, the North Americans may just leave some change, but above that, they consistently leave 10%. Argentinos, if they leave anything at all, just leave the small coins, not the peso coins.
Anyway, back to the discussion board.

Rshpuntoff closed with: “Argentina is a nation of immigrants so you are now officially Argentine. The question is, Are you going to be a cheap Argentine like my wife or a tipping Argentine like me?

Finally, Darin Hall probably put it best: “If you are American, remember that being generous is the only positive stereotype that we have, so let's try to reinforce it.”

I don’t know. The United States is now a service economy. We understand service. We have to—it’s all we have. We don’t make anything anymore; we just sell things to each other. Obviously, I am bringing my USAmerican values to this situation. Maybe I should. Maybe I should not.

I am just trying to understand.

Photos:

My panel of experts

Top: Mercedes y Marian at El Alamo

Middle: Marisa, Romina, y Leo at Balcarce

Bottom: Melisa at Balcarce

El Dia de San Patricio (Ken)

2007-03-18T13:23:00.000-03:00

Unlike USA cities and towns, St. Patrick’s Day is not such a big deal here. Helen and I have been in New York for the past three years on this day. In NYC, people are well into their pints before noon. Here, the only sign of afternoon revelers was this group of North American tourists I passed in Barrio Norte.

That evening, wearing my green shirt and festive pin, I headed out with Helen for another round of beer tasting with fellow expat blogger, Alan. We were joined by his Porteño friend, Augustine who picked us all up in his car. It is one of the few times I have been in a private car in Buenos Aires—it is always an adventure. We arrived at Antares in Palermo Viejo and met fellow blogger, Yanqui Mike and his beautiful Argentine wife. Mike has a popular blog that I have been reading for over a year. He was even mentioned in an article in Clarín about bloggers last month. It was nice to meet him get some more perspective on Argentina.

Alan and I were there to kill two birds with one stone—or kill two mosquitoes with one slap as the Argentine saying goes—to celebrate El Dia de San Patricio and review another sampler of beers from another of Buenos Aires’ brew pubs. (I’ll let Alan post the review this time on his blog.) We made our list of over-the-top tasting notes and even had Augustine along for Porteño perspective. His comments were . . .unique, like, “It smells like toes.”

Antares had some bagpipers. The crowd was amused and applauded after each tune. An Argentine song got the biggest applause and quite a bit of singing along. After they marched out, an Irish band started up. Augustine was enjoying himself—he went to an Irish school and this was very nostalgic for him.

Helen and I headed home, and I went back out to Shoeless Joe’s to see what was happening there. It was crowded and young. I went upstairs where it was a bit quieter. I took the long walk home to see what was happening. Not much green, not many silly hats, but people were out. I could still have gotten a table for dinner at 1:30.

Signs of the Times (Ken)

2007-03-16T22:03:00.000-03:00

It is nice to know that in Palermo Viejo, alcohol and religion do not mix.

Music here is tough to get a grip on. There is Rock National, and many Columbian singers: Juanez, Shakira. But these young guitar players are all about the Beatles. Creedence is a big hit with colectivo drivers, and Roger Waters sells out--even at $240 pesos a ticket.

Move over Colonel Sanders. When Porteños think Kentucky--they think pizza!!

This type of grafitti appeared in Buenos Aires when we returned from Córdoba. Bush was in Uruguay and Chavez was holding anti-Bush Rallies here and other in Latin American countries.

There was an interesting editorial in the Buenos Aires Herald the other day that attempted to explain why Chavez--a third world wannabe dictator--is seen as a viable adversary to the leader of the only remaining world superpower.

Crack, it's not just for Norteamericanos anymore. There is a big concern over Crack here. I read an article in La Nacion this week about the problem.

I saw this poem on a wall near my apartment

The noise of the city seems to insult of the ears,
and what quality of life is there for a man
when he is not able to listen to the call of his desire,
or hear the night time conversations of the frogs in the lagoon?

(I feel your pain, my brother. This is one noisey city!)

You guys tell me. Could this poster make on the streets of your North American hometown?

There is a lot to like about the spirit of these people. They have something here that we in the USA have lost, or forgotten, or neglected, or given away, or have had taken from us. I hope that they do not lose it.

