Today's FotD is a perfect example of why not to judge a book by its cover: At first glance, it looks kind of boring and wrinkly. But inside the maracujá, or passion fruit, is the plant-equivalent of caviar. It's filled with exotic-looking and super-flavourful pulpy little seeds. We threw it all into a blender with a mango and a splash of water, blended, then strained the seeds for a yummy breakfast smoothie. No sugar required.
UFF Fruit Rating: 
Today's fruit needs no introduction, except perhaps to its Portuguese name, abacaxi (pronounced abakatchi). Abacaxi is delicious no matter how you slice it. I have to confess, I've shied away from buying whole pineapples in the past, because I'm lazy and pre-sliced pineapple is usually readily available. But that ain't me no more, because now I know it takes minutes or less to peel and slice one of these babies into a delicious afternoon snack. And talk about versatile: Put a few pieces on your ham pizza and call it Hawaiian. Slice it up and layer it on the bottom of your cake pan before you pour in the batter -- in about 30 minutes at 350°F you'll have a classic retro dessert. Throw a couple of chunks into a blender with some coconut cream and a shot (or two) of rum and you have a piña colada. That's my kind of fruit.
It's also quite photogenic, don't you think?
UFF Fruit Rating: 
P.S. Today's FotD is for Kajal, who loves abacaxi and has a photo exhibit tomorrow night in NYC! If you're in town and want to see some kickass photos for the low low cost of free (including wine and snacks!) check out her blog for the deets.
Not only is today my birthday, here in the Southern Hemisphere, it's the first day of winter. I have to say, I could get used to having a winter birthday if I get to celebrate in flip-flops on the beach. Today Ken introduced me to one of Brazil's celebrated culinary treats: Cheese on the beach. It's the best thing ever. People walk along the beach carrying a little charcoal grill and a tupperware container full of pieces of cheese on skewers. For around a dollar they'll sprinkle oregano on the cheese and grill it up over the hot coals (somehow, like the provoleta we love so much in Argentina, it doesn't melt into a gooey mess). Voilà: a delicious salty treat that you don't even have to worry about getting sandy.
Today's FotD is the coco verde, or green coconut. On our daily strolls through Barra we pass at least half a dozen fruit stands, and all sell coco verde for under $1 (usually closer to 50¢, which is what we paid). The vendors use a big machete (is there such a thing as a small machete?) to level the bottom of the coconut and neatly cut a hole in the top into which you stick a straw to drink the coconut water. It is mild and a little bit sweet and very refreshing, and makes the perfect drink with which to toast birthdays or solstices or the simple fact that you are drinking coconut water right out of a coconut.
UFF Fruit Rating: 
I like Salvador.
It's easy here. I've been wearing flip-flops around because it's impossible to walk fast in flip-flops, and also, everyone's sporting a pair of Havaianas here, when they're wearing shoes at all. When in Rome, you know. I don't speak any Portuguese except to say thank you, and it doesn't matter, because everyone is smiling and patient and happy. I suspect that living in a place with a daily high around 25°C in the winter will do that to a person.
Today's FotD is the manga rosa (pink mango). I'm sure you recognize her! I was kind of hoping that this mango would be pink inside, but it looks a lot like its cousin, if only slightly smaller. It cost less than 50¢, and was everything I want in a mango: colourful, sweet, and oh-so-juicy. I could eat one of these every day, and in fact, I probably will while we're here!
UFF Fruit Rating: 
We arrived in Brazil on Wednesday evening, just in time to drink a caipirinha before the bar at the hostel closed. Yesterday we explored our neighbourhood, Barra, and picked up some fruit at the grocery store. The fruit here is insanely fresh and cheap - we bought a quarter watermelon for about 75¢, and a green coconut (that a dude on the street will hack open and stick a straw in for you) is about the same.
This is a cajú, which you might know as cashew. Did you know cashew nuts grew like that? Me neither! With only one nut per fruit, it's no wonder cashews are so expensive. The cajú was pretty cheap (around 40¢ each), but the fruit itself had a weirdly chalky/dry texture, and I wouldn't buy it again. This morning, however, we had cajú juice, and it was delicious.
UFF Fruit Rating: 
Back in mid-February after a particularly grueling week of freezing temps in the NYC, I announced to Ken that I'd had enough of winter.
He gently reminded me that I'd signed up for another one, in the Southern Hemisphere, at which point we pulled up a map of South America and decided that we would head north to Salvador, Brazil, for the winter. (Really, it's colder in Buenos Aires now: 55°F/12°C during the day, and often close to freezing at night. Great for running, but so is the beach, right?)
Not a moment too soon, either, as on Monday we learned that you can order ice cream and have it delivered to your doorstep in about 20 minutes. That is all kinds of dangerous.
I'm packing, which you know from many previous posts I love more than anything, if by "love" you mean "hate."
Today's internet procrastination is brought to you by a site called 1000 Awesome Things, that you should go look at. Then come back here tomorrow for updates, and also an awesome graphic (of which I am quite proud).
Last night we went back to ¿Dónde me trajiste? so that I could eat this bread again. I mean, come on, wouldn't you?
Palermo Soho
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
There's a lot of really great graffiti in our neighbourhood, not to mention the colourful doors and walls. As always, more pics on Flickr...
One of my most favourite things about Buenos Aires is that everyone kisses everyone here. It's like a handshake or a casual wave, only it's always a cheek-kiss; right-cheeks, please. And absolutely everyone does it, everywhere, to say both hello and goodbye. At the gym, big muscly guys greet each other with a kiss. It's how I say hi to my trainer, Adrián. (I'm not complaining; it's the closest I'm going to get to making out with a 24-year-old again in this lifetime.) When we had our party a couple of weeks ago, whenever someone new showed up, it took him or her 10 minutes to make their way around the room, smooching everyone up. Just this week, I went to a spinning class*, and as I was setting up my bike the instructor came over and greeted me with a kiss. And our really really awesome Spanish teacher, Sofía, signs all her emails "un besote". Beso = kiss, and besotee is a littleBIG BIG kiss (per Sofía, who just corrected me on this important matter) - which happens to be my favourite kind.
On Wednesday we went to dinner with Sofía and a bunch of other teachers and students from her school. The "restaurant" at which we dined is a puerta cerrada or closed-door restaurant, a phenomenon pretty common here in Bs.As. It's like going to a dinner party that you pay for (the restaurant is really someone's apartment). Usually a puerta cerrada restaurant is only open 2-3 nights/week, and is by reservation only. In fact, when we visited Bs.As. in 2007 we dined at an excellent puerta cerrada called Casa Felix that had just then been noted in the NYTimes.
Anyway, on Wednesday we went to ¿Dónde me trajiste? which translates to "Where did you bring me?" - so named because the restaurant/apartment is on a quiet street and doesn't have any signs outside to indicate that you might be in the right place. We had a lovely meal of red-pepper and eggplant bruschetta (served on the bread of my dreams, seriously, if I ever find the source of that bread I will need more than spinning classes to save me), homemade pasta with a rich olivey sauce, and a panqueque (crêpe) filled with apples and served with perfectly-whipped cream. We were treated to the guitar-and-vocal stylings of Tango not for export con la Orquesta Onírica, and their invited guest, Pablo Fayó.
All this, with wine and fellowship, ran us only 50 pesos (around $15) each! Oh, and totally worth the cost of entry was sitting beside Ceci (one of Sofía's co-teachers) and learning that her best friend (also named Ceci - confused yet?) lives in - get ready! - WATERLOO. Yes, that Waterloo. El mundo es chico, indeed.
