Apr 2008

People here are extremely polite. This cultural detail is especially apparent on the public transportation system where men are expected to give up their seats for women when necessary. Not every woman qualifies – you need to be over the age of 60, pregnant, or obviously handicapped. Sometimes, if a woman steps onto a bus and no seat is immediately available you will see her scoping the cabin for her potential resting place. Young men like myself are the prime targets. Our able bodies are obviously better suited for upright commuting, although I did pour water all over myself while standing on the bus recently. Once we’re spotted a woman will give you “the evil eye” or simply stand so close to you that you cannot help but notice their distressed look.
Women will also target you at stores. I was standing in line at a grocery store and an old lady came up and stood behind me – she was in the no man’s land between lanes of cash registers. From my periphery I could see her staring at my small basket. She was trying to make it apparent that she thought she should be let ahead of me.
I’ve seen two people hit by cars in BA. It might have something to do with the borderline reckless driving that is the norm here. What is one lane in the US is two here. Traffic lights have four settings “Green” “Yellow preceding Red” “Red” “Yellow preceding Green”. If you’ve ever seen a drag race – it is quite similar.
School makes my brain feel like a turducken – a turkey stuffed with a chicken – stuffed with a duck – stuffed with a Spanish/English dictionary. It really has been a long time since I’ve mentally pushed myself this hard. The five hours of class pass in waves of semi-comprehension and absolute floundering.
My Brazilian classmate has a much better grasp on the language – so it’s moving at her speed. We tried to play a game the other day that was a mix between telephone and jeopardy. We never actually played the game because I could never understand the rules or purpose OF the game. I lost at Argentinean “Clue”. It was the fat actress, at the top of the tower, with the rope because she was caught in a game of fraud.
In school we are working on the past tense at the moment, which I find to be the least important of the tenses. I had to explain the history of my relationship with my ex-girlfriend the other day and play the infamous drinking game “I’ve never….” (minus the booze)
I got a new roommate this week - a 60+ year-old Scotch/Canadian, Mormon, Diabetic woman. She loves to talk about the most inane topics. The first evening we met she told me about lancing a blister on her foot. Her sons speak Laotian and Russian, languages they picked up doing Mormon missionary work overseas. She is convinced that around every corner there is someone about to rob her - so she carries a samba whistle.
Last weekend I hit the town with a fellow Texan. Ross has been down here awhile teaching English to business people, barely making enough money to get by.
He took me to a bar (oddly enough called “The Alamo”) where I was greeted with an incredibly high-frequency tone at the door. The high pitch acts as a deterrent to those whose hearing range is still good enough to hear it – young people. It is the sound of a thousand baby birds dying. This clued me into the nature of this bar. Basically, Argentinean women and/or girls (depending on the laws of your country) go to this bar to pick-up saucy, exciting men from other countries. And thus why Ross brought me here. I don’t think there was a woman over 21 in the entire place.
American guys in T-shirts and flip-fops grunted at the basketball game on TV while Guns and Roses played on the stereo. These women were in for a treat.
We had a few drinks and left.
Later, we made our way to barrio Palermo to meet up with some acquaintances from Uruguay a Dutch girl and her Swiss friend. We found the bar (minus the girls), befriended some local rockers, and danced to hits of the 70s/80s – it was a blast. The girls showed up at 2 AM but didn’t like the look/music of the club, so we finished the night in a chic discotheque across the street. My ears were still ringing the next morning.

Buenos Aires

The Argentinean government is burning thousands of acres of land for an reason that is unapparent to me. I can't make sense of the newspapers but it seems this is definitely a controlled effort. Unfortunately, the government failed to account for prevailing winds or just considers the health of its' citizens collateral damage.
I feel like I'm standing downwind of a tire fire. The smoke is like any other I have experienced. It pervades every aspect of my life here. For many hours I thought the smell of the smoke was actually myself - when showering and changing clothes didn't purge my olfactory glands - I came to my senses.
The smoke has made and increasingly difficult situation worse. I think I need to leave BA. It is just too much. There are too many people here - it is frustrating for me to always be in such close contact with so many strangers. Also, I find myself mentally awash here - it doesn't feel right.
I'm thinking about going to Cordoba - the "cultural and educational center of Argentina". It is about 1.3 million people - 10% of BA's size. I'll hold out until next week.
The senora of my household - Susana - finds humor in everything I do. She constantly advises me on cooking rice - something I do quite well. I still don't really know what she is trying to tell me about it - something about aluminum pots and using more water. Sometimes she wakes me up in the mornings to make sure I get to school on time. I don't need her to do this - I have an alarm and a sense of purpose, nevertheless her rusty voice echos in my dreams. She constantly reminds me to turn off lights, eat proper meals, and to always take a jacket. I don't remember paying for the "surrogate mother" option at the school. She is a loving old lady.
Susana wants me to tell her how long I'll be here, but I can't.
The Germans all leave this week, I think this will be good for me - I'll have to find new friendlies. I hope to use some of the recording equipment I brought with me. This Saturday I'll meet up with an American who plays guitar with some locals.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/motherh/