UBA: Ah... the waste (by Helen)

2007-03-15T19:02:00.000-03:00

In BA is the University of Buenos Aires. This Univeristy is absolutely free. That implies the commitment to Argentina's most valuable resource - human capital - is actively present. If somebody wants to become a doctor, teacher, lawyer, accountant, philospher, or architect, they can go to the Univeristy of Buenos Aires (UBA) and learn how to do just that.

The medical school (which is what I am interested in) has a wonderful reputation, respected world wide as well as a source of true pride by the Argentinians. I could spend the rest of this blog expressing admiration for this system. But, instead I am going to lament the shameful way that the University is neglected.

When Ken and I went to register for language classes, we had to go to the Centro Universitario de Idiomas at 25 de Mayo in el Centro, the Language Center for the University. This building was a spectacular marbled building with gorgeous floors with intricate mosaics of marble, winding staircases with intricate banisters, high ceilings, columns & anything else you can imagine that may have been built with pride in the days of the past. The problem is that the place is shamefully neglected. First of all, it is filthly. The beautiful floors of mosaic marble haven't seen a floor cleaner in I-don't-know-how-long. The bathrooms were disgusting - no supplies, no soap, no toilet paper, it was like a latreen. The furniture is ancient, & there is no computerized account of the enrollment. This is a dirty, neglected, pen & pencil affair. And yet, the staff is dedicated, proud, capable, and amazingly productive. The salaries are minimal, and the working enviorment dismal, yet this Univerisity produces an educated people that can compete world wide in its capability and productivity. There are no updates such as air conditioning.

On Avenida Las Heras, there is another huge monstrosity of a building, 3 blocks from us, that looks like an old church from the 1600's which is falling apart, and yet I found out that this building is actually UBA offices.

The medical staff that is a product of UBA has world-recognized ability, yet has to strike to bring their salaries to a livable wage--$2400 pesos for the average health care worker (about US$800 per month). The retail pharmacists make less than bus drivers (correct me if I am wrong) and nurses do not even have credentialed initals (like RN or LPN) after their names. In other words, no professional recognition.

The dicotomy of pride and neglect is striking. It is sad. It should be a source of public outrage. If this neglect for higher education were going on in the US, there would most certainly be groups of alumna, professors, congressman, and parents of students, making all kinds of fuss and demanding public, as well as private, intervention to clean up the UBA facilities, increase salaries, and restore the grandeur of these spectacular buildings.

I would be very interested to hear from our Argentinian readers regarding this issue. Do you see it differently than I do? I'd really like to understand.

Curiosity and Customer Service (Ken)

2007-03-15T00:23:00.000-03:00

Back home, (that is home, Frederick, Maryland) I am a curious guy. I can usually get to the bottom of things and get the inside information. I am pretty good at knowing whom to ask and what to ask. I usually get my curiosity satisfied. Here, in Argentina, that side of my personality is . . .well . . . impotent. I see something here that I don’t understand, and I don’t know how to ask what it is, does, means. I usually just walk away. It has taught me something, I am just not sure what.

Those Internet cards they sell on the street, why sometimes the orange juice is in a really big glass and sometimes in a really small one, yet the charge me the same; and those executive lunches . . .what are they all about?

So I went for a walk. I have been looking for a book about how to make a parilla—or churrasqueiro. I went to a bookstore and looked around. I didn’t find that, but I saw two books on Argentina and Buenos Aires with nice pictures. I thought they would be good things to take home to show people in the USA about the places we have been and the things we have seen.

I went to the counter and stood behind the woman who was buying her books. When she finished, I stepped up. The salesman began counting his cash drawer.
I waited.
He counted
I waited some more.
He counted some more.
I waited.
He ignored me.
I waited.
He finished.
I put my books on the counter.
He walked away and took the stairs to the upper level.
I took myself out of the store.

I just don’t understand the apparent lack of customer service here. For the most part, they just don’t seem to understand that it is what gets people to return. And, it seems to me, that the more upscale the store, the worse it is. When I walk into a clothes store in Once, the salesman is right there the moment I enter. On Avenida Florida, if I stop to look in a window, someone is right out so see if I need help. But here, he never even acknowledged my presence.