*I actually went to 5 spinning classes this week (dig my bad self!), which was a direct result of Adrián making me weigh myself on Monday morning. Let's just say, I guess it doesn't matter how many vegetables you eat if you slather them in dulce de leche.
P.S. Having my own puerta cerrada, wherever we may end up, is my current #1 dream. Dare I say goal? OK, I'm going to say it. It's my #1 goal. Hello, Universe!
I can count on one hand the number of rainy days we've had since arriving in Buenos Aires, and today is one of them. Our cleaning service comes on Saturdays around 11, and this morning when they arrived I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed to join Ken at one of our favourite local bars for breakfast. After breakfast we parted ways, and as I walked to the grocery store I found myself wanting to just go home and drink mate.
In just over two months we've stopped dreading leaving the apartment for fear that someone will ask us a question. We've changed our default language settings on our computers to be in Spanish. Our personal training sessions are almost all in Castellano, and we've both read books and magazines in Spanish. (I even have a favourite Argentine mag, OHLALÁ!.) Using our mad Spanglish skillz, I've taken a cooking class and Ken has played Ultimate frisbee. We've even made enough new friends to have a party.
We've more-or-less stopped going out for dinner at 7 p.m. (when we need to eat that early, which we still mostly do, we cook at home). We figured out where to buy cheap eggs and chicken, and now have empanadas-on-demand at home. We've even deciphered the grocery store coupon system well enough that we save 15% on our grocery bill every couple of weeks. We've gone to a couple of wine-tastings that were conducted completely in Castellano, and weren't completely baffled. We're getting over our timidness about disputing erroneous charges at bars and restaurants, and yesterday after the tech came to fix our internet, we even argued in Spanish about whether we should have to pay.
I still struggle with what to do with all this free time. While I've been taking more pictures and cooking/baking more, I've also been watching a lot of old Veronica Mars episodes, then worrying about whether I'm spending my time productively enough. When I thought about that this week, I wondered if what I should really consider is letting myself be still, without trying to do and go all the time.
Luckily, I have time to try that to see how it fits.
Some of my photos have been making their way around the interwebs!
Norma, who taught me how to make grandma-worthy empanadas (are you sick of hearing about that yet? Hee) last weekend, has updated her flyer to include some pictures I took during the class: 
Valeria, another of Norma's students, runs a service called Spare Rooms Buenos Aires to help n00bs to the city find a room to sublet during their stay. Great idea! She also has a blog with info for foreigners, and last week added a couple of photos from our trip with Adrián to the parrilla a few weeks ago.
More pics in our Buenos Aires Collection on Flickr.
I used to gauge how "settled" I felt in a new city by how long it took me to find a reliable catsitter - not someone I was paying, but someone I considered enough of a friend to entrust with a set of keys and the feeding of my beloved furry orange beast. Since said beast is living the life in Canada these days, we had to figure out a new measure of successful integration here in Buenos Aires, so we decided to host a little fiesta for Ken's birthday (which is on Tuesday, should you want to send small-yet-expensive gifts). We've only been here for two months, so a not-insignificant portion of our guest list involved Spanish teachers.
Parties and other outings here in Bs.As. start late: Ken recently found an ad for a club that on Tuesday nights has free admission until - get ready! - 2:30 a.m. But let's face it, I'm old, and accustomed to going to sleep before the sun comes up. I still prefer to think of 4 a.m. as something that exists *in theory* and I don't feel any particular need to experience it for myself. We compromised with a 10 p.m. start time, which of course meant that at 10:05 I was convinced that nobody was going to show up. I needn't have worried: Ken is well-liked here in the Southern Hemisphere and by 11:30 we had an apartment full of people from Argentina, Mexico, Peru, the U.S. and Canada (holla!) eating empanadas as good as an Argentine grandma's and speaking Spanglish, my current favourite language.
Around 3 a.m., when there were just a handful of guests remaining, we convinced Ken to break out his guitar and play some of the Argentine folk and tango he's learned since we arrived. And I guess the traditional birthday rum cake (made with Cuban rum!) worked out just fine, because there wasn't even a slice left for breakfast this morning. I'll have to settle for an alfajor. Tough life, indeed.
Tonight we had a party for Ken's birthday. More on that later, but for now, you should know, a guy from Buenos Aires told me that my empanadas, i.e., the empanadas I made, reminded him of his grandma's.
His. Grandma's.
Really, does it get any better than that?
I love food. I love reading about food (including reading cookbooks and recipes), I love watching cooking shows on TV and instructional cooking videos1 on the interwebs, I love food preparation from chopping to sautéeing, and I love baking. I am also passionate about eating. In short, food is my favourite hobby, and having a year sabbatical I have been hoping to spend more time on this hobby. So far I've mostly focused on the eating part (see: +1.5 kg). Aside from one (successful) foray into the world of empanadas a few weeks ago, I hadn't cooked any traditional Argentine fare until yesterday, when I attended the lovely and talented Norma Soued's Argentine cooking class.
Before we moved to Buenos Aires I searched2 for cooking classes, but only found classes taught in English and geared to tourists (read: expensive). A few weeks ago when I was perusing Craigslist3 I came across Norma's ad. I wrote to her to ask for more information about the class, and to confirm that she would, in fact, teach in Castellano4. Yesterday I went to her sunny apartment in Belgrano to learn how to make empanadas, guiso de lentejas (lentil stew), and alfajores.
I was very excited about the alfajores, as the only recipe I have seen for these delicious treats was in a Martha Stewart magazine, and it was insanely complicated (surprise surprise). I'm pretty sure it involved milking your own cow to make the dulce de leche.
Norma's class was great. She and the other student, Valeria, both speak English fluently, but since I really wanted to practice my Spanish they graciously (and patiently) agreed to speak Castellano. (Patience, for real: My brain on Spanish is Windows 98 on a 386.) We prepared all three dishes together, and everything was very well explained and hands-on. When we finished cooking, we enjoyed the delicious delicious fruits of our labour with a glass of red wine in Norma's beautiful dining room.
Taking a cooking class was a great way to further my burgeoning Spanish skillz, and happily I am now all set to make empanadas and alfajores5 for Ken's birthday shenanigans next weekend!
P.S. Norma also offers a Middle-Eastern cooking class that you can read all about over on her blog. I haven't taken it yet but if I do, you'll be the first to know.
1 Before I made empanadas the first time, I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube to figure out the technique of sealing the empanada called La Repulgue. In my searches I came across this empanada video that is totally worth 6 1/2 minutes of your time if you like things that are awesome.
2 I have since searched en español and found many more schools and classes that I'm interested in. Hooray!
3 Craigslist isn't so huge here. Most of the postings are for bars showing NBA games.
4 Latin American Spanish. Castellano:Español = English:British
5 Some alfajores will be filled with jam, because Ken doesn't like dulce de leche. I KNOW. [Candace: This is what is wrong with him.]
30 Pesos
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
In an effort to lose the 1.5 kg I've gained since we moved to this fair city, I now stop regularly at the verduleria (veggie stand) after I go to the gym. This morning's haul included 2 avocados, 2 grapefruits, 2 red peppers, a shredded salad (I like to mix that with balsamic vinegar, salt & pepper, and a little chimichurri powder, and throw a boiled egg on top for lunch), 1/2 kilo of cherry tomatoes, 1/4 kilo of green olives, 6 bananas, and the hugest bunch of broccoli I've ever seen. The grand total was 30 pesos, or around $8US.
