I missed a week of writing for this blog, but I'm picking up jobs left and right! I was worried when my first school hired me, because I was teaching just one lesson a week. Then another school took me on, and I was teaching 5 lessons a week. It was a little better for my self esteem, but still not enough. With that amount of hours, I would have to be home in 2 months instead of my minimum of 3.
My friends kept telling me "something will come up," and I felt like yelling "when?" I needed double the course load in order to make my rent, and I just did not see that happening any time soon. Luckily! It happened sometime soon. I am teaching constantly, and all 3 schools that have hired me are constantly calling to offer me more hours. I'm running from class to class, from one part of the city to the next, from my classroom to the Subte station... but I'm earning an income. Finally!!!
It's strange, teaching business English. I feel like I am one of the least savvy people out there, and yet here I am teaching impeccably dressed men and women how to conjugate verbs while describing net interests and sales interest. They want to learn so badly, and they are often more nervous than I am! One businessman almost broke his pen, he was gripping it so hard during a writing exercise. It's hard to teach some people, because the books are too difficult for them, but they know enough to get by. One woman studied English for ten years, but hadn't studied it for another ten or so. I thought her English wasn't so bad, that she could understand quite a bit, but she stopped me in the middle of a sentence and asked me what "nice" meant. It forces you to scour your personal thesaurus for synonyms on a regular basis.
I'm meeting with some girls later this week to do an informal language exchange. "My English for your Spanish" type of thing. I need to improve my Spanish. I know that I am slowly improving... watching TV helps with that, as does meeting bi-lingual people. Beer helps, too. I am more willing to risk wrong answers and laugh at my mistakes when I'm slightly less sober...
And my mistakes are constant, not just with the language, but with everything. I now have more of a handle on the colectivos, or buses, but my first bus ride alone was an experience. I finished teaching a class downtown, or Microcentro, and decided to take a colectivo home to my house in Belgrano. I whipped out my Guia T, the map of the city, and discovered which bus ran in the my grid. I wandered around the couple of streets covered in the grid, only to give up fifteen minutes later and ask a police officer "donde esta el colectivo estacion?" ... he pointed me in the right direction, I found the stop, and proceeded to wait for the bus... for 45 minutes. I am a stubborn woman, and had nothing else to do today. I made it my mission. I will take this bus home. I will. (It might be wise to keep in mind that I'm hypoglycemic, and hadn't eaten all day. I finished teaching at 2, caught the bus close to 3...) So I got on the bus, a little disheveled and VERY hungry, and asked the driver "Juramento?", indicating my street. He ignored me, almost pointedly. I repeated again,slightly louder, "JURAMENTO?" and he glanced up at me and muttered "Si, si.." I sat down, pretty proud of myself. And the bus drove off in the opposite direction of Belgrano, headed to the more run down neighborhood of La Boca. I told myself that it would turn around again, that everything was fine. And was promptly kicked off the bus in the very non-tourist friendly area of La Boca. This is the area of town that locals had told me "Just don't speak any English, it singles you out... it's the area of town that other tourists had told me they had been mugged. I had a mini panic attack, fought back tears, and saw another woman get off of the bus. I jogged after her up the street, and when she realized I was following her, I attempted in garbled Spanish to ask where the other bus stop was. She smiled, said "I speak English," and led me to the correct bus stop, all the while chiding me, saying "This is not the area of town to get lost in." I rode another colectivo all the way back to Belgrano, arriving around 7 o'clock, still with a very empty stomach. I bought an empanada, filled with carne, and munched it while walking home. Once home, I downed two glasses of wine and went to bed early. The best thing about this experience... I am certain to ask both the driver of the colectivo AND passengers now where the bus is going. Also, I wasn't mugged. That's a positive, too...
I went on a date with a man, going to the international film festival and dinner at a parilla afterwards. I thought that he was shy, until he insisted on taking a cab home with me. Because "Belgrano is very dangerous." I laughed at him. Belgrano is well lit and residential. I am always cautious, but I have walked the streets of Belgrano pretty late at night and have been fine. "If you want to ride with me, that's fine, I don't mind the company, but I don't need an escort," I told him. He tried to walk with me all the way to my house, but I didn't necessarily want a strange Argentinian man knowing where I live. I stopped him at the corner. "This is far enough," I told him. After an awkward goodbye, I left him standing at the corner and continued up the street. The Argentinian girls that I've told this story to roll their eyes. "He was looking for more," they tell me. "You were right to send him away."
The other Argentinian men that I've met come on so strong, they make drunken frat boys look tame. "I love you, Laura," one man told me in a bar, after I had already made it clear that he was making me uncomfortable. Another man called me "Marilyn Monroe," I guess due to my short hair? Yet another man stopped me as I got off of the Subte train, saying, "I have just broken the world record for falling in love. I must see you again." I smiled, said "Chau!" and continued on my way. I asked Sandra, a girl who I met for an impromptu Spanish/English exchange, "Does this work on women here?" The answer, which greatly reassured me, was a definite "No."
Muriel has been laughing at me, because I keep buying groceries that she already has in our fridge. We've talked it over, and for the next trip we're going to split the groceries. She keeps feeling bad for her poor American roommate who can't cook, and has made me a couple of meals saying, "You need to eat better!" Other times, I eat my humble peanut butter and jelly sandwich (Peanut butter is rare to nonexistant here, but I found some in Barrio Chino, the Chinese district, which is a couple of blocks from my house) and watch her create a delicious shrimp and rice dish, with my mouth watering. I have cooked a couple of things, nothing extravagant, really. I'm getting to be a pro at lighting the monster gas oven and the burners, though! I did try to make a cream sauce, which didn't really work out in my favor. I ate it anyways.
I'm waiting for my bike lock in the mail. My parents were nice enough to ship it to me, and I am so excited. I don't feel quite ready to ride in the streets (I really can't emphasize enough how absolutely insane Buenos Aires drivers are), but it will be nice to be able to ride the twenty blocks to the Subte, instead of having to walk them.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
Lessons and Life
I've officially taught an English lesson! Well, to be honest, more like a half lesson of English (the student was very talkative!). But I have been hired by 2 different schools and so more lessons are soon to follow.
My student, Eliana, is 32, and is warm, friendly, chatty and vivacious. She was a little late arriving to her apartment, which left me trying to explain to her neighbor in broken Spanish that I really was fine waiting, and that she really was coming. He continued to rattle things at me in fast paced Spanish, and I continued to smile and repeat myself and flutter the piece of paper with Eliana's name and address weakly in his face until Eliana herself appeared to save the day, thank him for looking after me, and let me into her house.
