Mi vida!

Well, Coco the kitty is a eunuch. And there was great rejoicing.

I've been really busy this month! I teach with 4 institutes, and run all around the city. I have a couple of groups of friends, and I bounce back and forth from one group to another. I am involved in "inter-cambios," or language exchanges. "Your Spanish for My English." They have been really interesting and some people just want to speak in English, to practice. Really, sometimes I just want to speak in English. It's difficult, because I want to practice my Spanish, but I just get this feeling that someone new won't really get a sense of who I am if I'm just saying "Uno mas vez, por favor" over and over again. So it depends on the person I'm talking to, and what I'm trying to say, but my first language exchange friend, Sandra, says that I'm improving.

I met a boy, Nicolas, in a bar close to one of my schools for an exchange. We got along really well, and he was really helpful. He asked me if I had a piece of paper and a pencil, because it would be helpful if I took notes. I had my giant tote bag that I lug around on days that I teach, and started pawing through it. I took out my umbrella, my "Learn Spanish" book from the 60's, sunglasses, a scarf, and at last... a wedge of cheese. I had bought it a couple of hours before, intending that it accompany my dinner, but had forgotten about it entirely. Nicolas watched without comment, but raised an eyebrow at the cheese. "In case of emergency?" I attempted.

Earlier that day, even earlier than when I bought said cheese, I was riding my bike to the Subte for work. I was forced to stop a couple of blocks away, because the train was parked right on the tracks, blocking traffic. This was odd-- the train either parks at the station or passes through, but never directly blocks traffic. I rode up, thinking that something minor was wrong, and the train would continue on it's way shortly. Then I noticed that there was something in the road. Looked like splattered fruit, and my mind convinced me quickly that someone had been carrying fruit and had been startled by the stopped train. It looked just like that... like someone had a bunch of pomegranates, and had dropped them suddenly. The fruit trailed to the tracks, however, and I noticed that there were police on the train. I was almost sick. Someone or something had been hit. It was splattered all over the tracks, the train, pieces in the road... "Suicides," Muriel has told me. "They happen once or twice a month." The image keeps popping into my head. I guess train conductors have to get special counseling, because it is such a common occurence. What an awful way to die. I know that some people here are in dire straits, but... what a simply awful way to die. I don't think I will ever forget that sight.

In less morbid news, I bought myself a mate! I'm pretty pleased with it, it's beautiful. "Una linda mate," I've been told. It has to be cured, so it's sitting downstairs with wet tea leaves inside, and it will continue to do so for about three days. Then I will attempt to make mate! The steps are simple, but precise. Pour hot water, let the leaves absorb it, more hot water...

I've also baked bread. I met another guy for a language exchange (funny how all men answered my post for an intercambio, isn't it?), and had just stopped by Barrio Chino to pick up some peanut butter. So Pablo noticed that I had peanut butter in my purse, and inquired about it. (It's a magical purse. Wedges of cheese, peanut butter, umbrellas... you never know what you'll find.) I told him I bought peanut butter for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and offered him one, if he had bread. He said "I don't have bread, but we can make some!" I think I probably looked pretty incredulous, but we did in fact make our bread. I learned that "masa" is dough, and "horno" is oven. PB&Js may never taste the same again, after having them on homemade, fresh from the oven bread!

I've realized, the only food that I can think of that is truly American is a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. It's capitalized to show the importance. Hot dogs are sold in shops throughout the city, and there are stands right next to the Choripan stands. Hamburgers are delicious here, and my favorite, a hamburguesa completa, is a hamburger with ham, egg, lettuce, tomato and cheese. When I treated myself to a buffet in my second week here (PS, it's the only thing you really shouldn't do alone in any country. People look at you strangely), I had potato salad and onion rings along with my meal. But lots of Argentines that I've met have only tasted peanut butter once, and have never had it in sandwich form. "What do you do with it?" Pablo asked after the initial peanut butter purse discovery. And I never really sought out peanut butter, but now that it's a rarity, I can't get enough of it. Of course, I prefer it straight from the jar with the addition of dulce de leche, but that's my spin on it.