While beef is super cheap here (we can get 2 T-Bone steaks for around 12 pesos, or $3.50), chicken and eggs at the grocery store are pricey (we've seen eggs at upwards of 20 pesos, or $6, per dozen). On Saturday we passed through a very small farmer's market in Plaza Armenia with a booth selling various meats. They had boneless skinless chicken breasts for 16 pesos/kilo ($2/lb) and 30 eggs at the bargain-basement price of 10 pesos (less than $3).
We have instituted a Sunday brunch tradition of steak-and-eggs, which means our cholesterol levels are rising proportionally to the happiness of our taste buds.
For The Soul
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
We spent the weekend in Mar del Plata, and on the 5 1/2 hour bus ride there we both caught colds. I spent most of Friday tilting my head awkwardly in an attempt to clear out at least part of one nostril through which to breathe. Saturday we located some psuedoephedrine, which helped matters greatly.
In other news, we left our Spanish school that was in the Centro (a neighbourhood that's more or less Manhattan's midtown--read: crowded, unfun). We now have a private tutor (Sofía) with whom we are both slightly enamoured. The lessons are fun: Yesterday we made up a whole story about a lawyer named "Mauricio" who used to be a hippie, and today we played the Spanish version of "Clue"!
And tonight, in honour of Cinco de Mayo and our waning illnesses, I cooked us up some Chicken Soup with Lime and Avocado.
Finally, I've started running again. Hooray for me! I ran an 8k race two weeks ago and finished in around 47 minutes. I have a few more 10k races lined up, and I've started training regularly with two lovely American expats who will be here to keep me going for at least another month or two.
When our afternoon Spanish class finishes, we usually go to a restaurant two doors down from school for café con leche and medialunas, and lately I've noticed just how tired I feel at that time of day. More often than not, I want to scrap any ideas either of us has had for the evening and go home to our apartment to read or watch a movie. This afternoon, though, I had non-negotiable errands to run: I had a notice to pick up a package at the post office, and since it's right beside the main bus terminal (Retiro), I was also going to buy bus tickets for our planned weekend excursion to Mar del Plata (the beach!). Ken was off to watch a soccer match, so after our afternoon coffee I was on my own.
These errands were really no big deal. I have picked up dozens of packages and purchased a whole bunch of tickets in my day. But doing these things in Spanish is a whole different ball game. Before I say anything to anyone, I have to think carefully about the words, the pronunciation, the conjugation of verbs. (I've already sent one email about meeting someone to go running in which I wrote, "I will wear an orange shirt. Maybe I can look for me?") I try to smile and be friendly, but I'm also hyperaware that I don't look (or speak!) like a porteña and those things make me feel vulnerable, so I also try to look confident, and like I know what I'm doing. Ref: Elle Woods.
In short, I get all anxious. And sweaty. And all that anxiety and sweat are exhausting.
I wondered today if I felt this way, this *tired*, when I first moved to New York, and I think the answer is yes, I think I did. I probably went home from work and watched TV with a glass of wine and sometimes my boyfriends Ben & Jerry dropped by. And maybe that lasted for a month or two before I started to feel more comfortable exploring that particular city, before I felt comfortable with New York's own foreign language of subway maps and taxi drivers and giant inflatable rats.
This afternoon at the post office, I successfully retrieved the package, which was was a box of FIVE, count 'em, FIVE, different varieties of chocolate chips, compliments of Candace. I don't know if increased happiness implies better language skills, but I'm pretty sure that super-thoughtful box of chocolatefriendship from Wisconsin helped me successfully purchase our bus tickets as well.
And starting next week, I plan to distract people from my misplaced pronouns with superior chocolate chip cookies.
A couple of weeks ago, Ken and I passed by a restaurant/bar on the busy corner of Santa Fe and Juan B. Justo, about a 15 minute walk from our apartment. We were captivated by the outside counter with its window looking into the kitchen and three little stools, on one of which sat a guy drinking a litre of Quilmes under a sign advertising choripán for 4 pesos. Ken expressed our mutual sentiment best when he said, "I want to go to there." Moments later, we too were sitting at the window, doing our Spanish homework and enjoying a 10-peso litre of beer served by a sexy porteña. We've been back a few times since, and now when we walk in, our lovely porteña brings over our beer and two frosty mugs without us uttering even a word of broken Spanish. We don't even know if the restaurant has a name - we just call it the place on the esquina (corner).
When we stopped in tonight after school I noticed one of the guys working there was making a sign that read, "Lunes-Jueves, Quilmes 4x1." I immediately reported the sighting to Ken.
G: Do you think it could really be? 4 for 1 beer?
K: Four days per week? That's insane.
G: I know, but that's what the sign said! Go look at it.
He went to the washroom and came back a few minutes later.
K: Yeah. That's what it says.
G: So... that would be 4 litres of beer for 10 pesos? That's better than the grocery store.
K: Yes. It's better than the grocery store.
G: And someone serves it to you in frosty glasses, AND you get peanuts?
K: Wait, that's insane. That's like... 4 litres of beer for under $3. That's 70¢ per litre. That's 35¢ per pint.
G: ...Go ask them if that's what it really means.
A few persuasive words later he went to ask if the deal really was that good.
K: So... I think it means 4 for 1. Litres.
G: Four litres. For 10 pesos. Are you sure?
K: Well, I asked, "Four of what?" And she said litres. And the guy looked at me like, "Yeah, it's nuts right? But that's what it is."
G: This place just got four times better!
K: Too bad we didn't know about this deal when Frenchy and Dutchy were here. We would have saved a lot of money.
G: Or been a lot drunker.
Memphis here---sending you an update on the state of the union. I'm getting along quite well except for those confounded DOGS. They really don't go after me it's just that I can't help swatting at them if they come anywhere near and then that little brat Duke really goes after me. Oh well it adds a little spice to the day. Otherwise things are going along tickety boom. Get fed in time, poop tray cleaned times two per day, played with on the chair, threatened with a swat if I try to push my way out the door, brushed every day. [don't know where this different type came from but it's kinda purdy] S is very chuffed re having wheels and is enjoying every minute. So my dears I gotta go and see if I can figure out how to send this epistle to you. love you and miss you MEMPHIS
Read Memphis' last update.
P.S. These Memphis updates are my favourite thing ever.
Saturday Afternoon
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
This afternoon I walked around our neighbourhood, enjoying the sunshine and feeling intensely grateful for all the experiences we've had here so far. I also went to the Botanical Garden to pet the cats.
Amidst all the weekend festivities, we also moved down the hall into a sweet apartment that is approx. 3x the size of our old place, has many windows, a bedroom, a bidet (!), and--get ready!--NO ROACHES! Woo! Pics on Facebook.
P.S. Come visit!
BOCA JUNIORS X CRUZEIRO (LA 12)
Originally uploaded by LUCHO :9.
On Saturday between Meatfest 2009 and meeting friends for dinner (I honestly don't think I've ever been *less* hungry before a meal), Ken and I were in our natural habitat: lying on bed and surfing the internets. We'd just heard from another expat friend that he'd scored coveted tickets to the Boca Juniors-River Plate football match at the Bonbonera on Sunday, and Ken had fan-envy. The UK Observer lists this match as the #1 sporting thing you must do before you die and here we were, a short bus ride away from the stadium, sin tickets. So he did what any capitalist-loving American would do: Hit up Craigslist for people selling tickets at exorbitant mark-ups.