The lesson itself went smoothly. Eliana asked constant questions, and seemed to soak in every answer. She wrote down several things that I said, and demanded explanations of casual comments. We introduced ourselves, and I instantly liked her. She made faces at her mistakes with the tenses of English, and offered me Diet Coke several times throughout the lesson. I didn't need any--I had already had some water at a nearby cafe, as well as some pineapple rings with dulce de leche inside of them. So sweet! I asked Eliana if that was a normal dessert, and she laughed and said "No! That is just too much sweet!" I've got to agree. But I'm so in love with Dulce de Leche ice cream, I kind of want to put caramel on everything now.
I told Eliana that she could call me anytime with questions (she is my only student for the time being, after all), and also told her we should go out for drinks sometime. She was excited with this, and told me "YES! But... we aren't going to speak any English if we go out, because lots of the cute boys are lazy and don't want to put effort into speaking to you. We'll speak Spanish." I chuckled and replied "Well, then I won't be saying very much..."
My roommate, Muriel, admonished me and has told me that I need to work on my Spanish, or I will never improve. We spent a lunch going over necessary verbs, and also the words that indicate a question, the "who," "what," "when," "why," "how," etc. She yawned over her creamy pasta dish and said "You'd better go write this down, or else you won't remember any of it." I dashed off at the suggestion, and scribbled it all down in my newly purchased notebook.
Muriel has been really wonderful with me. She's shown me how to light the ancient monster we call her oven, and how to steam vegetables. She also took me by train to Microcentro, the downtown area of Buenos Aires, where we rode with our bicycles on the Critical Mass ride. I cycled around Buenos Aires with over 1,000 other bicyclists. We rode around the city, talked and laughed... some cyclists attached drums or speakers to their bikes, so there was singing and shouting along with the beat. The busy Buenos Aires auto traffic did not all approve of Critial Mass-- they honked angrily at being forced to stop, but the cyclists paid no heed, waved happily at the frowning drivers and pedaled on. Some cars didn't mind as much, though, and honked along in time with the chanting of the cyclists. It was a great feeling of community. I talked to a man who was so excited that I was a literature major that he gave me a tiny book that he'd written in Spanish. "For you," he told me as I awkwardly tried to hand it back to him without having to brake. "A present." We rode our separate ways when we reached the end point, the obelisk, but I've still got his book, and I mean to read it sometime soon... (I'll have to look up a lot of the words). Muriel and I took the train home with our bikes and as soon as we arrived, I made pasta for dinner and snuggled into the couch. I fell asleep watching Harry Potter 6 dubbed over in Spanish.
TV here is an interesting thing. They mostly play what seems like American movies and TV shows, either dubbed over with Spanish or with Spanish subtitles. I'm trying to watch more TV dubbed in Spanish, because Muriel is right, I am lazy and need to force myself to learn if for no other reason than to understand what is being said to me, and to be understood. Oh, and also because it is an absolutely beautiful language. Like a lovely cocktail of Italian and Spanish.
So I'm settling in, Muriel has actually told me she feels like I've been here longer than for a couple of weeks. I'm cleaner than normal, when living in someone else's house-- I do all of my dishes the moment they are dirtied, I pick up crumbs if I drop them...
I've never been one to keep my room tidy, but I'm learning here. I try to keep everything clean so that the spiders don't have any place to make more webs. Yes, I've basically moved into a nest of spiders. The place is so old, they've had time to hang out, find the best places to catch bugs. And the windows don't close all the way. Muriel laughs at me, but I have pretty severe arachnophobia. I spider skittered across my desk while I was at it, and I leapt up and grabbed the bug spray and started spraying, muttering things to the spider as it feebly came to a standstill and curled each little leg into its body. That was it. I started running around my room, spraying each corner, spraying all of my clothes, spraying the door... a spider larger than the size of a half dollar (GIGANTIC) slowly unfurled and crawled out from under a pane. AUGH! I sprayed him until he was coated in white, and he still managed to crawl into my room before he shuddered to a stop. I was also shuddering, in the corner, crying and spraying a circle around myself. I HATE SPIDERS. That being said, I have made a pact with the spiders of the room. Stay out of my way, stay up high where I can't see you, and you can catch mosquitoes to your hearts' content. Come anywhere near me, my bed, my desk, my clothes, and you will suffer an early death at the hands of a madwoman crying and goosebumping and... well you get the picture.
The cats do nothing! They sit around and chase butterflies and leave me to my spidery doom! Ok, maybe not nothing. Coco the cat is trying to "woo" me. People don't seem to neuter pets here, and Coco, my neighbor's young cat, is trying to woo all over my arm. I keep telling him "No means NO, Coco!" but he doesn't seem to care. He yowls and chases me around and tries to hold me down. Not cool, Coco, not cool at all.
I'm off to hang up my clothes outside. The house has a very old washing machine, but no drier, so I hang my clothes on a line outside of my room. Unfortunately , it rained last night and I had to scramble, tugging the shirts and dresses off of the clothespins. I ran them into my room and hung them up on the doors and shower curtain rod. Most of them are still a little damp, so I'm going to try hanging them outside again in the sunshine.
Later in the evening, I'm meeting with the expatriot group that has been so friendly to me for my first weeks here, having drinks with some boys who are visiting from San Fransisco (friends of a friend of mine... isn't it funny the way the world is connected?), and going dancing with Diana, who is leaving in a couple of weeks.
I really like my home. I'm glad to have some work, though I'm going to have to earn more money in order to make it in Buenos Aires.
Muriel has loaned me her spare bike for the duration of my stay, and has told me that I can ride it around, provided I get a lock. I've ridden around the neighborhood, up and down the streets, hopping off when a car gets too close for comfort (drivers really are crazy, here!), to a heladaria where I discovered my new-found favorite ice cream, Dulce de Leche con nuez. Salty caramel ice cream with walnuts. The sad fact is, I'm craving it just typing it. I think that might mean that it's lunchtime...
My student, Eliana, is 32, and is warm, friendly, chatty and vivacious. She was a little late arriving to her apartment, which left me trying to explain to her neighbor in broken Spanish that I really was fine waiting, and that she really was coming. He continued to rattle things at me in fast paced Spanish, and I continued to smile and repeat myself and flutter the piece of paper with Eliana's name and address weakly in his face until Eliana herself appeared to save the day, thank him for looking after me, and let me into her house.
The lesson itself went smoothly. Eliana asked constant questions, and seemed to soak in every answer. She wrote down several things that I said, and demanded explanations of casual comments. We introduced ourselves, and I instantly liked her. She made faces at her mistakes with the tenses of English, and offered me Diet Coke several times throughout the lesson. I didn't need any--I had already had some water at a nearby cafe, as well as some pineapple rings with dulce de leche inside of them. So sweet! I asked Eliana if that was a normal dessert, and she laughed and said "No! That is just too much sweet!" I've got to agree. But I'm so in love with Dulce de Leche ice cream, I kind of want to put caramel on everything now.