Anyway, back to my original point. After a longer walk down Santa Fe, I crossed 9 de Julio and realized that I had hardly eaten anything since leaving Monica’s house and her cooking. At the corner of Santa Fe and Carlos Peligrini, I saw a café that had an executive lunch—Café Plaza. So I asked for a table for one and ordered it right up.

For AR$20 I got a milanese de pollo Florentina con papas fritas and a glass of wine. It was really good and the waiter was attentive and pleasant. This lack of customer service is inconsistent, yet evident. I don’t know if I will ever figure it out—if my curiosity about this will ever be satisfied.

The books? I found them at a newsstand and bought them from a nice man who was interested in making a sale.

Oh, and it rained again today--really hard. Helen and I got stuck in it. She had an umbrella, but I insisted that the weather report had no mention of rain. It rained so hard, the storm drains were giving water back. And water was high enough to run under the doors of shops.

Blog backlog: The trip to Córdoba (Ken)

2007-03-13T01:56:00.000-03:00

We returned to Buenos Aires this evening after a 12 hour bus trip home from Córdoba.

We wanted to travel home by day so we could see what Argentina looks like--the 700km from Córdoba to Buenos Aires anyway.

We were surprised by how much it looks like North America. At one point, I told Helen that if I had been drugged, and put on a plane, and woke up here, I would have thought I was on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

We saw miles and miles of fertile agricultural land. There is a bit more poverty here than in the USA--visible poverty anyway. But this is a beautiful country.

We were in Córdoba visiting Monica and her family. Monica is a friend of Carol, the president of the college where I teach in Maryland. As high school students, they were exchange students. Monica stayed with Carol's family in New York State, and Carol stayed in Córdoba. They have kept in touch all these years.

When my sabbatical was approved and Carol told me about her Argentine sister, I asked Carol to put me in touch with Monica. We exchanged emails and Monica invited Helen and me to visit and stay in her home.

Monica is a clinical psychologist and the mother of three sons and the grandmother of one. Her husband, Eduardo, is a lawyer. He is a strong and intelligent man with a love of horses and the outdoors. His law practice specializes in issues of "el campo."

It was a wonderful trip that has, so far, been the highlight of our time here. I kept a paper blog while we were there and have posted them below.

Sunday, 11 March, Córdoba (Ken)

2007-03-13T01:17:00.000-03:00

In Argentina, Sunday is traditionally a family day.

We had some breakfast and walked around the corner to the almacen to buy some bread and charcoal (they call it carbon) for the asado. Eduardo then showed me how to use the parilla to make an asado. We had chicken because Helen happened to mention in conversation that she liked chicken. Eduardo has a neat way of butterflying the whole chicken and placing it on the parilla in one piece.

He showed me the proper way to start the fire and how the cooking begins with coals placed around the perimeter. A batch of hot coals is kept ready nearby to regulate the heat. This is slow cooking. The boys--Eduardo, Nicolás, and Ignacio, came over with Ignacio's wife, Laura, and their one-year-old son, Valentine. A s the first grandchild, Valentine was the center of atttention for the better part of the day. Edu's girlfriend, Cecilia, also came. Her family owns the paraderia where we bought bread our first day here in Córdoba.

Monica and Helen finished making the empanadas they had begun the night before while Eduardo and I sipped some Malbec. He was very kind to me as he talked to me about things he thought I would be interested in. Eduardo does not speak any English, so he was careful to use simple words and concepts so I could understand the stories. I enjoyed it very much.

We had a great meal with the whole family and then we all played guitars together. Ignacio is a very good bass player who studied music in Buenos Aires and played with a popular group for a while before returning home to start his family. Nicolás and Eduardo are also good players, and we sang songs and drank mate for hours. It was really fun to sit and play with some good musicians. I have not had a chance to do that since I got here. (These Argentino boys are all about the Beatles!)

We all went into town to the Paseo de Artisans where artists and craftspeople show and sell. I bought a handmade asado knife to use with the parilla I am going to build when I return to the USA. Monica got us each a little gift to remember Córdoba. Then we said goodbye to the boys and their wives and friends and returned to the house. Monica, Eduardo, Helen, and I sat around the table, ate leftover chicken and empanadas, and talked about Argentina.

I will be melencholy about leaving tomorrow. These are lovely people who have made us feel very welcomed. Spending time like this, with an Argentine family, is something I had hoped for as I planned this 6-month trip.