A few emails later, Ken received a call from an English-speaking guy (Martin) to tell us that his (non-English-speaking) friend, Uli, had tickets for sale at 500 pesos each. They arranged for an exchange the next morning, wherein Uli would come to our apartment on his motorcycle and give us the tickets and we would give him half a months' rent. I was... suspicious. I agreed to play bad cop and called Martin back to ask him how we'd know the tickets were real. He sounded nice, I guess, and sincere, and he said, "Oh, they're real, don't worry. My friend is a member of the... I don't remember the word in English, but it's the guys who are the fighters, you know, the fan section?" I hung up feeling OK about the transaction, and a few minutes later Martin texted Ken with: "hooligan. thats the word, haha- enjoy-"
I was not reassured.
We'd both read much about the dangers of attending a Boca game; about how the fans were just crazy and that a couple of years ago at this same match some fans were shot. We'd read not to bring more cash than we'd need and to leave our cameras at home. When we mentioned to our porteño friends on Saturday night that we might go, the general reaction was, "Es muy peligroso" ("it's very dangerous").
Later Saturday night Ken emailed Martin to ask him more about the logistics of the game - how we'd get in, etc. The response:
I just talked to Uli and in case you end up not understanding each other tomorrow morning he wanted you to know that if interested (cause some people are obviously not ) he'll be meeting all ticket buyers at a McDonald's in Almirante Brown St. & García Av. ( this is a few blocks away from the stadium) to get everybody inside using his friend's van. I know this might sound scary since you don't know him yet, but that's just why; I'm sure you'll end up really liking him tomorrow when you meet up.
He was right: Giving someone 1000 pesos then meeting him in a McDonald's parking lot to get in his friend's van DID sound scary since we didn't know him yet.
Uli showed up at our apartment at 9 a.m., as promised. Ken gave him 1000 pesos for the tickets which we then learned was a mere SEVENTEEN TIMES the face-value of 30 pesos. He gave Ken advice on what to wear to the game (Boca colours: blue or yellow) and what not to wear: jewelry or anything that looked Richie. Since we we'd spent mucho dinero to go to the game and weren't even sure if the tickets were real, we figured, what the hell, and decided to meet him at McDonald's. On the way to the bus I said to Ken, "Do you think we should have called our parents?" He laughed nervously in response.
We arrived in the parking lot at noon sharp, waited for about an hour, and even tried to call Uli to no avail. Finally, we walked to the stadium.
The first line (well, crowd) we ended up in was for members of the club only, and we made it to the entrance only to find out that we were in the wrong place. We walked another couple of blocks, past a few choripán stands and dudes selling empanadas for 1 peso (about 27¢!) until we found the line for people with tickets only. The crowd there was calm and we passed security without incident. We found our gate and climbed into the stands to learn that the general admission seats were not actually seats - just a bunch of steps that we'd stand on for the game. We crammed in with the other fans and watched the reserve players scrimmage for about an hour until the game started.
The game start was one of the most phenomenal things either of us has ever witnessed. Just before the players came onto the field, people near us were handing out wads of torn newspaper which we would later throw as confetti. In the stands directly across from us was the Jugador No 12 - the fans who are the 12th player (the team has 11 players on the field at any time). It was fandom beyond any that I've ever seen, with giant banners and flags and amazing, contagious chanting and drumming. We didn't bring a camera but there are lots of photos online that capture the energy of this section. Toward the end of halftime blue and yellow balloons were distributed in our section, and as the second half began we released them into the air (and onto the field).
Boca scored in the second half, and the crowd's reaction was indescribable, and that, along with the festivities that opened the game, made the experience well-worth the money we'd spent. Unfortunately, River Plate answered with a quick goal and the game ended in a draw, which might actually have been for the best in terms of our safety walking back to San Telmo to catch our bus.
Vegetarians, caveat emptor: This post contains a lot of meat.
A few weeks ago at the gym, our trainer, Adrián, proposed a trip with us and our friends Dave and Mersal to what he deemed the "best parrilla [grill/BBQ] in the universe." Of course I agreed that Ken and I would love to go; after all, who am I to argue with a porteño about meat? (It didn't hurt that he also said that we wouldn't have to count any food we ate at the parrilla. Free calories!)
The parrilla in question was Los Talas del Entrerrianos, located about 45 minutes from our neighbourhood. Adrián arranged for a taxi to drive us there and wait while we consumed copious amounts of meat. Los Talas started out as a choripán stand for labourers and grew into a huge, comfortable restaurant that feels kind of like an Oktoberfest tent. Apparently all of the meat at Los Talas comes from their own estancia (ranch). 
We started with house-made chorizo sausage, then ordered the lechón, or suckling pig. It's the specialty of the house, and it was beyond delicious. We sampled some of the crispy skin of the pig (which Adrián called the "galleta" or cookie) - it was crispy and salty and very, very yummy. The chicken was the best I've had so far in Buenos Aires - cooked just perfectly to be tender and juicy all the way through. We shared an order of mochillas (sweetbreads), then moved onto the beef: vacío (flank steak) and asado. While asado refers to roasting or barbecue in general, it's also used to describe a cut of meat (short ribs or spareribs).
Suffice to say we were pretty much sweating meat by the end of the meal. The ol' meat sweats didn't stop us, however, from sharing a couple of desserts, and we managed to squeeze some ice cream into our bellies somewhere between the pork and the spareribs. I swear the taxi groaned a bit when we piled back in for the drive home.
More pics on Flickr.
Since we started Spanish classes four weeks ago (minus a weeklong Easter holiday), our class size has dwindled: The first week, there were eight students, and the second week we were down to five. We started this week with only three, but the third student was only in class on Monday and so for the rest of the week Ken and I had Alejandro all to ourselves. We both, but especially Ken, became much more comfortable speaking in such a small group.
To mark the end of our third week of classes, yesterday we had our first exam. I've been (very gently) teasing Ken all week for making flash cards for his iPhone, and generally nerding out about (read: studying for) the test, but guess who got perfect?
¡BRAVO! indeed! ¡Qué bellisimo! I got 88, and next time I'm going to give him a run for his dineros.
¡Hola amigos! As life settles down here in Buenos Aires and we feel more like we're living here and less like we're on vacation, I've become a bit remiss in my blogging. I've invited Ken to join the festivities here at UFF as a contributor, but as he has yet to put pen to paper, so to speak, you're stuck with me. Suckas.
As last Sunday was Easter and I have latent Catholicism, I'd planned to attend Mass. However, we spent Saturday evening with the aforementioned Frenchy and Dutchy (aka The Europeans) and on Sunday morningafternoon when I woke up I was in no shape to be awake, which is usually a requirement, at least to get to a church. Also, Mass was over. So we leisurely started our day with oatmeal and coffee, and just after 1 p.m. Audrey called to tell us they wanted to go to the Feria de Mataderos, which I'd mentioned the night before as a possible Sunday activity.
Against all odds (odds that included hangovers and miscommunicated meeting places) we managed to meet the Europeans at the Retiro train station and find the bus that would take us to the feria (market). It was about an hour from the city centre. 