I've been riding my bike to Palermo, a nearby neighborhood where I teach 4 times a week. "Wear a hat," my administrator has told me. "Hide your blond hair." "Am I blonde?" I asked her in return. Last I checked, the sun had faded my beautiful fake chestnut hair to a light copper. "You're blond enough," she said. "Light brown is blond, red heads are blond... just don't give them an incentive when you're stopped on your bike." I took the advice to heart, and wore a hat the next time I rode to class. (OK, it was actually a cold day, and I was planning on wearing a hat anyways, but I did think about what she'd said while I put it on, which counts in my book.) As I rode by one bus stop, a bunch of men put out their hands to flag the bus. I was wearing headphones, so I looked around quickly to see if the bus was right behind me, going to crash into me, etc. It wasn't. There was no bus around. The men were trying to flag me for a ride. Then, as I was walking to class, two teenagers giggled at me and muttered "Rubia" under their breath.

I'm going to start going to more museums and events on the weekends. There is a whole page dedicated to free events in Buenos Aires, and I intend on making good use of it! I saw a circus act in the center of the city, in the middle of the street! The stage was set up behind a stop-light, and it continued to blink red, yellow and green all throughout the show. It was a really fun show, with a trapeze act, juggling, flips...and free. I really like free. I returned home from meeting with friends, and Muriel asked me how it went. "Well...the bar had free pizza," I said. She laughed. "I asked you how it went, and you respond with free pizza. You sound like an Argentine boy!"

June 16th will be my 3 month mark. And I've decided: I'm staying here until February of next year. 8 more months in South America. Sometimes I forget just how far away from the United States I am!

Boys, Bars, Buses, Banks, Bombs and Books

I'm broke. There's another "B" that I've been experiencing in Buenos Aires. I get paid soon, but have to run around the city to 3 different schools in order to get my money. So I've got to sit down and manage my schedule---take the bus, Subte and train to get from one part of town to the next, in addition to getting to my various regular classes. Whew. This is how it is, in the beginning, I'm told. It will get easier?

Boys. The lines they give me are really just the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. All of them! One boy came up to me at the bar and after trying to talk to me, called me "Rude" and "Cold." He said "You're one tough nut." My friend walked up and asked what was going on, and I told her, "Well, I have just been told that I'm rude!" The boy laughed and said "No, but in the best way." So I'm rude in the best way, I guess? I don't even know what that means. But he didn't leave, and continued trying to talk to me, so I'm assuming that he was trying to tell me I was being coy. I wasn't.

One friend of mine pretends that she doesn't speak English when the boys talk to her. She answers "Iceland" when asked where she is from. A boy tagged along with me for about half an hour, totally ignoring the hints that I was sending not so subtly. Finally, he worked up the courage and asked me "Tenes un novio?" "Si," I replied with a smile. "Cinco." He looked confused for a moment. "But..." he started in English, "I am asking if you have a boyfriend?" "Si," I said again, nodding emphatically. "Cinco novios." He looked stunned, stared at me for a second, and then, in all seriousness told me "I....would like to be number 6." I had to laugh. Now that is tenacity.

I am not usually one to dance, but I've been in the mood, lately. It's pretty much impossible to dance in the clubs, though. I accidentally started a fight between two boys who both wanted to dance with me. "You should be flattered," a girl told me, watching it unfold. "Buenos Aires boys are so apathetic." I couldn't tell if she was being serious or sarcastic, but I responded, "I don't want either of them! I just want to dance!" But you have to choose a dance partner in the clubs, there is no "just dancing." I think I'll be sticking to regular bars from now on. It's just not worth it... you end up in a territorial battle in the middle of the dance floor.

I'm starting to understand the bus system...which is another way of saying there is no understanding the bus system. There is no schedule, but buses are supposed to come to the stops every twenty minutes. I do say supposed to. Some buses are much more reliable than others. People will wait for a bus, and you can see them becoming frustrated, checking their watches, sighing heavily... some give up and take cabs, muttering under their breaths as they hop in the doors. I became irrationally attached to the bus line that took me out of La Boca, which is number 29. This seems to be one of the least reliable bus lines, though. I have waited at a stop for half an hour, had to text the school that I was supposed to be teaching for "I'm going to be late, I'm sorry!"... and because of the broke part, the option of just hopping into a taxi instead of waiting for the bus isn't realistic for me. On one hand, its nice because it forces me to experience the porteno way of life. On the other, I'm late to everything. I decided to branch out and try new bus lines. I waited at the bus stop for 130, pleased with myself for figuring out another bus that would get me to my neighborhood. After half an hours wait, the 29 pulled up to the stop. It's reliably unreliable, I guess. I gave up and took the 29 home.