This visit to Córdoba was everything I had hoped for--and more.

Saturday, 10 March, Alta Gracia

2007-03-13T00:32:00.000-03:00

It will be difficult to write about this day because so much happened. Monica took us to her hometown of Alta Gracia, 30 km from Córdoba. We first went to a shop that makes traditional Andean ponchos--Tadar. I was not planning on buying one, but they are soooo Argentine. And I though of being back home in the fall around the campfire with my friends, and the next thing I know, I bought one.

We next went to La Iglesia Nuestra Sra. de la Merced. This is next to the National Historical Museum of the Viceroy Liniers. It is a 17th century Jesuit residence. This is where we were in for a real surprise. Monica's husband, Eduardo, was born in this house. His family was the last to own it before it became a National Museum. Monica showed us through, telling us things that only an insider would know. She showed us where Eduardo's room was and the private room above and beside the church altar where the family would attend mass. Eduardo's mother insisted the children attend mass, but Eduardo fondly recalls playing cards in that room rather than paying attention to the service.

We then visited Monica's mother. At 84, she is the widow of a respected physician. Monica showed us this house that is the only other house she has lived in aside from the one where she now lives and raised her family.

From there we went to Eduardo's campo--his weekend getaway in the country. It is a 200 acre farm where he keeps his horses. His friends stop by for some male bonding. Eduardo prepared an asado for us and we ate with the guys, visited the horses, and walked around in the tranquil setting. They even bought Diet Coke (Coke Light) for Helen because they know she prefers that.

We next went to Museo de Manuel de Falla. De Falla was a famous 20th century Spanish composer and friend of Claude DeBussey. De Falla suffered from TB and sought the dry climate of Alta Gracia where he spent his final years. Monica's father told her of the time when he was asked to make a house call on the ailling de Falla. One thing I will remember is that DeBussey told De Falla that if De Falla wanted to be a serious composer, he must never write for the guitar. Years later, after DeBussey's death, De Falla wrote a piece in homage of DeBussey--he wrote it for guitar.

From there, we went to visit the boyhood home of Ernesto "Che" Guevara. The Guavara family came to Alta Gracia in 1932. Like De Falla, they were looking for a better climate to raise young Ernesto who suffered from asthma. Che is mythologised in Argentina. He is now more legend than man, it seems. Still, it was quite something to visit the home of a man who changed so much of modern political and cultural history.

After coffee overlooking the 18th hole of the Alta Gracia Golf Club, we stopped to buy some chickens for Sunday asado. Monica pointed across the street and told us that the building is her Uncle's funeral home. It is still in the family and his daughter runs it now. "Do you want to go see?" She asked--who could pass that up? We were welcomed by Monica's cousin who showed us around and explained that it is customary for the family to receive mourners for 24 hours. In past times, this was partly to make sure the person was really dead and it is now just a matter of custom. Bodies are not embalmed and no "theatrical" makeup is applied. In the back yard, where they once kept the the horses that pulled the wagon carrying the coffin, there is now a swimming pool and parilla. I have GOT to build one of these when I get home.

We returned to Monica's house where she began to teach Helen how to make empanadas--a traditional Argentine pastry with meat filling.

This was the best day we have had in our ten weeks in Argentina.

Friday 9 March: Córdoba

2007-03-12T23:30:00.000-03:00

We arrived in Córdoba this morning after an overnight bus trip. It was comfortable enough. We slept right through the night and arrived 40 minutes ahead of our scheduled 7:30 a.m. arrival. This caused some confusion being awakened from a sound sleep with flourescent lights and an anouncer saying something like, "Córdoba, y Córdoba unicamente." So, what the hell does that mean? Half the passangers got up and off and the rest stayed behind. It was not yet 7:30, so I showed the porter my ticket and asked him if this was my stop. He said, "No, el proximo." So I got back on the bus. He came to my seat and asked for my ticket again. He looked at it and said, "No, por aca." So we got off the bus. And the bus pulled away.

Monica, our hostess, said she would meet us at the platform, but, as it was 40 minutes early, we just waited until after 7:30. Mostly I waited because I dreaded figuring out how to use the telephone. This may seem like a small thing to you--trying to understand how to use a public phone--but, half asleep and not even entirely sure I was in the right town, I just was not up for another challenge no matter how small.