Once we arrived and found our way into the market we were not disappointed. In addition to the usual market stalls, there was a large group of Argentine folk singers, and another group of folk dancers who looked like they were having a grand time. We watched them for a while, then continued our tour to find a gaucho horse racing contest called Carerra de Sortija, or the Race of the Ring. The Buenos Aires Argentina Guide describes the race:
Gauchos race their horses at breakneck speeds towards a small ring hung onto a raised metal frame overhead. The gauchos stand up in their stirrups as they race, and try to spear the ring, which is no larger than a normal piece of jewelry, with a small pointy stick.
See the little pen-like thing in this guy's hand?
He was trying to put that through a ring about the size of a keychain that was hanging just above his head as he galloped by. Not only did some of the cowboys actually achieve this feat, we didn't see one person fall off his horse!
Despite all this excitement, the best part of the day, and maybe of our whole time in Buenos Aires so far, was our chance wandering into a restaurant beside the market. As we were walking by we noticed a couple of guys playing guitars inside, and since we were looking for a place to eat, we thought it might be a good bet. The place was pretty full but the waitress found us a table at the back, and we sat for hours listening to the most beautiful Argentine folkloric music. To top it all off, a litre of beer cost a mere 10 pesos (about 2.72USD/3.28CAD). I'm not sure the short video I took will do the music justice. The main performer had both amazing guitar skills and a powerful, operatic voice, and he was joined in rotation by other people in the bar. The guy who we think was the head honcho welcomed us openly and tried to explain the meanings of the lyrics to us (pain, love, and imprisonment were amongst the themes). He even insisted that we pose for a photo!
Finally, I can assure you that this guy's reaction was not representative of the rest of the crowd: He'd obviously just been taking advantage of the 10-peso beers.
During our first two weeks of Spanish classes we had the pleasure of meeting Audrey, a woman from France who is traveling with her Dutch boyfriend, Eric. (When they're not touring the globe they both live in Amsterdam.) We had dinner with them one night a couple of weeks ago and got home at 4 a.m. Since then we've shared countless* bottles of Quilmes, stories about our homes and native lands, and maybe one or two pizzas calabresas. Audrey and Eric are leaving Buenos Aires tomorrow to continue their travels into Uruguay, and last night I convinced Eric to retell his story about ordering a cheeseburger in France. With Audrey's permission, of course.
*On Saturday night we put down 15L of beer. I think they're trying to kill us.
The honeymoon is, as they say, over, at least when it comes to enjoying delicious Argentine foods like steak, empanadas, choripan, and provoleta. This afternoon when I put my jeans on I noticed that eating so much beef over the last few weeks has caused me to develop some beef of my own. On my thighs.
Both Ken & I have professed to wanting to lose weight, and today, our trainer Adrián sent us a spreadsheet to keep track of what we eat. The spreadsheet has space for meals and snacks:
Desayuno (breakfast)
Snack
Almuerzo (lunch)
Snack
Merienda
Snack
Cena (dinner)
Snack
As soon as Ken looked over the spreadsheet, his eyes lit up. "Oh! Merienda! What is this?" A few seconds passed, then he read joyously, "'Merienda is a midday meal had in Spain around 5:30 p.m. to fill in the meal gap between lunch at 2:00 p.m. and dinner at 9:00 p.m.' I am going to like merienda!"
I'm not sure this spreadsheet is actually going to help us.
A day that starts out with this breakfast - at 2 p.m., no less - can't be all bad, now, can it?
Last night after sharing a few chunks of bife de lomo, a bottle of wine, and several (read: about 10) litres of beer with a couple of new friends from school, we hopped in a cab in San Telmo to get back to our neighbourhood. Full of liquid courage, I decided to try to carry on a conversation with the taxista (driver). At first it was going OK - he asked where we were from, and told us about a few places he's been in the States. He spoke very quickly and I was having some trouble hearing him from the backseat, so at one point I asked him to speak more slowly so I could understand.
The taxista said 2 or 3 words at a slower pace then sped right back up. I listened as intently as I could (it wasn't easy, being both meat- and beer-drunk) and mostly tried to pick out words that were important for me to my end of the conversation, like "dónde" or "por qué." Ken & I took turns participating in the conversation, because I really didn't understand most of it, and saying, "No entiendo" ("I don't understand") over and over gets old fast. I guess it didn't go too badly because by the time we were back in Palermo the driver (Hugo) was playing his favourite tango CDs for us and even gave us his business card so that we could email him if we had any questions about Buenos Aires.
At least, I think that's why he gave it to us.
In honour of our Spanish teacher Alejandro's birthday next week, I decided to bake cookies. Tyler recently tagged a delicious-looking Smitten Kitchen recipe for me, so a few days ago I decided to give it a go. The only hitch: I couldn't find what I've always considered the most basic of baking ingredients at either of our local supermarkets. The stores only carried artificial vanilla extract, and brown sugar was nowhere in sight. While our package of oatmeal has a recipe for oatmeal cookies with chips de chocolate, I couldn't find those, either.
Since today was a holiday and we didn't have school, we decided to check out the widely-lauded and appropriately-named Jumbo Supermarket. You can read more about Jumbo on other sites, but it was pretty much akin to Wal-Mart or the Real Canadian Superstore. The produce at Jumbo was better than our local stores, but prices were more or less the same and the selection was almost overwhelming. I did manage to find baking soda and settled for artificial vanilla extract and baking chocolate that I could chop into chunks for the cookies, but was unable to find brown sugar, which I suspected would be key to the chewiness factor in this particular recipe. I finally bought a bag of azucar negra, or black sugar. Even though it looked much darker than standard American light brown sugar, it had a similar "sticky" feeling when I squeezed the bag (i.e., it didn't feel as granulated as white sugar).
When I poured the sugar into a bowl to measure it, it looked a LOT darker than I'd expected. Behold:
Sparkly!
Aside from this substitution, the rest of the ingredients were as written, except I measured by weight instead of volume because we have a kitchen scale but no measuring cups or spoons. When I creamed the butter and sugars the resulting mixture was the colour and texture of used coffee grounds, and I was skeptical as to whether the recipe would actually work. To add to my skepticism is our oven dial (the one in the middle). Can you spot what's missing?
If you said a temperature setting, you're right! I set it somewhere in the middle and watched the first 2 batches of cookies very carefully to figure out the correct baking time.
And...? Success! I'm happy to report that we have a delicious batch of (very dark) chocolate chip cookies. We think they taste delicious; I'll let you know what Alejandro thinks.
1. The internets work! I have to tell you, I'm particularly proud of this one. Last night I called the management company again to ask about the repair. The woman there spoke mostly Spanish, so I muddled through the conversation en español. This morning she called us to set up a time to have at technician come by. When I answered in English, she said, Podés hablar español, si? (You can speak Spanish, yes?). I think I said OK, and we (mostly she) then continued the conversation (which involved her explaining that the tech couldn't come while we were here, but that she would come with him in the afternoon and would be responsible for everything, etc.) entirely in Spanish. THEN, I even left her a note IN SPANISH about our oven maybe not working, and she left us another note IN SPANISH with instructions on how to light it manually. Now we know how to use our oven (el horno, in case you wondered, which cracks Ken up because he is adolescentes), and I can bake cookies. ¡Hurra!
2. Dave solved the mystery of the baguette question for us. To recap: When we buy a baguette, the cashier at the grocery store usually asks us a question. We stare blankly. She looks annoyed. Dave explained, "she's asking if you want her to break it in half or put it in the bag in one piece. Broken makes it easier to carry home!" Smart fellow, that Dave.