I told Eliana that she could call me anytime with questions (she is my only student for the time being, after all), and also told her we should go out for drinks sometime. She was excited with this, and told me "YES! But... we aren't going to speak any English if we go out, because lots of the cute boys are lazy and don't want to put effort into speaking to you. We'll speak Spanish." I chuckled and replied "Well, then I won't be saying very much..."
My roommate, Muriel, admonished me and has told me that I need to work on my Spanish, or I will never improve. We spent a lunch going over necessary verbs, and also the words that indicate a question, the "who," "what," "when," "why," "how," etc. She yawned over her creamy pasta dish and said "You'd better go write this down, or else you won't remember any of it." I dashed off at the suggestion, and scribbled it all down in my newly purchased notebook.
Muriel has been really wonderful with me. She's shown me how to light the ancient monster we call her oven, and how to steam vegetables. She also took me by train to Microcentro, the downtown area of Buenos Aires, where we rode with our bicycles on the Critical Mass ride. I cycled around Buenos Aires with over 1,000 other bicyclists. We rode around the city, talked and laughed... some cyclists attached drums or speakers to their bikes, so there was singing and shouting along with the beat. The busy Buenos Aires auto traffic did not all approve of Critial Mass-- they honked angrily at being forced to stop, but the cyclists paid no heed, waved happily at the frowning drivers and pedaled on. Some cars didn't mind as much, though, and honked along in time with the chanting of the cyclists. It was a great feeling of community. I talked to a man who was so excited that I was a literature major that he gave me a tiny book that he'd written in Spanish. "For you," he told me as I awkwardly tried to hand it back to him without having to brake. "A present." We rode our separate ways when we reached the end point, the obelisk, but I've still got his book, and I mean to read it sometime soon... (I'll have to look up a lot of the words). Muriel and I took the train home with our bikes and as soon as we arrived, I made pasta for dinner and snuggled into the couch. I fell asleep watching Harry Potter 6 dubbed over in Spanish.
TV here is an interesting thing. They mostly play what seems like American movies and TV shows, either dubbed over with Spanish or with Spanish subtitles. I'm trying to watch more TV dubbed in Spanish, because Muriel is right, I am lazy and need to force myself to learn if for no other reason than to understand what is being said to me, and to be understood. Oh, and also because it is an absolutely beautiful language. Like a lovely cocktail of Italian and Spanish.
So I'm settling in, Muriel has actually told me she feels like I've been here longer than for a couple of weeks. I'm cleaner than normal, when living in someone else's house-- I do all of my dishes the moment they are dirtied, I pick up crumbs if I drop them...
I've never been one to keep my room tidy, but I'm learning here. I try to keep everything clean so that the spiders don't have any place to make more webs. Yes, I've basically moved into a nest of spiders. The place is so old, they've had time to hang out, find the best places to catch bugs. And the windows don't close all the way. Muriel laughs at me, but I have pretty severe arachnophobia. I spider skittered across my desk while I was at it, and I leapt up and grabbed the bug spray and started spraying, muttering things to the spider as it feebly came to a standstill and curled each little leg into its body. That was it. I started running around my room, spraying each corner, spraying all of my clothes, spraying the door... a spider larger than the size of a half dollar (GIGANTIC) slowly unfurled and crawled out from under a pane. AUGH! I sprayed him until he was coated in white, and he still managed to crawl into my room before he shuddered to a stop. I was also shuddering, in the corner, crying and spraying a circle around myself. I HATE SPIDERS. That being said, I have made a pact with the spiders of the room. Stay out of my way, stay up high where I can't see you, and you can catch mosquitoes to your hearts' content. Come anywhere near me, my bed, my desk, my clothes, and you will suffer an early death at the hands of a madwoman crying and goosebumping and... well you get the picture.
The cats do nothing! They sit around and chase butterflies and leave me to my spidery doom! Ok, maybe not nothing. Coco the cat is trying to "woo" me. People don't seem to neuter pets here, and Coco, my neighbor's young cat, is trying to woo all over my arm. I keep telling him "No means NO, Coco!" but he doesn't seem to care. He yowls and chases me around and tries to hold me down. Not cool, Coco, not cool at all.
I'm off to hang up my clothes outside. The house has a very old washing machine, but no drier, so I hang my clothes on a line outside of my room. Unfortunately , it rained last night and I had to scramble, tugging the shirts and dresses off of the clothespins. I ran them into my room and hung them up on the doors and shower curtain rod. Most of them are still a little damp, so I'm going to try hanging them outside again in the sunshine.
Later in the evening, I'm meeting with the expatriot group that has been so friendly to me for my first weeks here, having drinks with some boys who are visiting from San Fransisco (friends of a friend of mine... isn't it funny the way the world is connected?), and going dancing with Diana, who is leaving in a couple of weeks.
I really like my home. I'm glad to have some work, though I'm going to have to earn more money in order to make it in Buenos Aires.
Muriel has loaned me her spare bike for the duration of my stay, and has told me that I can ride it around, provided I get a lock. I've ridden around the neighborhood, up and down the streets, hopping off when a car gets too close for comfort (drivers really are crazy, here!), to a heladaria where I discovered my new-found favorite ice cream, Dulce de Leche con nuez. Salty caramel ice cream with walnuts. The sad fact is, I'm craving it just typing it. I think that might mean that it's lunchtime...
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Settling In
I live here now. A cozy little room with an attached bathroom. The room is pretty tight quarters, but there is a double bed, a little TV with cable, a heater, a fan, and lots of sunlight! The shower is only separated from the rest of the bathroom by a silver shower curtain, with a drain in the middle of the floor. I learned to sweep the water towards the drain with a squeegee after showering. In the bedroom, I have unpacked my two giant suitcases' worth, hung up my ridiculously large collection of earrings (some recently purchased at the San Telmo Sunday fair), and spent my first night here. It's wonderful, not having to share a space with three other people! My roommate is friendly--she made me dinner on my first night here, and was incredibly understanding when I couldn't pay the full amount of rent up front.
My bank in the states decided that because I was trying to withdraw the entire amount of my rent in one go, something fishy was going on. They froze my account, and no amount of ATM withdrawal attempts or tears would change that fact. I had everything packed up in my hostel, and was ready to go at a moment's notice. Not having the full amount, I had wanted to ensure that Muriel was still willing to rent me the room. I called her several times, starting around 10am, but she was sleeping soundly until about 2 o clock. It was an awful feeling, not knowing if I had a place to stay, not knowing how to contact the bank. I sat in the hostel's common room and did my best to stay calm. It's okay, the story ends well. Muriel called me and laughed, saying "of course you can come over. You pay me when you can." And during dinner, she proposed a toast, saying "Welcome home."