Banks. Oh, banks in any country don't seem to really want to give you your money. I have some money floating between Tucson and Buenos Aires, and I can't get it. A bank representative from the States had told me "It's much easier to send your money to an account in Buenos Aires-- you pay less of a fee. Just walk into the bank, hand them your passport and tell them a special PIN, and you will receive your money." Sounds easy, right? Right?? Ha. I walked into the bank, took a number, stood in line to talk to a banker, and when my number was called, and I spoke haltingly in Spanglish, the banker told me I was in the wrong line, and sent me downstairs. Ok. I went downstairs, practicing how to say "I'm from the US, I want to open an account, here is my number" in my head. My turn-- I walked up to the teller and told her all of this in my best Spanish (which, as everyone should know by now, is a work in progress. The very beginning of a work in progress...), and she typed some things on the computer, called another banker over, they talked in hushed Spanish, he called a third banker over who told me, in short, "You can't have your money. You need to be a resident. You can transfer the money to a resident, or you can wait a week and the money will come back to your account." Wonderful. That was the money that I was going to live off of for the next week, until I got paid. Sitting around, hanging out somewhere between the two countries. Taunting me. Odio a todos los bancos.

My roommate is starting something up with other people from our neighborhood, and I am a part of it. We are going to bomb other lots, I think. After seed-bombing the unused plot of land, we all went back to the area to spray paint the wall surrounding it. With reds, greens, yellows purples and blues, we painted the brick wall to show other people that there was something growing there. It's the beginning of something larger. I am an outsider, but it's really great to be a part of something like this. We looked like punks to those passing by, standing around with our spray cans, but we are... punks for a cause, I guess. I'm still not sure if the seeds are growing, the lot is so full of weeds and other plants. But I hope so. I have what I call a "black-thumb," so tending to these seeds will be another challenge for me. I'm ready. I mean, I'm facing down spiders on a daily basis, cooking pretty often, so learning to nurture seedlings is next on my list, I guess!

My Spanish is coming along, pero poco a poco. I bought a Spanish verbs book, and my personal goal is one verb per day. I understand clips and phrases when people speak to me. Hanging out with Spanish speakers is either funny or an ordeal, because we mutually get frustrated at the lack of communication. My students laugh when I tell them this. "So you know what it's like, then!" They crow. "It's not easy!" It's really not, but it's all part of the experience. When I actually do break out of my shell for a moment and attempt Spanish, people guess that I've been here for six months instead of two. Which is sweet and all, but I just wish I was fluent already. But... its another goal. My first two I accomplished in my first two weeks here-- get a job and find a home. Now that those are settled, I am directing my attention to Spanish. I have a Spanish girly magazine that I'm trying to read, but I have to look up every other word. I have to force myself to read it sometimes--I feel like a little kid, getting distracted by the pretty pictures and ignoring the articles. It's fun, just candy and superficial, what make-up to wear, what clothes to buy, trendy restaurants and cafes. One picture is of a Starbucks whipped cream drink, and the caption says "Classic Porteno: No lo tiene ningun otro pais... Estamos hablando del Dulce de Leche Frappucino..."

Random Observations

----Autumn in Buenos Aires. It's a strange sensation for me, because it's spring in the northern hemisphere now, but growing cold here in Argentina. The air is crisp, the leaves are falling... it feels like Halloween outside. The people are starting to wear sweaters, jackets, boots... The Subtes are still incredibly hot, though. It will be a cold and rainy day outside, but in the Subte it's humid and sticky. So many people packed into such a small space. I have to peel off my jacket the second I get inside, but I'm usually already sweating. The Subte rides are long and sometimes unbearable, but every now and again musicians board the train and play for the duration of the ride. I've heard guitarists and trumpeters, drummers and singers, playing together, playing separately... they all ask for money after they're done, walking the length of the cars with their hats, bags, guitar cases extended towards the passengers, grinning broadly and murmuring "Gracias" when a coin is dropped in.