3. We have acquired another set of keys! Now we can actually leave the house alone. Good times, people.
4. We are one day into Cuerpo Caliente Abril (CCA). We've both started working out with Adrián, a personal trainer who came highly recommended by Dave. I had my first session with Adrián this morning, and I suspect he's going to kick our asses.
5. When you join a gym in Buenos Aires (Bs.As.), you have to have a short physical exam. I met with the doctor at the gym this morning and learned that not only is he a heart specialist who has lived in Manhattan and Cleveland, he's also a magician! He wants to practice his English so I told him that Ken & I would meet with him for conversation exchange. He said he would also show us magic tricks. I love this city!
6. Speaking of conversation exchange, tonight after school we met with someone we met on the internets (I love you internets! Please never leave me again!) to practice our Spanish. He was the nicest guy ever and we had a great time talking to him. ¡Hola Gonzalo! ¡Queremos encontrarnos con vos otra vez, por favor!
7. Tomorrow is another federal holiday, and all of next week is a holiday for Easter! Yes Adam, even us unemployed folk appreciate a good holiday. Four hours per day of language studies is exhausting! Particularly when followed by steak and red wine at 10 p.m., and clubbing until 5*, you feel me?
8. I was accepted into the CELTA TEFL course! But I don't know if I want to go. More on that coming soon...
*I don't really go clubbing until 5. But apparently some people do. Tonight around 9:30 we arrived at a parilla (grill) for dinner and waited over an hour for a table. When we walked home at 1 the neighbourhood bars were just getting started.
On Sunday afternoon Ken & I walked about an hour to a bar downtown to watch March Madness with a bunch of other expats (mostly Americans). We arrived home in the evening to find the wi-fi in our apartment was down. We tried the ethernet cable as well, to no avail. Our Spanish school has internet access but it's painfully slow. I managed to read my email during a break on Monday only to learn that my BFF Sirrah! might already be in labour - 10 days early! - with her second bebé. We arrived home on Monday eagerly hoping to have everything all fixed so that I could call Sirrah! (using Skype, natch), but it was still down. I tried to distract myself with a half-hearted attempt to read my latest acquisition, "Becky prepara su boda," part of the "Loco por las compros" series. (Yes, I'm reading a Shopaholic book in Spanish. Borges can wait.) After much internal debate about whether I really *need* the Internet (...I do), I finally called our flat's management company to tell them about the problem. They assured me it would be fixed this morning. I then had a minor breakdown in which I felt extremely disconnected, somewhat unattractive, and badly wanted to eat a cookie.
Several sympathetic hugs and a good night's sleep later, I felt better. Still web-less, this morning before class we finally went to buy vegetables from a verdulero, thus staving off scurvy another day. An aside about vegetables: While the grocery stores near us are mostly great, the produce sections are terrible. There are, however, many verduleros (vegetable sellers) nearby, who sell excellent produce. We bought a bunch of beets, a package of zucchini stuffed with other chopped veggies, a generous package of crudités, 2 apples, 2 tomatoes, and a great-looking bunch of basil for only 13 pesos (around $3.50 US or $4.40 Cdn). We've been kind of intimidated to tap one of these places because of our inadequate vocabularies. Anyway, fear conquered! And I ate more healthily today than I have in 2 weeks.
Tonight our internets are still down, but we're chillin' at a groovy little wi-fi-equipped resto-cafe-bar a few blocks from our flat. I'm washing down my web-surfing with a 10 peso glass of vino tinto that's totally worth the cost of entry.
P.S. I miss you guys.
Hooray! We finally figured out our phones! As an added bonus, my old Razr works here, thanks to AT&T providing the unlock code. (T-Mobile can suck it: They wouldn't provide the code for the phone I used when I had service with them for YEARS, because it has been more than 90 days since I was a customer.) As another added bonus, Ken used the wonderous information on the interwebs to figure out how to unlock his iPhone. I'm not doing that yet because I'm still too nervous to carry mine around (see: CRIME).
Anyhoots, we also muddled through the phone company's Spanish website to figure out how to add credit to our phones. However, on logging in, we learned that our names didn't translate very well. I've already discovered that my name is particularly difficult here. If you were to pronounce it in Argentine Spanish, it would sound something like "Hee-zhee-an," where "zh" is kind of the "s" sound in "casual." In phonetic Spanish, I'd probably have to spell my name something like "Chilian" or "Jilian." When I bought my SIM card I wrote my name down to make it easier for the guy working at the store, but it still ended up on their website as "Gillon." Hee.
With our newfound cellular technology, we can actually leave the house separately now! We might even figure out how to get another set of keys made at some point. Exciting times indeed.
I just returned from Spanglish, a language exchange gathering that happens three times a week in Buenos Aires (one of which, on Thursdays, is at a bar just a few blocks from our flat!). I arrived shortly after 7:30 and paid 15 pesos (around $4 US) in exchange for a drink ticket and a table assignment. I traded my ticket for a glass of vino tinto from the bar and headed over to table 16. I was soon joined by two porteños (Buenos Aires locals) and we were instructed to converse for five minutes in English, then five minutes en Español. After 10 minutes, the Spanish-speakers rotated tables and I was joined by another one or two porteños. For the most part the whole 10 minutes of each group conversed in both languages, with each person practicing their language of choice.
Everyone I met was incredibly friendly and patient with my Spanish, which is still muy despacio (very slow). The Argentines explained phrases in both English and Spanish. I really didn't need to help anyone much with their English, as most of the people with whom I spoke were already quite fluent!
I have to admit, I was a little nervous walking over to the bar, even though it's only a few blocks from home. This evening was the first time Ken and I have been separated since we arrived a week ago. We only have one key to our flat, and the key is needed both on entering and leaving the apartment, as the doors can only be locked from both the inside and the outside with the key - so we've gone everywhere together since we got here. Codependence much? Anyway, tonight Ken went to meet our new friend Dave at an event for techies (Palermo Valley, "la Comunidad Web 2.0 de Argentina" (I'm sure you can figure that one out without translation!)) so I was on my own for Spanglish. It was a blast, and I can't wait to go again next week - if not before, in a different neighbourhood.
P.S. These are our keys. Ken especially loves them because they are old-timey.
This afternoon our Spanish teacher, Alejandro, wrote the following on the board:
Please avoid the verb coger* in Buenos Aires, just say "tomar."
to be excited: estar emocionado/a
(Never say "estoy excitado/a," except in sexual occasions.)
to be embarrassed: tengo verguenza
(avoid estoy embarazado/a except in the case you're pregnant)
Someone then asked if "estoy embarazado" would ever be correct, because a man can't be pregnant. (A woman would say, "Estoy embarazada.") We then got into a discussion about the pregnant man in Bend, Oregon, who my friend Aaron met once while Aaron was waiting with his wife for an ultrasound.
Oh, and to those who inquired after my subway-fainting incident, tengo verguenza pero no estoy embarazada.
*In Buenos Aires, coger means, in the immortal words of Ralphie in "A Christmas Story," the "Queen Mother of dirty words." In other places it means "to take" or "to catch," like a bus. Noted.
To make up for yesterday's holiday, our Spanish school offered a free conversation class this morning at a café in San Telmo. An instructor from the school came to give us an explanation of mate, the traditional beverage of Argentina. Mate is a very strong herbal drink that is served in a gourd and mixed with hot water (in Argentina, although in other countries it may be drunk lukewarm or cold) and sometimes sugar, depending on taste. (Mate is very bitter and we both liked it better with sugar.) The gourd is passed around a group. When it's your turn, you drink through the bombilla (straw) until the water is gone, then you pass the gourd back to the "cebador" (the person serving the mate) to refill. And you never say "gracias" until you don't want any more at all.