I have to make mention of the food. I don't see how a vegetarian would fare here--Buenos Aires is a city that loves it's meat! I've had steak so juicy... stuffed with provolone, ham, peppers and onions, and garlic. Wow. Just wow. Potatoes are french fried, mashed, or fried into little balls with a cream sauce drizzled on top. My roommate made an alfredo pasta dish from scratch for dinner. The second thing that I'm going to make it a point to learn here is cooking! I did go grocery shopping on my second day in my new home...stopped by the panaderia for a fresh loaf of baguette, followed by the verduleria for tomatoes and arugula, and finished off at the Supermercado. The Supermercado was interesting, because I wanted very basic things, but most of them were in different containers than I'm used to seeing in the grocery store. Mayonnaise was cheapest in giant packets, rather than in jars, as was marinara sauce. Juices and milk weren't in jugs, instead they were in large drink boxes. I looked all over and couldn't find soup, but there were canned vegetables galore. I was too hungry to investigate further; I couldn't wait to get home and make lunch!
Having my own place has sort of changed my state of mind. I've been running on vacation time, meeting people, trying new food, going dancing with my new girlfriends from Vermont. I had a whirlwind of a weekend, attending two rooftop parties overlooking the trendy neighborhood Palermo, two night-clubs where I drank too much Fernet (a bitter alcohol that Argentines mix with Coke--they love it in Buenos Aires), meeting people simply by speaking poor Spanish with an American accent (they laughed, told me they spoke English, and shared with me both their phone numbers and their ESL teaching experiences), and shopping(San Telmo, the cobblestoned busy neighborhood I stayed in for a week, has a giant street fair every Sunday. Everything you could ever want is sold by the vendors, from crisp meat-filled empanadas and orange juice squeezed right before your eyes to bangles, wine holders, dresses, pictures, silverware....San Telmo also has an open air market, the last of its kind in Buenos Aires. It reminded me of a giant thrift store, with old clothes, porcelain dolls, a gramophone vendor---yes, it was amazing to look at the old players--though no thrift store I know of has a meat or vegetable vendor included in it's wares)! But the weekend is over, and now it's time to start to put my life in order. Now that I have a real home, I need to start to worry about an income. About putting food on my table, about keeping this lovely roof over my head, about getting by... So I've been applying to jobs online like crazy and I've been asking everyone that I meet about teaching positions and schools.
Through a recommendation of my friend Diana (she'd never even met me before!)I managed to get an interview with an English school. Caren, the woman who interviewed me, spoke fluent English and was relaxed and friendly. At one point I forgot that I was being interviewed and just spoke freely, talking and laughing about my experiences here. That was a relief, because interviews normally make me clammy and repetitive. I tend to say "absolutely" a lot, and secretly wring my hands in my lap. But for this interview I was at ease, and didn't feel the need to boast or shrink from the questions. I just hope that I can take that confidence with me next time.
I finally met Diana for dinner; it was so nice to see someone from Tucson, regardless of whether or not we'd met before! She was easy-going and funny; she gave me some tips on Buenos Aires and some advice about teaching English. She also showed me how to read the bus portion of the Guia-T, which is a map of Buenos Aires that includes the Subte system and the bus-lines. I hadn't been able to decipher the pages that listed the bus numbers/locations, so I'm pretty grateful to her for that. Well, for that, and for meeting me, and for recommending me to the English school, and for giving me advice, and for offering to take me places...
I'm saying "Thank you" constantly since I've been here. Luckily, I know how to say that in Spanish, too.
My bank in the states decided that because I was trying to withdraw the entire amount of my rent in one go, something fishy was going on. They froze my account, and no amount of ATM withdrawal attempts or tears would change that fact. I had everything packed up in my hostel, and was ready to go at a moment's notice. Not having the full amount, I had wanted to ensure that Muriel was still willing to rent me the room. I called her several times, starting around 10am, but she was sleeping soundly until about 2 o clock. It was an awful feeling, not knowing if I had a place to stay, not knowing how to contact the bank. I sat in the hostel's common room and did my best to stay calm. It's okay, the story ends well. Muriel called me and laughed, saying "of course you can come over. You pay me when you can." And during dinner, she proposed a toast, saying "Welcome home."
I have to make mention of the food. I don't see how a vegetarian would fare here--Buenos Aires is a city that loves it's meat! I've had steak so juicy... stuffed with provolone, ham, peppers and onions, and garlic. Wow. Just wow. Potatoes are french fried, mashed, or fried into little balls with a cream sauce drizzled on top. My roommate made an alfredo pasta dish from scratch for dinner. The second thing that I'm going to make it a point to learn here is cooking! I did go grocery shopping on my second day in my new home...stopped by the panaderia for a fresh loaf of baguette, followed by the verduleria for tomatoes and arugula, and finished off at the Supermercado. The Supermercado was interesting, because I wanted very basic things, but most of them were in different containers than I'm used to seeing in the grocery store. Mayonnaise was cheapest in giant packets, rather than in jars, as was marinara sauce. Juices and milk weren't in jugs, instead they were in large drink boxes. I looked all over and couldn't find soup, but there were canned vegetables galore. I was too hungry to investigate further; I couldn't wait to get home and make lunch!
Having my own place has sort of changed my state of mind. I've been running on vacation time, meeting people, trying new food, going dancing with my new girlfriends from Vermont. I had a whirlwind of a weekend, attending two rooftop parties overlooking the trendy neighborhood Palermo, two night-clubs where I drank too much Fernet (a bitter alcohol that Argentines mix with Coke--they love it in Buenos Aires), meeting people simply by speaking poor Spanish with an American accent (they laughed, told me they spoke English, and shared with me both their phone numbers and their ESL teaching experiences), and shopping(San Telmo, the cobblestoned busy neighborhood I stayed in for a week, has a giant street fair every Sunday. Everything you could ever want is sold by the vendors, from crisp meat-filled empanadas and orange juice squeezed right before your eyes to bangles, wine holders, dresses, pictures, silverware....San Telmo also has an open air market, the last of its kind in Buenos Aires. It reminded me of a giant thrift store, with old clothes, porcelain dolls, a gramophone vendor---yes, it was amazing to look at the old players--though no thrift store I know of has a meat or vegetable vendor included in it's wares)! But the weekend is over, and now it's time to start to put my life in order. Now that I have a real home, I need to start to worry about an income. About putting food on my table, about keeping this lovely roof over my head, about getting by... So I've been applying to jobs online like crazy and I've been asking everyone that I meet about teaching positions and schools.