I managed to make the call, and she met us a few minutes later. We went to her house, had some coffee, and then she took us for a look around Córdoba. At 1.3 million, Córdoba is Argentina's second largest city. It has a good collection of Spanish architecture left over from the time of Spanish rule. Monica took us to the oldest part of the city.

We spent the morning in and around plaza San Martin. Gen. San Martin is the George Washington/Simon Bolivar of Argentina, Chile, and Peru. Every town has a park with a statue of him, and he always faces west--toward the Andes where he made a daring horseback mountain crossing to liberate Chile and force the Spanish from Southern South America.

Here, we toured two churches. The Catherdral de Córdoba was started in 1577 and not finished until 1785. This 200-year project shows signs of changing styles and construction methods. The Baroque interior is magnificent. Another interesting part of this church is that the outline is reproduced in the tiles of the plaza below it.

Next to this is the Cabolito Historico, the colonial town hall where people gathered for over 300 years to discuss the politics and issues of the day. During the 1976-1983 military dictatorship, it also served as a prison and torture facility for political disidents.

La Iglesia Compania de Jesus is the other church. This stone structure was built in 1640. The interior dome is made from the wood of a ship's hull.

At the nearby Universidad National de Córdoba, the first University in South America, we witnessed a unique ritual. When students complete their final exams before graduating, they are drenched and doused with sand, their hair and clothes are chopped with scissors before they sit down to food and drinks with friends and family to celebrate. There is a fascinating old library that is closed to the public, but Monica got us in. She even got us into the restricted area where we saw a set of maps that once belonged to the King of France.

We returned to Monica's house where we met two of her sons--Nicolás and Eduardo (Edu for short), Nicolás' girlfriend, Gabriella, and Monica's husband, Eduardo, and her adopted son, Juani. We played guitars together before taking a ride to see the city at night.

I have been in Argentina for 10 weeks now and finally saw the night sky for the first time unobscured by city lights and tall buildings. I got my first glimpse of the Southern Cross.

Mi nombre. ¿Qué pasó? (Ken)

2007-03-07T21:34:00.000-03:00

Yo tengo cinco hermanos y todo tiene nombres latinos excepto yo. ero solo yo estoy viviendo en un pais latino. Hay Charles (Carlo), Bill (Guirmo)., Kathy (Katarina) Karolyn (Carolina), y Diane (Diana). Y yo . . . Ken.

Ken . . . ¿Qué es eso?

¿Qué pasó con eso?

No se.

Mi madre y padre también tienen nombres latinos: Robert (Robero) y Elaine (Elena). Mi mujer tiene un nombre latino también: Helen (Elena) -- Esperar un minuto. ¡Llamando a Doctor Freud!

¡Cómo es irónico!

Cuando encuentro una persona nueva y dije mi nombre, dijo "Ken, como el novio de Barbie."

Estoy avergonzado. No es un nombre apropiado para un hombre en Argentina.

Necesito cambiar mi nombre. ¿Tienes sugerencias?

Mañana vamos a ir por Córdoba. Nos vemos a lunes.

My spanish isn't getting much better. . . but I am becoming an excellent mime (Helen)

2007-03-06T21:37:00.000-03:00

When my spanish skills fail me, I pick up the slack with some very interesting body language.

Learning spanish is sort of creeping up on me. I won't see it coming, but sometimes it just happens. I am not a linguist, every step is slow and difficult. Thankfully, occasionally I am surprized at what I understand. Motivation is key. For example, when I was being over charged for a bottle deposit at an almacen (like a bodega in NY) I was very quick to speak and refused the purchase. In fact, you could say that I debated with the woman. The words flowed naturally, no pauses, no searching for the proper word. But most of the time I am totally inept, grasping pathetically to finish a sentence. Understanding when others speak comes first. Speaking comes later. I am beginning to read fairly well though. For example, I can understand a movie in spanish if it has spanish subtitles. But I still cannot form the same sentence that I just read - hence the refining of my miming skills. You simply cannot be a literal person and translate in your head, because most things just do not translate. For example, we say "I will come over" and here they wouldn't use the word "come", rather they say "I will go over". You don't bring your daughter to the doctor, you carry her to the doctor. You don't pick your kids up from school, you find them from school. When you are literal, you get determined to say you will bring her, and carry just doesn't enter the mind. And why would I be looking for the kid after school, is she lost? At my tutor's suggestion I have taken to reading spanish out loud. At least then I can feel the words in my mouth.