After class today, we walked back to our neighbourhood (about an hour) and stopped at a sanwichería for a snack and a cerveza. We followed that up with the best deal on helados (ice cream) in Buenos Aires: A very small cone for only 2 pesos! That's 54¢ US. The best part is that this particular heladería is just a block from our apartment, and the guys working there are extremely friendly (I think they might have had a boy-crush on Ken, or at least his hair). Needless to say, we'll be back. We also need to get our asses to the gym, because the cerveza and helado are starting to take their toll!
P.S. Pics soon; I'm still a little gun-shy about carrying about carrying and using a camera since the CRIME incident.
We've been here for almost a week, and despite a spate of travel adventures like crime and fainting, most of our time has been spent navigating the most basic tasks of setting up our lives here.
For example:
- We bought a SIM card for our cell phone, and we think it works (we have a signal), but we don't know how to buy minutes for it. The website is entirely in Spanish. Our landline works, though, and we can make free local calls and receive calls.
- Every time we buy a baguette at the grocery store, the cashier asks us a question. We respond by looking confused. So far we've always managed to walk out having bought the baguette, but we're still not sure what we're being asked.
- One of the girls in our Spanish class has a birthday today. I wanted to bake something easy, like cookies, but I couldn't find baking soda or chocolate chips in the grocery store. I bought a cake mix instead, but I have yet to find a pan in which to bake it.
- We're going to join a gym tonight, based on the recommendation of anther expat, Dave from NY. We met Dave and his girlfriend Mersal last night. They moved here in August of last year and their blog is a great reference for us!
Improving our Spanish will help with all of these challenges, and we have a couple of supplementary conversation classes to attend this week that will hopefully help move that process along.
In other news, the weather continues to be insanely beautiful, hovering at 25-30°C (80-90°F) for the foreseeable future. Today was a federal holiday and we spent the afternoon lounging in a park (Plaza Palermo Viejo) near our apartment.
This morning Ken & I got up bright and early to start our first day of Spanish class. We'd signed up for classes daily from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m., which meant waking up quite a lot earlier from our new norm of getting up when the lord wakes us, or when one of us flushes the toilet (which makes a very loud groaning noise not unlike a bagpipe). We found the subway ("subte" en español) and boarded at what I assume was the peak of rush hour. It was hot and packed. Having lived in NYC for almost 10 years, I'm no stranger to a full subway car. This morning, however, some combination of heat and crowd and low blood sugar led me to feel dizzy enough to tell Ken that we needed to get off at the next stop.
I started to collapse while we were still on the car and he noticed and immediately wrapped both arms around me so that I didn't fall, and when the train stopped I made it a few steps onto the platform before I went down. I came to with about six people standing over me, fanning me and holding my legs perpendicular to the ground. The were all super nice and besides feeling embarrassed about the whole thing, I felt very safe. Don't freak out, Mom, I'm fine. Really.
We postponed our trip to the Spanish School and joined an afternoon class from 1:30-5:30, which I suspect will be much more compatible with our current sleeping schedule!
After a late dinner last night at an excellent restaurant/wine bar, that, for appetizers, entrees, desserts, and wine, topped out at a whopping $35 per person (a splurge for those of us who are unemployed, but hopefully incentive for you people with jobs to visit!), I finally slept in this morning until after 10. We lounged around in our pajamas, drinking coffee and eating bread and cheese until around 2, when we finally ventured out to complete our previously-thwarted attempt to buy a SIM card.
On our outing we met a big albino bunny who lives in a Chinese restaurant a few blocks away. We named him Ferdinand. We then walked over to the Botanical Garden where porteños [locals] leave their unwanted house cats. I wanted to pet them all, and Ken wanted to hose me down before I came back into the apartment. We ate some delicious ice cream, and picked up a few bottles of cerveza which we're now enjoying while we kill time before dinner, which won't be until 9 or 10 p.m.
I also learned that neither of the 2 old cell phones I had are unlocked, but it turns out that quick phone calls to AT&T and T-Mobile yielded the requisite unlock codes, for free! Good times. So now we have a phone! We also have a landline and Skype, so we're all kinds of connected.
While we were out this afternoon, my wallet and (small) camera were stolen from my purse. We were walking home along the busy Avenida Santa Fe, and when we stopped to buy SIM cards for our phones I realized that both my wallet and camera were missing.
Getting robbed or otherwise ripped off is pretty much my biggest fear when I'm traveling. I've been lucky in that it hasn't happened very often, given the amount of traveling I've done. I felt like a moron, because my purse isn't the most secure and I certainly wasn't carrying it as well as I could have to prevent such a thing. Despite a few moments of EXTREME frustration, I surprised myself by not freaking out (I didn't even cry!) and just spent about two hours canceling various credit cards (thank GOD for Skype!). It wasn't the most fun thing I could have imagined doing, but it also wasn't the worst thing ever. And since my cards won't be replaced until next week, Ken has to buy me dinner!
P.S. Suck it, Crime.
Setting: Last night, after a few beers, Ken & I are lounging on the bed, philosophizing. I look up at the loft and notice a large black bug flutter and settle on the railing.
G: There's a big bug up there.
K: Where?
G: Second railing. It's crawling up.
K: Oh. Oh, yeah. Oh god! It's big.
G: Yeah. Now it's on the top of the railing.
K: Oh god. I think it's getting bigger.
G: It's looking at us.
K: I can see its antennae. I can see its antennae moving from all the way over here.
G: Can you please go kill it?
K: I don't like it. Remember how I was calm about the other ones? I don't like that one.
G: Please? You're the boy.
K: Stupid penis.
Armed with a glass and a paper towel, he climbed the ladder to the loft.
K [looking at the gigantic bug]: We shall call it "El Grande."
G: Oh god, can you get it?
K: Oh. It's fast.
G: Please tell me you can get it.
K: I lost it.
Apparently El Grande figured out that he was being hunted and scurried off. This story does have a happy ending, as later on Ken trapped El Grande under a glass and released him into the night. Unfortunately he landed on the wall right next to our kitchen window. We closed the window and are hoping that El Jefe doesn't show up to avenge him.
¡Hola desde Buenos Aires!
We arrived safely this morning after an uneventful 11-hour flight. It was the longest flight I'd been on; Ken has flown to Asia a few times so he's a pro. It turns out 11 hours on an overnight flight when you haven't slept for more than 5 hours in the two previous nights is cake. I was asleep before the plane took off, and aside from a brief period of being awake around midnight, I slept until about 2 hours before we landed.
Our apartment is in Palermo Soho, a neighbourhood laden with shops, restaurants, and bars. The apartment itself is super-sweet - it was describe as a studio but I think will be plenty of room for us and the occasional visitor. I noticed a couple of roaches when we first got here and christened them Wally and Eva. On our return from dinner this evening we found that Wally and Eva have a whole family who apparently live in our walls, and didn't scurry away quite quickly enough when we turned on the lights. We added roach traps and spray to our shopping list for tomorrow.
On our post-nap venture this evening we found the local supermarket (at which we purchased the requisite jar of dulce de leche) and a gym that's quite reasonably priced at around $35/month.