Through a recommendation of my friend Diana (she'd never even met me before!)I managed to get an interview with an English school. Caren, the woman who interviewed me, spoke fluent English and was relaxed and friendly. At one point I forgot that I was being interviewed and just spoke freely, talking and laughing about my experiences here. That was a relief, because interviews normally make me clammy and repetitive. I tend to say "absolutely" a lot, and secretly wring my hands in my lap. But for this interview I was at ease, and didn't feel the need to boast or shrink from the questions. I just hope that I can take that confidence with me next time.
I finally met Diana for dinner; it was so nice to see someone from Tucson, regardless of whether or not we'd met before! She was easy-going and funny; she gave me some tips on Buenos Aires and some advice about teaching English. She also showed me how to read the bus portion of the Guia-T, which is a map of Buenos Aires that includes the Subte system and the bus-lines. I hadn't been able to decipher the pages that listed the bus numbers/locations, so I'm pretty grateful to her for that. Well, for that, and for meeting me, and for recommending me to the English school, and for giving me advice, and for offering to take me places...
I'm saying "Thank you" constantly since I've been here. Luckily, I know how to say that in Spanish, too.
Friday, March 25, 2011
A week in Buenos Aires
How am I supposed to capture all of the things that have happened to me since my last entry? I'll do my best.
First things first: the hostel situation. During drinks with my new expat friends, I noticed some small red bumps on my hand. I wasn't sure, I thought perhaps they were spider bites, but one well seasoned traveler told me they could be the work of bed bugs. Once back in Hostel Sol, I talked to several people who had stayed in the same bed in my room before I had arrived. They, too, had all had these bites, all over their bodies. The hostel's solution to the complaints of bites was to simply change our rooms. Once this had taken place, they rented the buggy rooms to someone else. One French girl told me that the owner had taken her to the hospital because the bugs had bitten her all over, and it had become painful for her to walk. Hearing this news, and experiencing firsthand that the bumps continued to spread after the room switch, I decided to talk to the owner as well. He refused to see me, and sent a go between, who stated "Daniel is very busy." The owner wrote directions to the nearest public hospital, and told the hostel employee to basically shoo me away.
I asked a Canadian boy to accompany me, and he complied. We went to the public hospital in La Boca, a more rundown side of town with a lot of character. After signing in, I waited in line for 3 hours. I was frightened, and I don't do well in hospitals. My breath quickened, I felt dizzy, I had to sit down because I felt faint. This didn't surprise me... I'm a bit of a fainter. The Canadian boy, seeing how long the wait would be, decided that he had better things to do than watch a silly American girl quibble about bug bites. He kissed me a quick "Chau" on the cheek, and left. I don't blame him--with a city so full of life, sitting in a hospital with someone who is less than friendly (I was too busy freaking out to be friendly) would be a chore for anyone.
The doctor took one look at me and decided that the bumps weren't bites, and were instead an allergic reaction. She spoke minimal English, and I speak less than minimal Spanish. I tried to tell her that I wasn't the first girl in the hostel to exhibit these symptoms, but she scribbled an anti-allergy prescription for me and sent me on my way.
Needless to say, I changed hostels. I am now staying in the Carlos Gardel Hostel in San Telmo (I had thought my previous hostel was also in San Telmo, but it was actually in San Cristobal, not the best area in town....there was a relatively large brothel 2 houses down from Hostel Sol...lovely!). This hostel is clean, the showers are hot and don't just dribble, and the people are helpful and informative. I bought a house bug spray that a local man helped me pick out, and have sprayed everything I own twice over. I've had a couple more bites, which means the bugs followed me, but soon I'll have a house with a washer to take care of the leftover fleas. (A girl from the hostel saw me eating in a restaurant and stopped in to tell me that the bugs were actually fleas, and that eventually there had been so many complaints that the hostel was forced to spray and sanitize the whole room--hurray!)
I started house hunting as soon as I arrived. I saw a handful of places, and met some really interesting people. One lady told me immediately that she wanted me to move in with her, but unfortunately she wasn't renting her room until later on in the month. I tried my first mate with her--mate is a very strong tea that Buenos Aireians drink at all times of the day, hot or cold. Traditionally it is hot, and served in an open thermos/cup with a thin straw built into it. The mate I tried was made with lemon peel to alleviate the bitter taste--some Argentines make it with honey or orange peel, among other things.
I accompanied the landlord to a Tango Hall, where people can come to dance with one another and show off their tango moves. She loved the dance, and told me that she had a "natural talent" for it. Several elderly men asked me to dance, but I smiled, shook my head and pointed at my shoes. One just can't dance the tango in flip flops. All of the women had on strappy heels, which I guess is the traditional tango shoe. Several women also had colorful fans that they waved. The woman who I was with told me that these were also a tradition with the dance. I have yet to see an actual tango, where the dancers wear costumes, but seeing as I am staying in the tango district for another couple of days, I feel certain that I will.
The house that I have finally decided on is exactly what I wanted. It is a place in Belgrano, a slightly more upscale area of town. The girl renting the room is my age, she is ambitious and bubbly. A documentary maker, a musician, a gardener, and a photographer, to start. She showed me around, and the place was HUGE! Giant kitchen, huge living room with 2 comfortable looking couches. The room itself is set apart from the rest of the house--stairs lead up to the door, there is a private bathroom attached to the room, as well as cable and wifi available. And....Muriel, my new roommate, has a cat! I'm excited to move there and explore the neighborhood. The street was lined with trees and was bright. Everyone was friendly, and when I asked a man on the street where the address was, he knew it instantly and said "Muriel! She's great!" There are lots of little shops walking distance from the house, and the Chinese district is right around the corner.
Getting around is pretty easy here in Buenos Aires. There is a subway system called the "Subte" that will take you all over the city, over one hundred bus lines that run all over and well into the night, and taxis. The taxis are very cheap, but the driving is out of control! Drivers weave all over the roads, ignoring lanes, and honk constantly. One taxi that I was riding in was clipped by another car, and the driver spent every red light attempting to fix the side mirror that was dangling as a result.
Blocks are all in increments of a hundred, here, and all of the numbers in the address increase the nearer that the streets get to the major highway, and decrease as they head away from it. That's 9 de Julio, and it is the widest street in the world. Nine lanes wide! Crossing that street and others involves running and cars honking, and you start to get the feeling that the drivers really wouldn't mind hitting you, as long as they get to where they're going on time.