By my inital expectations, I have failed at my task, But, on the other hand, I know more now than I did before I came here.

Finals week at UBA (Ken)

2007-03-05T19:50:00.000-03:00

Here is a class photo of my group at the University of Buenos Aires.
Back row: Eva (20) from Heidelberg, Germany, Martin (26) from Germany, Eric (24) from Sweeden, Victoria (24) from Boston, me, Yi Luh (20) from Shanghi, and our Profesora, Pilar. Blake from Canada, Ulrike (27) from Munich, Maria from Stockholm, and Barbara (39) from Berlin.

This is finals week at UBA for clases super intensivos. We were given a practice final exam to take home and complete over the weekend. We went over that today. There is also an oral exam. The core learning outcomes for this level are to be able to use the verb forms indefinido, imperfecto, and imperative. So the oral exam mostly focuses on those. But we also learned so direct and indirect object pronouns and phrases of comparison.

Today, to practice for the final exam, the class was split into four groups. We played that life boat game where our ship was sinking and we were given a list of 15 items and we had to take in the lifeboat to bring to the deserted island. The list included things like: a blanket, matches, a lantern, a bottle of gin, ¾ liter of water, a parachute, a pistol, a survival knife, a package of food, a compass, a star map . . . and so on.

Our small group had to list them 1-15 in order of importance. I was with the 20 year-old German girl, Eva, and the 20 year-old Chinese girl, Yi Luh. We could not agree on anything. My top two were the matches and the knife. They wanted the pistol and the ¾ liter of water. Now remember, the purpose of this was to use phrases like “La agua es mas importante que la manta.” (the water is more important than the blanket). I tried to explain (in Spanish to a German girl and a Chinese girl) that ¾ liter of water was not going to last us that long and that we need fire for warmth, signaling for rescue, and boiling drinking water. It was a lost cause. They argued hard for the pistol. I said, “¿Qué paso? Soy de Los Estados Unidos y deseas la pistola?” (What’s going on here? I am the American and you want the guns?)

We then had to join our small group with another small group. We were joined by Martin, a 26-year-old German, and Victoria, a 23 year-old. At age 50, I was again overwhelmed by youth. We were told we had to get our list of 15 down to 10 and agree with the other group. Again, I was out-voted by their youthful logic. It was kind of fun arguing in Spanish. But I was able to convince Martin that the matches should go on the list. He argued that if the boat was sinking the matches would be wet and not work. I argued that if that were the case, everything was wet and we had no chance of surviving the night so let’s just drink the gin and die. La profesora came over to ask how we were doing and I said, “Vamos a morir todo!” My matches made it to priority 6.

Then the whole class, now in two groups, had to agree on five items only. Finally, I got to play with the grownups. The other group had Blake, Maria, and Barbara. Ironically, my top five items, that I tried to convince Yi Luh and Eva to take, were the five items the whole group ended up choosing to bring in the life boat.

What I thought were cultural differences ended up being an age differences.

A Trip to the Doctor (Helen)

2007-03-04T17:53:00.000-03:00

I now have first hand experience with the BA medical system. First, let me say how limited this experience is because there is both private and public health care here. Through a reference, I chose private pay, so that is what I will talk about.

I found another new growth on me, which due to my medical history, could not be ignored until I got home. So, I ventured out to the Dermatologist. If anybody in the US has ever tried to see a dermatologist as a new patient, then you know how long that takes. Here it only took one day. The doctor’s name is Chouella; he owns the practice and is a 3rd generation dermatologist with an excellent reputation and a very nice office about one block from me.

I walked over with my Spanish script in hand to make an appointment, and was given one for the next afternoon. I asked “cuanto cuesta” and was told that I could see Dr. Chouella for 300 pesos or one of his associates for 42 pesos! I laughed out loud. I saw Dr. Chouella. The office reminded me of doctor’s offices when I was a kid. Wooden floors, a little changing area in the corner of the room with an accordion screen, the physician’s desk in the same room as the examining room, and wooden cabinets with instruments in sight. Very little automation, receipts for the insurance company are hand written on a receipt pad. No copy machine, only one computer in sight. The reception area was a small dainty desk, with no drawers, taken care of by a multi-tasking young woman. There was an upstairs, however, so I don’t know what sort of equipment could have been hiding up there.