The German and I hopped a ferry to Colonia, Uruguay this weekend - a one hour trip. As we entered the port area of BA we were surprised to see the beginning of the Olympic torch ceremony. There were more police than you could shake a stick at.
We arrived in the Colonia and strolled up the cobblestone streets to a small hostel that had been around for ages. Very charming little place with old bouganvilla plants and avocado trees in the courtyard.
We rented bikes - the German's bike-chain broke immediately and some Brazilian cyclists on their way to Chile/New Zealand fixed it for us. Passing parilladas and heldaderias we picked up some wine and beer. Back at the hostel some New Zealand, Swiss, Dutch, and English travelers had arrived and we all chatted. I lost at games of pool.
The German, Swiss, and myself grabbed some delicious grilled meat at a restaurant and I befriended the area's stray dog population with trimmings from our meal. I tried to chat about oak wood cooking and hormone-free meat with the grillmaster, but was checked by my Spanish.
It seems after a week of Spanish school my command of the language has worsened - maybe I'm just intimidated because now I know how much there is to learn. This will not stop me from trying.
After the asado our hostel's large and multi-national crew met up again at a bar called "Colonial Rock". I imagined Queen Victoria singing Heart songs with Ben Franklin playing drums, but was greeted with locals singing Selena and The Cure through a Karaoke machine.
I tried to explain Mormonism to one of the Swiss travelers, but was again checked by my language-skills and lack of knowledge of the Mormon religion. The Swiss traveler bailed on the bill.
The German wanted to do shots of tequila,but I declined and struck up a conversation with the ghost of Allen Ginsberg.
The next day's activities were limited to hanging on the grassy beach of the rio plata, cooking some local produce, having my shoes shat on by the local bird population, and watching "Click" at the hostel. Yikes!
Back in BA everything is serene this Sunday.

P.S. Winter arrived.

P.P.S. Check out the photos here - http://www.travellerspoint.com/photos/gallery/users/Sabrosa684/

April 10, 2008
Buenos Aires

This weekend I will be heading to Colonia, Uruguay. This small town is on the other side of the mouth of the River Plate - the border between Argentina and Uruguay. I never expected to be visiting such an obscure country so soon, but the change of scenery from the hustle-bustle of Buenos Aires will be nice.
This city never sleeps - there are always people on the streets - lots of them. The buses ad subways are always packed - there also seems to be an unusual amount of dog shit on the streets here. It is only a matter of time until my chic, columbia hiking boots are displaced from their ivory tower by an angry mass of feces.
I've spent the last few days attending school, aimlessly roaming the streets, and getting the tourist activities of this town out of the way. A force beyond my control compels me to visit cathedrals, historical markers, and graves. I think it was how I was raised.
The other night I went to Palermo SoHo with the three Germans from my school. This is a nice part of town with artsy bars, boutiques, and restaurants. I ordered a 16 peso item (about $5) in the vino tinto section - expecting a glass- I received a bottle!
The Germans, of course, drank beer. I kept pace with them and our tongues became looser. Our conversation meandered from light topics to heavier ones, eventually I found myself asking them about WW II - a topic most Germans are not eager to discuss (for obvious reasons). I have never met a nationality more ashamed of its' past. I understand their uneasiness, but I want to know more about their perspective. Perhaps this is a topic best left alone for now.
We continued the night at another bar where I convinced the Germans to drink "Irish Car Bombs" - I watched from the sidelines because of my gluten allergy. America III - Germany 0. I do not think they will trust my beverage choices again.
The night concluded with a 3 dollar taxi ride to my side of town. I am always convinced I am being driven in circles while in a taxi - so I tried (through my broken spanish and relaxed inhibitions) to let the taxi driver know THAT I KNEW where we were and where we were going. I just came off as an ass.
They next morning I awoke to a delightful sensation of seismic activity in my cerebellum.

Mother H