I have met so many people, there is no way to describe all of them, but as a broad overview, people have been so nice to me here. An American that I met just by hearing him curse with an American accent helped me decide on a new hostel, and move my two giant suitcases there. A porteno ( that's basically city boy, a term used just for Buenos Aireians) has taken me out for drinks, told me which bug spray to get, and has invited me to an asado in the future (an asado is an Argentine BBQ... meat cooked on coals. Count me IN!) An Argentine woman dating an expat offered me a class to teach, and paid for the taxi I took to get there in addition to my class (a conversation class--my first teaching experience... terrifying, exhilirating...). A Chilean boy asked me to take a tour of the city with him, and it was my first glimpse at some of the neighborhoods in Buenos Aires.
What a city! I'm already starting to fall in love with it, and I feel like I haven't even really experienced it yet!
First things first: the hostel situation. During drinks with my new expat friends, I noticed some small red bumps on my hand. I wasn't sure, I thought perhaps they were spider bites, but one well seasoned traveler told me they could be the work of bed bugs. Once back in Hostel Sol, I talked to several people who had stayed in the same bed in my room before I had arrived. They, too, had all had these bites, all over their bodies. The hostel's solution to the complaints of bites was to simply change our rooms. Once this had taken place, they rented the buggy rooms to someone else. One French girl told me that the owner had taken her to the hospital because the bugs had bitten her all over, and it had become painful for her to walk. Hearing this news, and experiencing firsthand that the bumps continued to spread after the room switch, I decided to talk to the owner as well. He refused to see me, and sent a go between, who stated "Daniel is very busy." The owner wrote directions to the nearest public hospital, and told the hostel employee to basically shoo me away.
I asked a Canadian boy to accompany me, and he complied. We went to the public hospital in La Boca, a more rundown side of town with a lot of character. After signing in, I waited in line for 3 hours. I was frightened, and I don't do well in hospitals. My breath quickened, I felt dizzy, I had to sit down because I felt faint. This didn't surprise me... I'm a bit of a fainter. The Canadian boy, seeing how long the wait would be, decided that he had better things to do than watch a silly American girl quibble about bug bites. He kissed me a quick "Chau" on the cheek, and left. I don't blame him--with a city so full of life, sitting in a hospital with someone who is less than friendly (I was too busy freaking out to be friendly) would be a chore for anyone.
The doctor took one look at me and decided that the bumps weren't bites, and were instead an allergic reaction. She spoke minimal English, and I speak less than minimal Spanish. I tried to tell her that I wasn't the first girl in the hostel to exhibit these symptoms, but she scribbled an anti-allergy prescription for me and sent me on my way.
Needless to say, I changed hostels. I am now staying in the Carlos Gardel Hostel in San Telmo (I had thought my previous hostel was also in San Telmo, but it was actually in San Cristobal, not the best area in town....there was a relatively large brothel 2 houses down from Hostel Sol...lovely!). This hostel is clean, the showers are hot and don't just dribble, and the people are helpful and informative. I bought a house bug spray that a local man helped me pick out, and have sprayed everything I own twice over. I've had a couple more bites, which means the bugs followed me, but soon I'll have a house with a washer to take care of the leftover fleas. (A girl from the hostel saw me eating in a restaurant and stopped in to tell me that the bugs were actually fleas, and that eventually there had been so many complaints that the hostel was forced to spray and sanitize the whole room--hurray!)
I started house hunting as soon as I arrived. I saw a handful of places, and met some really interesting people. One lady told me immediately that she wanted me to move in with her, but unfortunately she wasn't renting her room until later on in the month. I tried my first mate with her--mate is a very strong tea that Buenos Aireians drink at all times of the day, hot or cold. Traditionally it is hot, and served in an open thermos/cup with a thin straw built into it. The mate I tried was made with lemon peel to alleviate the bitter taste--some Argentines make it with honey or orange peel, among other things.
I accompanied the landlord to a Tango Hall, where people can come to dance with one another and show off their tango moves. She loved the dance, and told me that she had a "natural talent" for it. Several elderly men asked me to dance, but I smiled, shook my head and pointed at my shoes. One just can't dance the tango in flip flops. All of the women had on strappy heels, which I guess is the traditional tango shoe. Several women also had colorful fans that they waved. The woman who I was with told me that these were also a tradition with the dance. I have yet to see an actual tango, where the dancers wear costumes, but seeing as I am staying in the tango district for another couple of days, I feel certain that I will.
The house that I have finally decided on is exactly what I wanted. It is a place in Belgrano, a slightly more upscale area of town. The girl renting the room is my age, she is ambitious and bubbly. A documentary maker, a musician, a gardener, and a photographer, to start. She showed me around, and the place was HUGE! Giant kitchen, huge living room with 2 comfortable looking couches. The room itself is set apart from the rest of the house--stairs lead up to the door, there is a private bathroom attached to the room, as well as cable and wifi available. And....Muriel, my new roommate, has a cat! I'm excited to move there and explore the neighborhood. The street was lined with trees and was bright. Everyone was friendly, and when I asked a man on the street where the address was, he knew it instantly and said "Muriel! She's great!" There are lots of little shops walking distance from the house, and the Chinese district is right around the corner.
Getting around is pretty easy here in Buenos Aires. There is a subway system called the "Subte" that will take you all over the city, over one hundred bus lines that run all over and well into the night, and taxis. The taxis are very cheap, but the driving is out of control! Drivers weave all over the roads, ignoring lanes, and honk constantly. One taxi that I was riding in was clipped by another car, and the driver spent every red light attempting to fix the side mirror that was dangling as a result.
Blocks are all in increments of a hundred, here, and all of the numbers in the address increase the nearer that the streets get to the major highway, and decrease as they head away from it. That's 9 de Julio, and it is the widest street in the world. Nine lanes wide! Crossing that street and others involves running and cars honking, and you start to get the feeling that the drivers really wouldn't mind hitting you, as long as they get to where they're going on time.
I have met so many people, there is no way to describe all of them, but as a broad overview, people have been so nice to me here. An American that I met just by hearing him curse with an American accent helped me decide on a new hostel, and move my two giant suitcases there. A porteno ( that's basically city boy, a term used just for Buenos Aireians) has taken me out for drinks, told me which bug spray to get, and has invited me to an asado in the future (an asado is an Argentine BBQ... meat cooked on coals. Count me IN!) An Argentine woman dating an expat offered me a class to teach, and paid for the taxi I took to get there in addition to my class (a conversation class--my first teaching experience... terrifying, exhilirating...). A Chilean boy asked me to take a tour of the city with him, and it was my first glimpse at some of the neighborhoods in Buenos Aires.
What a city! I'm already starting to fall in love with it, and I feel like I haven't even really experienced it yet!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Initial Impressions
I'm here in Buenos Aires. I arrived yesterday, and managed to get from the airport to my hostel. I'm pretty sure I was swindled by my cabdriver, but I did arrive in one piece. Or really, 3 pieces, as my luggage stayed intact. I packed way too much for one person, but I am stepping out of my comfort zone, here. The least I could do is cushion the city for myself. 70 pounds worth of cushion... I hope it was worth the fee for the extra weight.