I was his patient for that given time. In other words, there were not three patients stacked up in different little rooms being juggled between lidocaine shots, and who is getting undressed at that moment. Dr. Chouella asked me to put on the paper dress, leaving only my bra and panties. He pointed to the little area behind the screen and stood there waiting for me to come back.

Then I had a complete body check, the requisite lecture on sunscreen, and he said the growth should come off. I did not have to make another appointment, he removed it right away. He asked his assistant to bring him biopsy supplies, and it was him, not the assistant that prepped and numbed the area.

I’ve had lots of things biopsied before, and based on my experience he did a good job. Now comes that part that kinda threw me - he puts my growth in the biopsy container, labels it, and hands it to me. I thought he was showing it to me, but nope, it goes with me to continue on the process. They don’t put it in the insulated lab box by the front door to be picked up by a lab courier; they give it to the patient. So, my next task is to carry it to the lab. I was given the address and told that this pathologist teaches at the medical university and is considered one of the best.

The next day, Ken and I walked to the lab. It’s a little over a mile in a neighborhood that didn’t look all that great to me. This would NOT have been a good day for my purse to be snatched! This is a picture of the building that houses the lab. We rode the antique elevator to the 6th floor – though you can’t be sure because there are no floor indicators in the elevator, or on the wall when you get out of the elevator. We weave our way down the narrow hall to a locked door. We buzz; they let us in. I give my biopsy to a young woman in a small office and am told to come back next week and pick up my results. I ask if she takes credit cards and she says no, just pay when I pick up my results.

The next week I pick up my results, pay 300 pesos, get a typed receipt, and go back to the doctor’s to make my return appointment. Now, I can read the results, which are ok, thank God, so I figure I won’t complete my follow-up, but they insist and say it won’t cost me any more money. I won’t bother with the rest of story – you get the picture.

So, 1000 pesos later, (300 + 400 + 300) two doctors visits, and a trip the lab, I am growth free and healthy. However, since I am a human agar dish, I am growing something else on my hand now. This time I will try the free public health care system which everybody raves about, and report back to you.

Bici parte dos (Ken)

2007-03-04T01:20:00.000-03:00

I fixed my bicycle and headed out in a new direction today (Saturday). I went to Palermo and to the park next to the river across from Newberry Airport.

It is March now, and I find the weather this week to be similar to the beginning of September back home in Maryland. There was a strong breeze at my back on the way out that I had to contend with on my return, but it was a beautiful day to explore a different part of the city.

All along the Rio de la Plata, there were dozens of people fishing. I didn't see any actual fish, but I guess that is why it is called "fishing" and not "catching." (I heard that from a patient at the VA psych hospital where Helen worked. He was fishing at the time.) The fish in the river are not very attractive, I am told. The portero in my building told me upon my return, "Los pescos son feos." And the river is not really a river, but an estuary like the Chesapeake Bay back home. Wikipedia says The Rio de la Plata "is the estuary formed by the combination of the Uruguay River and the Paraná River. It is a funnel-shaped indentation on the southeastern coastline of South America, extending 290 km (180 miles) from the rivers' confluence to the Atlantic Ocean.

Where the rivers join, it is 48 km (30 miles) wide, and it runs to the southeast growing to 220 km (136 miles) wide where it opens on the Atlantic Ocean, making it the widest estuary in the world. It forms part of the border between Argentina and Uruguay, with the major ports and capital cities of Buenos Aires in the southwest and Montevideo in the northeast.
The basin drained by the main tributaries of the Río de la Plata (the Uruguay and Paraná, and the important Paraná tributary, the Paraguay) covers approximately one fifth of South America, including area in southeastern Bolivia, southern and central Brazil, the entire nation of Paraguay, most of Uruguay and northern Argentina. An estimated 57 million cubic metres (2 billion cubic feet) of silt is carried into the estuary each year, where the muddy waters are stirred up by winds and the tides."