----A man used a leaf blower to blow revolutionary fliers off of the street downtown. I walked around him, and the fliers swirled in circles, floating against my feet. I could hear drums nearby, and as I walked towards the Subte station, the protesters became visible. They were holding large painted signs and chanting. I don't know what exactly the protest was about, but there is always a protest being held somewhere in the city. The government is corrupt, and people either protest or simply accept it. Some of the most heartbreaking songs and artwork was produced during the 70's, a time when the government was kidnapping, torturing and disposing of bodies. If a woman was pregnant when she was taken, she was kept alive until she delivered the baby, and it was given to another family to raise. Often the family of the torturers. There is a DNA test available for these children of the lost... imagine finding out that your parents not only aren't your parents, but they killed your parents. It's heartbreaking.
Its a part of the history here, which makes it part of the foundation of the culture and the people. I've heard that there are stories like this all over South America-- corrupt government that at one point tortured and killed the people who spoke against it. So much art occurred during this time-- I heard a terrible and beautiful song about the mothers of the disappeared played by a pianist, and all the customers in the restaurant sang along, knowing the song by heart.

----I went to the lakes of Palermo with a friend, and we lay in the grass and talked. I could see ducks swimming in the lake nearby, and a woman sitting in the grass a few feet from us was feeding pigeons breadcrumbs. I saw a flash of green, and noticed that there was another kind of bird eating the crumbs... wild parakeets were fluttering down to join the pigeons. I used to own parakeets, and was used to seeing them caged... but these were flying down from the trees, bright green against the blue sky. I thought.. how bizarre, but then again, I do live in South America! It's just easy to forget when I'm in a city so large and bustling.

----You are always locked in when you go to someone's house. I mean, locked with a key locked in. In order to leave, the host has to unlock the door. If it's an apartment that you've visiting, the owner has to both unlock the apartment's door, and take you down and unlock the door to the building. It's tough to spend the night at someone's house, because you can't wake up and sneak out without waking them. You have to wake them up and ask them to please let you out. Some girlfriends of mine who are seeing Buenos Aires boys say it completely changes the dynamic of a relationship, having to ask permission to leave. You can't slink off, you have to wake up the guy (or girl, I guess), and ask them to get up and take you all the way down the stairs (or elevator) so that you can go home. Awkward!!!!!

----I can't get through a single blog without mentioning food, so... alfajores are like two cookies with something in the middle (usually dulce de leche). My favorite so far has been an alfajorcito, which is a mini alfajor. I like the alfajors with dulce de leche in the middle, and coconut dusted on top of that. Wow. Some more treats that I've discovered (thanks to the orders of a new friend...) are dulce de membrillo con queso, or dulce de batata con queso. Membrillo is quince, which is a fruit that tastes something like apples or figs...and it is served in a sort of gelatinous mold that you cut slices off of... batata is a sweet potato, and it is served in a slab, the same way that membrillo is, and it is also eaten with cheese. I can't actually describe what the combination tastes like... sweet and salty and fruity and...

----Teaching has me up early and running all over the city-- and then I come home and don't make it to bed before midnight. This is partly due to mate, the bitter tea that I drink regularly, and partly due to the fact that the later hours are often the only times I get to see my roommate. I've been so tired, I fell asleep while watching TV... with a glass of wine in my hand. The glass was fine, the wine and my sweater, not so much... I wasn't that attached to the white sweater, anyways. I have a way with white clothing.

----I was walking home from meeting a friend one night, and passed by a couple arguing. The man was in his car, trying to drive off, and the woman was grabbing on to the door handle, shrieking everytime he gunned the engine. The scene was so heated, the man lost track of what he was doing and drive his car into a tree in the front yard. When trying to reverse and leave the situation, he almost tore his door clean off. The woman was screaming, some boys came running from across the street. The words the man and woman were yelling at each other, I didn't need a translator for. The words themselves may not be universal, but the meanings sure are...

----Muriel and her friends and I "bombed" the empty lot with seed bombs that we made previously. The hope is that a vegetable garden, or huerta, can be cultivated with the unused land, and that the community will come together and help to nurture it. The lot itself isn't pretty--- just looks like an overgrown yard, with grass and weeds. We flung the seeds all over...it will be interesting to see if the vegetables and herbs actually grow there!

----I'm getting to be a better cook, getting much better with chicken, but I may be abusing sriracha sauce at this point. I met a couple from Phoenix who told me that their solution to the lack of spicy food here is to make their own Mexican food at home. I smiled at them and sang out "Hi! I'm your new best friend!"