The Hostel Sol has a giant sign that can be viewed from pretty far away. A sunshine is painted on the gated doorway, and a bell must be rung in order to gain entrance. A hostel worker is ready at all times to let people in and let people out. It provides a feeling of security. The hostel itself is brightly colored, and can house around 30 people or so. The rooms are pretty bare, but there are 2 sets of bunkbeds. The showers all blast cold water, save one shower in the boys bathroom. Several girls have been sneaking in to use the hot water there, but I braved the cold. It was sort of refreshing, because it is very humid here.
Anyhow, I arrived at the hostel, dropped off my suitcases and went walking. No real destination, just walked. I wandered around, already feeling a little isolated due to the fact that my Spanish skills are lacking. I people watched, I looked at the buildings, I had no real plan, and then I saw a mugging. 3 men were standing around another boy, and one was holding him by the throat. People turned and looked and did nothing. What could I do? I felt terrible, had a moment of sheer panic, and took a cab back to the hostel. What was I thinking? I am not prepared for this. Nothing could ready me for the indifference of the people, or the extreme loneliness and longing for familiarity.
I sat on my hostel bunkbed. I didn't cry, I didn't even really think. Just sat. A girl walked in, spoke Spanish to me, and I felt like a general idiot. I shook my head at her and told her that I didn't understand, a phrase that I've used so much I almost sound fluent when speaking it. She smiled and spoke to me in broken English. Her name was Helen, and she informed me that she was my roommate and invited me to see the city with her. I was ecstatic. I didn't even hesitate and left the hostel a second time. The city was a whole new experience with someone else. Helen took pictures, but I had rushed out without my camera, so I just took it all in. The buildings are so HUGE. Some of them seem to take up a whole block on their own. There are beautiful green parks, and couples rolling around on the ground, oblivious to all else but their lovers. There are tons of pigeons, but not as many stray dogs as I had heard there would be. Some well groomed dogs roamed alone, but they had collars and did not seem all that interested in me or my hamburger. Which was good. I wasn't about to share with them.
We returned to the hostel, and I waited for a friend. Well, friend of a friend of a friend, really. But she had agreed to meet with me and answer any questions that I had about Buenos Aires. Talking with her, I remembered that I really am going to live here. And I became excited about it again. She gave me tips on life here, bought my dinner (something akin to a quesadilla with ham, delicious and buttery), and spoke English with me. I told her that next time I would buy her dinner, and that I was going to have to practice my Spanish on her. I am so grateful to Ines, without her I may have hidden in my hostel all over again, afraid of the city.
When I returned to Hostel Sol, I met a South African and a Brit. We played cards and drank beer, and I convinced them to play Scrabble with me. A Canadian and an Irishman joined us. It was like the Olympics for nerds! I was in heaven. I stayed up 3 hours past the time I had declared that I would retire. I went to bed exhausted but exhilarated.
I woke up in the morning, ready to meet with another girl who lived in Buenos Aires. This did not go so well. I asked several people, including a policeman and a taxi driver where the cafe was, but no one had heard of it. I had looked up the address, but forgotten it during the walk. After an hour of this, I wandered back to the hostel. No matter how lost I get, I know the address to that, thankfully. Roxana had emailed me and let me know that she had figured I might get lost, and not to worry. I should be meeting with her and several other expatriots on Friday instead.
Next I had an appointment to view an apartment in Caballito, which is pronounced "Cabajito." A cabbie informed me of this while laughing at my butchering of his language. The boy renting the place was very sweet, he bounced back and forth between Spanish and English with ease, and I got a headache trying to follow him. I can pick up words that I know, but when people speak quickly I can't string those words into intelligible sentences. Luckily he was patient, and we managed to understand each other. I didn't want the place, but he was still very kind to me, and even gave me an old copy of a map of the subway and bus systems in the various neighborhoods. That map guided me back home--I didn't have to take a cab! Victory!
I'm resting--my legs are practically Jello after all that walking--and later I'm going out for St. Patrick's day with some other people from my hostel. It was a long day, even though I feel like it wasn't quite as packed as my first day here. I love this city already, but there is a lot that I need to learn! Like Spanish, for instance.
The Hostel Sol has a giant sign that can be viewed from pretty far away. A sunshine is painted on the gated doorway, and a bell must be rung in order to gain entrance. A hostel worker is ready at all times to let people in and let people out. It provides a feeling of security. The hostel itself is brightly colored, and can house around 30 people or so. The rooms are pretty bare, but there are 2 sets of bunkbeds. The showers all blast cold water, save one shower in the boys bathroom. Several girls have been sneaking in to use the hot water there, but I braved the cold. It was sort of refreshing, because it is very humid here.
Anyhow, I arrived at the hostel, dropped off my suitcases and went walking. No real destination, just walked. I wandered around, already feeling a little isolated due to the fact that my Spanish skills are lacking. I people watched, I looked at the buildings, I had no real plan, and then I saw a mugging. 3 men were standing around another boy, and one was holding him by the throat. People turned and looked and did nothing. What could I do? I felt terrible, had a moment of sheer panic, and took a cab back to the hostel. What was I thinking? I am not prepared for this. Nothing could ready me for the indifference of the people, or the extreme loneliness and longing for familiarity.
I sat on my hostel bunkbed. I didn't cry, I didn't even really think. Just sat. A girl walked in, spoke Spanish to me, and I felt like a general idiot. I shook my head at her and told her that I didn't understand, a phrase that I've used so much I almost sound fluent when speaking it. She smiled and spoke to me in broken English. Her name was Helen, and she informed me that she was my roommate and invited me to see the city with her. I was ecstatic. I didn't even hesitate and left the hostel a second time. The city was a whole new experience with someone else. Helen took pictures, but I had rushed out without my camera, so I just took it all in. The buildings are so HUGE. Some of them seem to take up a whole block on their own. There are beautiful green parks, and couples rolling around on the ground, oblivious to all else but their lovers. There are tons of pigeons, but not as many stray dogs as I had heard there would be. Some well groomed dogs roamed alone, but they had collars and did not seem all that interested in me or my hamburger. Which was good. I wasn't about to share with them.
We returned to the hostel, and I waited for a friend. Well, friend of a friend of a friend, really. But she had agreed to meet with me and answer any questions that I had about Buenos Aires. Talking with her, I remembered that I really am going to live here. And I became excited about it again. She gave me tips on life here, bought my dinner (something akin to a quesadilla with ham, delicious and buttery), and spoke English with me. I told her that next time I would buy her dinner, and that I was going to have to practice my Spanish on her. I am so grateful to Ines, without her I may have hidden in my hostel all over again, afraid of the city.