The path along the river was a happy scene with Papa, Abuela, and the hijos together at the river. There are many food vendors and bait and tackle vendors. I stopped by a food stand in a pretty where families had set up for a day near on the river. I had a hamburger that was pretty close to the USA hamburger experience. Here, a haburgesa completa is a hamburger with a slice of ham and a fried egg on a bun with lettuce and tomato. I opted for la hamburgesa con lechuga y tomates.

I headed back through the Palermo parks where more families were out for the day near the pond beside the planetarium. They had it all set up for people to view this evening's Lunar Eclipse that was, unfortunately, upstaged by rain.

At one intersection there were three chicos juggling for cars stopped at the red light. They weren't having much success and saw me watching them. The light turned green and they ran over to me. I got out my camera and asked them if I could take their picture. They were all smiles because they knew that meant I was going to give them some money. The little one quickly took the money from me. As I rode away, he was figuring out how much each chico's cut was going to be.

It is after March 1st and boy did it get busy here! (by Helen)

2007-03-02T22:42:00.000-03:00

I was told by several people that BA is very calm in the summer. Half the people leave in January, and then the other half leave in February. And we did see many restaurants and various negocios with signs on them - closed for the whole month of either Jan or Feb. Yet, still I thought, just how much busier could it get? It was already very crowded, having to worm your way through the streets, with often standing room only on the bus.
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But school was scheduled to start today (it didn't b/c of a teachers strike) and everybody came back from where ever they were. Now I understand what people were telling me. The streets are PACKED with people. Kids are everywhere. The buses are great examples of sardine cans, with people crammed into spots on the bus that I didn't think was possible. In fact we saw buses that just wouldn't let another person on until somebody else got off. In places on the street where news stands take up space, it was almost impossible to even move. It looks like Times Square on Thanksgiving Day weekend, only more so.
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To all you people who told me about this, entiendo todo.

I am not going anywhere without my camera ever again (Ken)

2007-03-01T22:37:00.000-03:00

Helen had a lesson with her tutor today, so I went for a walk to give them the apartment to themselves. I headed up Junin to Santa Fe. I heard a brass band playing, and the police had the road blocked. So I waited.

Argentine soldiers in 19th century uniforms on horseback with swords drawn passed me in a parade procession. People watched from their balconies and applauded as they passed. The musicians were even on horseback. I have never seen that before. The musicians in middle section with the trumpets were all on grays. The others were on chestnuts. It was really something unexpected and delightful.

A few blocks farther, at the corner of Avenida Callao and Avenida Santa Fe, the entire sidewalk collapsed almost swallowing a newsstand. The people were able to wrestle the newsstand to the street, but not before it spilled its entire inventory into the abyss.

From the looks of it, storm runoff had been eroding the substructure under this corner for quite some time. The sidewalk has only been supported by a few layers of tiles and a few inches of unreinforced cement for quite some time. Today's torrential downpour finished the job and the whole thing finally failed.

I went home and got Helen, and got a picture, but the best part was over and I could not get very close anymore. When I was ther earlier, people were standing near the edge and I could see from the opposite edge that they were standing on unsupported sidewalk. A few more people or some vigorous bouncing and they would have joined the newspapers and magazines in the muddy mix below.

UPDATE: Here is a screen shot from local TV news about the story. There was a lot of flooding all over the city.

Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar

2007-02-28T23:06:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-27T21:07:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-26T21:32:00.000-03:00

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

Taxis--the Gamblers in the Neon

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."

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 . . .

The Colectivo: Kings of the Road

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

2007-02-25T19:41:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-24T21:42:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-23T23:16:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-22T16:07:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-21T21:18:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-19T21:56:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-17T19:00:00.000-03:00

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.

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).

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.

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)

2007-02-17T00:00:00.000-03:00

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.

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.

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.

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 . . .

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)

2007-02-15T16:09:00.000-03:00

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.

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.

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)

2007-02-14T08:05:00.000-03:00

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.

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.

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)

2007-02-12T20:54:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-11T21:25:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-10T11:51:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-09T14:52:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-08T20:27:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-07T23:20:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-06T23:15:00.000-03:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

The Superbowl in Argentina (Ken)

2007-02-05T21:15:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-04T16:41:00.000-03:00

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)

2007-02-03T15:45:00.000-03:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.