Tomorrow afternoon I have an interview with the school at which I'm hoping to take a certificate course so that I can teach English at some point, and tomorrow night we have our first social engagement! Friends of ours from San Francisco are here on vacation and we're meeting them for dinner. Porteños [locals] eat late, so we're meeting them at 9 or 10.
Both of us are kind of stunned, like, holy crap, we live in Buenos Aires.
1. Justice: I just spent an hour at the Brooklyn Borough Traffic Whatnot to contest a parking ticket I got the day we left for Canada. It was Sunday afternoon and we'd parked under a "no parking during street cleaning on Tues/Thurs/Fri" sign. What I didn't see was the sign at the end of the effing block that indicated that the whole block was for commuter vehicles only, all days and all times. The judge didn't buy my reasoning ("So, that street-cleaning sign only applies to the commuter vehicles?" "No, it applies to everyone." "But only commuter vehicles can ever park there, so really, it's only for them, right?" "Just pay the ticket."). Suck it, Justice.
2. National Grid (formerly known as KeySpan): Earlier this year they sent us a bunch of notices saying they were going to shut off our service. When I called about those, they were all, "Oopsie! We forgot to send you a bill, here's one for $400." Apparently they haven't sent us a bill since then because our final bill is for $500. Suck it, National Grid.
3. AT&T: I just called AT&T to invoke the "I'm leaving the country" clause that should waive the $175 early termination fee. Great, no problem! I just have to send them a utility bill or a bill from a new cell phone carrier with my new address on it. THOSE ARE THE ONLY TWO OPTIONS. Oh, and I can't fax it, because they only have a toll-free fax number that won't work outside of the U.S. Suck it, AT&T.
Our flight leaves tonight at 10. Our stuff is in a state of loosely controlled chaos. The only thing I can't find is the bra without underwire that I bought specifically for traveling. It's plaguing my mind, of course.
This afternoon I received an email update from SunnyMemphis.
NB: This is Sunny's third time sending email, ever. She is 77.
from Sunny
to Gillian
date Sun, Mar 15, 2009 at 1:02 PM
subject memphisupdate
ivetried to get the old woman to do this but she just gets that glassyeyed look as if to say '' a computer oh my no t me.....i ain't doin' that... soooo i guess i'll just have to play little red hen..this isn't such a ba place---just lonesome without you. The old woman talks to me ,feeds me on time, cleans my litter box, brushes me daily but IT'S THOSE CONFOUNDED OTHER FOUR LEGGEDS. The other day they went downstairs for their before bed treat. SO I went down and sat on the steps.When they tried to come upstairs I gave them my best hissy hiaay.They both backed off and I smiled happily. They both went into the bathroom with the old woman.Then Duke came out and started up the stairs----I hissed and hissed---H just totally ignored me and breezed on by.So much for hissing--he's a saucy brat. So Ill keep you up to date. Miss you both and love you Memphis.
Turns out the cleanse was not the cause of my malaise this week.
Turns out it's another kidney infection.
Yay!
On the plus side:
- I paid for extended health insurance this month and actually used it, which makes me feel virtuous (or something)
- I won't be toting a defective kidney to South America
- I am incapable of lifting our heavy boxes labeled "Sort in March" out of storage [minus for Ken]
- Given my recent experience I was able to maintain some dignity (I only cried a couple of times today [minus for Ken])
This is like pre-South America "Land of Milk and Honey" purgatory.
Reader Discretion Advised: This post contains information about bowel movements. You've been warned.
Still with me? GREAT! If you've been following along at home, you know that last Sunday (and Monday, for that matter) involved a little roadtrip and an introduction to a certain feline to two barky canines. It marked the first days of a year of unemployment and followed much celebration. After a fun week in Waterloo (during which not one, not two, but THREE entire pans of Rice Krispy Squares were consumed), on Saturday I found myself in a health food store. I was just looking for almond milk, but a 7-day herbal cleanse (for the low low price of $19.95 Cdn!) caught my eye. I flipped through the accompanying recommended meal plan and it looked pretty comparable to my regular menu, so I decided to give it a go.
The "kit" contained 2 different herbal pills: one a colon cleanse, to be taken twice daily before breakfast and dinner, and the other a "multi-system cleanse" to be taken twice daily WITH breakfast and dinner. The ingredients lists were quite long and all-natural and honestly, I was skeptical as to the efficacy of something like this, but I was thinking, new beginnings, detoxing, Spring, etc. OK, I was also thinking, wouldn't it be great to lose 5lbs before we get to Buenos Aires?
I started the regime on Saturday morning, and all was well until I woke up Monday feeling a little under the weather. I'm going to be honest with you here: On Monday morning, I pooped three times. Before breakfast. I'd had plans to meet various people in the morning, one of which I cancelled and the other of which was blessedly cancelled. I managed to get myself showered in time for a lunch date, only to have that cancelled as well. At least I was clean, because I promptly went home, curled up under a blanket on the couch, and, much to the chagrin of the people who are used to see me Tiggering around Waterloo, slept for the entire afternoon. Like, for six hours, through ringing phones and barking dogs and a hissing cat. I woke up for dinner, ate a piece of chicken and a few grains of rice, then went back to the couch, at which point I decided to immediately retox because cleansing? Totally not worth it, and I don't care how great I was supposed to feel by day 5.
I can only hope that tango will have all the benefits without the discomfort. And the pooping.
Last Sunday, following two nights of no-holds-barred alcohol consumption that included Ken and our friend Aaron consuming a 1.5L bottle of White Zinfandel (...for real), we managed to clean out the remaining piles of crap from our apartment and load a bike, several boxes full of the aforementioned crap, an angry cat (complete with litter box!) and two tired, hungover people into a rented Chevy Impala for a roadtrip to Canada.
We (read: I) had originally set a goal for 8 a.m. departure because the drive is 10 hours and our unemployed selves can't afford a fancy motel. However, after another trip to storage, a stop at IHOP to stave off our collective increasingly low blood sugar, and various drop-offs in Brooklyn, we finally hit the road at 5:30 p.m., if by "hit the road" you mean "sat in standstill traffic waiting to enter the Holland Tunnel". At first I was optimistic: As we finally settled into a comfortable speed on the interstate, I suggested that maybe we could drive straight through.
About an hour later we were both done, and we spent the night in a Super 8 Motel in Binghamton. The Super 8 Motel very responsibly keeps the heat off in unused rooms. Given that the outside temperature was around 3F (-16C) and we could see our breath in the room, we cranked the heat. Before we turned in Ken lowered the heat so we wouldn't sweat ourselves out of the room in the middle of the night, but apparently it wasn't quite low enough because at 3 a.m. I had to get up to throw water on the rocks.
During the drive Monday Memphis was calm enough to ride on my lap. The side effect of her being uncontained was a lot of cat hair in the car. Everywhere. By the time we crossed into Canada my left eye was swollen shut and I could only hope that the border guard wouldn't refuse me entry because of suspected pinkeye or because he thought I was a pirate.
We finally arrived in Waterloo about 3 p.m. on Monday. Memphis has been... well, she's been a total bitch since we got here. I get that she isn't thrilled about the dogs (who, incidentally, are about half her size) but enough with the leaky tire routine! I'm sure she'll adjust, and her M.O. this week of waking us up at 5 every morning has made it just a little easier to bid her adios for the year.
Up next: Ken learns Canadian! We kiss babies! Dinner at Swiss Chalet!
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