When I returned to Hostel Sol, I met a South African and a Brit. We played cards and drank beer, and I convinced them to play Scrabble with me. A Canadian and an Irishman joined us. It was like the Olympics for nerds! I was in heaven. I stayed up 3 hours past the time I had declared that I would retire. I went to bed exhausted but exhilarated.
I woke up in the morning, ready to meet with another girl who lived in Buenos Aires. This did not go so well. I asked several people, including a policeman and a taxi driver where the cafe was, but no one had heard of it. I had looked up the address, but forgotten it during the walk. After an hour of this, I wandered back to the hostel. No matter how lost I get, I know the address to that, thankfully. Roxana had emailed me and let me know that she had figured I might get lost, and not to worry. I should be meeting with her and several other expatriots on Friday instead.
Next I had an appointment to view an apartment in Caballito, which is pronounced "Cabajito." A cabbie informed me of this while laughing at my butchering of his language. The boy renting the place was very sweet, he bounced back and forth between Spanish and English with ease, and I got a headache trying to follow him. I can pick up words that I know, but when people speak quickly I can't string those words into intelligible sentences. Luckily he was patient, and we managed to understand each other. I didn't want the place, but he was still very kind to me, and even gave me an old copy of a map of the subway and bus systems in the various neighborhoods. That map guided me back home--I didn't have to take a cab! Victory!
I'm resting--my legs are practically Jello after all that walking--and later I'm going out for St. Patrick's day with some other people from my hostel. It was a long day, even though I feel like it wasn't quite as packed as my first day here. I love this city already, but there is a lot that I need to learn! Like Spanish, for instance.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Getting Ready To Go
I'm moving from Tucson, Arizona to Buenos Aires, Argentina. People keep asking me "why?" and I respond with "why not?" I'm 27, no husband, no kids, nothing tying me down. Well, I do have a cat, but my parents have kindly volunteered(ish) to take her in. I completed an ESL teaching course several months ago, and have since been applying to schools in South America. No bites. Or, more truthfully, a couple of schools seemed interested, but wanted me to start teaching the next day. Or seemed interested until they discovered I didn't live in their country. And so... I've decided to just head out there. South of the border. I don't know anyone, I have no set job and nowhere to live. Oh, and I am not fluent in Spanish. But... it's an adventure?
I don't feel nearly half ready to move. Honestly, I have made about 90 lists in preparation for my move. I lose one list, pick up another tiny slip of paper (just the size that's easy to lose...) and jot down another. "Things to Buy" in order to be comfortable when arriving in Buenos Aires. "Things to Do" such as get shots, turn off my phone, wash my car, book a hostel, buy my plane ticket... Like I said, I keep misplacing my lists. And then, randomly, I found a couple of them today. They were all complete. Guess that means I'm cleared for takeoff.
I'm nervous about living in a city. City life is a major attraction for me, since I've never actually lived in one. Anyhow, I've wondered for awhile how I would fare in a city. Always having something to do, somewhere to eat, something to see... Now that I'm just about ready to go, I'm getting more and more apprehensive. I'm not even supposed to take pictures when I'm there...its not wise to flash your camera about, it's apparently the same as holding a giant "rob me" sign. I'm sorry, I'm going to be taking pictures. My first time in another country, alone? I'll just have to get sneaky about it is all. I'll also have to give cabbies exact change, because counterfeit Argentine Pesos are a real problem. Plus there's a "mustard trick" that thieves use to disarm you--they squirt mustard on you, and then while they "help" you try to clean it off, a partner runs up and grabs your purse. Come ON! Mustard is my nemesis. They couldn't squirt me with ranch? Then I could clean it up myself with a french fry or burger. I'd probably just shed my shirt to get away from the smell if someone attempted the mustard trick. Sorry, you can't have my purse, but I am topless...win, win?
Lastly, I have been brushing up on the little bits of rusty Spanish that I know. My Mom offered up some old Spanish phrase books for me to peruse. The latest edition that I have is from 1986. One of the phrases is actually "I'd like to make an appointment for a hair permanent." Amazing. Even better, one of the books used to be my Grandma's. I just know I'll be wandering around Buenos Aires spouting old colloquialisms from the 50's. "That tango was the bees' knees!" or the equivalent. Though really, I tend to sprinkle old phrases into my daily speech as it is. I used the saying "I'll be there with bells on" and my younger cousin thought that I had made up the phrase myself. A Spanish book from the 50's could be a perfect fit for me.
So I'm ready, I guess. A week from today I fly out.
I don't feel nearly half ready to move. Honestly, I have made about 90 lists in preparation for my move. I lose one list, pick up another tiny slip of paper (just the size that's easy to lose...) and jot down another. "Things to Buy" in order to be comfortable when arriving in Buenos Aires. "Things to Do" such as get shots, turn off my phone, wash my car, book a hostel, buy my plane ticket... Like I said, I keep misplacing my lists. And then, randomly, I found a couple of them today. They were all complete. Guess that means I'm cleared for takeoff.
I'm nervous about living in a city. City life is a major attraction for me, since I've never actually lived in one. Anyhow, I've wondered for awhile how I would fare in a city. Always having something to do, somewhere to eat, something to see... Now that I'm just about ready to go, I'm getting more and more apprehensive. I'm not even supposed to take pictures when I'm there...its not wise to flash your camera about, it's apparently the same as holding a giant "rob me" sign. I'm sorry, I'm going to be taking pictures. My first time in another country, alone? I'll just have to get sneaky about it is all. I'll also have to give cabbies exact change, because counterfeit Argentine Pesos are a real problem. Plus there's a "mustard trick" that thieves use to disarm you--they squirt mustard on you, and then while they "help" you try to clean it off, a partner runs up and grabs your purse. Come ON! Mustard is my nemesis. They couldn't squirt me with ranch? Then I could clean it up myself with a french fry or burger. I'd probably just shed my shirt to get away from the smell if someone attempted the mustard trick. Sorry, you can't have my purse, but I am topless...win, win?
Lastly, I have been brushing up on the little bits of rusty Spanish that I know. My Mom offered up some old Spanish phrase books for me to peruse. The latest edition that I have is from 1986. One of the phrases is actually "I'd like to make an appointment for a hair permanent." Amazing. Even better, one of the books used to be my Grandma's. I just know I'll be wandering around Buenos Aires spouting old colloquialisms from the 50's. "That tango was the bees' knees!" or the equivalent. Though really, I tend to sprinkle old phrases into my daily speech as it is. I used the saying "I'll be there with bells on" and my younger cousin thought that I had made up the phrase myself. A Spanish book from the 50's could be a perfect fit for me.
So I'm ready, I guess. A week from today I fly out.
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