February 27, 2006
I feel I’ve been neglecting my blog. I can’t figure out if it’s just a waning desire to sit and write or if, shock horror, I might actually be settling into things here. We are now a month into our journey, more or less. One down, eleven to go I suppose. But looking back on the last few days, there are certainly things that continue to shock me every day.
Our apartment is half a block from the 18-lane Avenida 9 de Julio, as I mentioned before. It takes at least two rounds of green lights to cross, a hustle in your step, and an element of danger. Late last week as Paul and I were crossing we heard a giant screech, followed by a crash, followed by a body thrown forward between two cars. Giant screeches, crashed, honking horns, and the sound of twisted metal are really not so uncommon around here and only when the body appeared was it clear that this was not regulation. Turns out a moped driver lost control or something and rear-ended a car and was thrown forward from the moped onto the pavement with a slap. Within moments 9 de Julio is a mess of cars. A moment’s interruption of such an intricate traffic operation can cause hours of gridlock. The cars are honking, a policeman is on a cell phone, and cars are already backed up for blocks. I’m not sure if anyone has really, properly checked to see if the guy is ok but people keep walking, we wander slowly forward, and, within minutes, everyone is going back about their day. I have a hard time seeing people in pain and feeling helpless about it and I have trouble taking my eyes off the scene and I hope the young man is being taken care of. In the early days of my time in London, I finished a mean in fancy, upper-crust Knightsbridge and walk out of the restaurant just in time to witness a female body getting slammed by a car. Turns out an American tourist had forgot how easy it can be to look the wrong way while crossing the street in London and had practically jumped under the wheels of a car. It was her first night in the city. She had just checked into her hotel and was running out to go clubbing with her friends. I read the next day in the free newspaper on the Tube that she had died. I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to the pace of the city and I fear that if I ever did, then I might stop paying attention.
I haven’t cured cancer yet. Paul and I used to watch ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ and get endless hilarity from Larry David’s style. I guess he made enough money from Seinfeld that he never really had to work another day in his life and he spends his time on the show practically clowning himself for being such a lazy bum. In every show he’ll have an agenda like, “Today I have to go to the dry cleaners and then get the car wash” or he’ll say something like, “I can’t go to the movies on Thursday because I have to play golf.” Ummm… whaaaaaaaat? What kind of life is that? It’s like when I used to go spend my lunch hour wandering around downtown State Street and there were constantly people in all of these ludicrously expensive stores; people that seemed to me to be very little more than professional shoppers. What on earth could anyone have to do at Blue Bee on a Tuesday at 3pm? Get a job! These days I wake up thinking, “I have to go to the café, buy a newspaper, exchange money, and buy stamps.” It’s becoming almost unforgivable to live like this and make an occupation out of slowly draining my savings account.
I’ve been shamelessly watching every terrible American film I can get my hands on combined with a smattering of good ones. I came home after ‘Walk the Line’ and put all of Paul’s Johnny Cash on my iPod and he’s been my city soundtrack ever since. God bless ‘im. But when you can find a place where the tickets cost US$1.50 I’m hoping I’ll be doing more and feeling a little less guilty when my Spanish class starts. I found what seems like a great class at Universitad Buenos Aires and it’s far less expensive than any private Spanish instruction school. Emil’s girlfriend Dayna has also expressed interest in taking the same class so it would be nice to have an ally. I am thinking more and more of teaching English and I am going to start sending out resumes and seeing what happens. I really believe that I could do it. I don’t think Paul has spoken any Spanish with his students so apparently that shouldn’t be as much of a hinderance as I thought. Some of the people running school here seem to be seriously overpaid hacks. I think I’m going to try to find one of them to work for.
My friend Sarah is also flying into Buenos Aires mid-March for an adventure of her own. The prospect of having a friend in the city that I’ve known for years and years is very comforting and I’m excited about it. I’m also excited to relive all the fascination of arriving here through her eyes. I found out late last year that Sarah had made almost identical plans as I had and we spent the last few months accusing each other of total-idea-thievery. She’s a brave soul doing this on her own. I feel more confident every day here that I could do this on my own but I never would have believed that if it wasn’t for Paul. My sister (Dr. Lynnabelle) also has tickets for May. I’m so excited. Bring on the visitors. Lynn’s visit should also provide a good excuse for some serious Patagonia travel. I am chomping at the bit now. Every time I walk down a street in Buenos Aires that I’ve walked down before I just think of the continent unfolding before me that I’ve never seen and I’m dying to explore. I can’t wait until Lynn gets here. I am confident her wandering feet will take me cool places.
Friday finally brought some much-needed respite from the blistering summer heat in the form of gigantic, powerful, rain, thunder, and lightening storms. The extremity of the weather can be totally unreal. It reminded me a little of Hawaii where one minute everything is chill and the next minute you are drenched to the bone and it’s too late to even think about looking for shelter. It’s like Hawaii’s warm, tropical, rain too. But the weather has been far less painful for me (yes, the Scottish girl likes the rain) as a result of the scattered showers.
This weekend brought one of the greater moments in Buenos Aires. On Sunday Emil and Dayna came with us when we took the train out to the little “British” suburb of Hurlingham an hour out of the city. The train itself is a groovy experience as one of the kids in front of us spends the entire hour shooting crazy Carnival body foam out the window and there are no doors so if you decided to pack it in, doing so would be really convenient. We get to Hurlingham hungry and hot. We inquire more than once as to where the “Barrio Inglés” might be but either no one knows or no one wants to tell us – tough call. The English neighborhood is more of an afterthought though as what we are really looking for is the track where they have – no I am not kidding – CHARIOT RACES. The track is a walk and a half from the station and it’s becoming clear that there is absolutely nothing to see in Hurlingham. We are all getting shifty and trying to admit that this may have been a giant mistake. As soon as we get there, though, it’s clear we’re in the right place. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. I have what my family calls a little bit of a “gambling problem” and have therefore never been allowed near a racetrack or the like, let alone one complete with CHARIOTS (yesss!!). Really, not enough can be said about the scene. It’s cool, perfect even. We get there about a half hour before the races begin and it only takes us 5 or 6 attempts at ordering and some serious waiting to get some amazingly tasty sausage sandwiches and some cold beer in the shade of the trees. Ahhhh… Sunday afternoon. We place our meager one or two peso bets and the races begin. We’re excited and cheering but when we are placing out bets hundred peso bills are being passed across the counter so for some it can be a serious business but with no minimum, it’s a small price to pay for some serious entertainment. Dayna is the first winner and gets one peso and forty centavos on a one peso bet. Emil is with me on how much better it would all be with the fever of serious money on the line but neither of us have any so we keep it calm. There are seven races and in the fifth race I put two pesos on El Piojo (The Louse) in honor of Paul’s friend in Mexico who’s nickname is El Piojo which is a word I love and a phenomenon that he’s been writing about in his book a matter of hours before. El Piojo comes up big and I collect 3 pesos and 20 centavos. SCORE! The sixth race is amazing. Around the last bend there is a giant cloud of dust and horses and limbs go flying. Only two drivers make it out (one of whom is mine so I feel a little guilty trying to see if he wins in the midst of all the chaos – but OBVY he doesn’t) and a couple of horses make it out without their chariots or riders and a giant mess of injuries and horse wrangling ensues. Everyone is glued to the mess and we decide we’ve had enough. As we are ambling towards the door we see one of the racers telling the paramedics that no one is seriously hurt at all so we are sure we’ve seen the best that chariot racing has to offer and take off back to the station. Really, if you hear of any chariot races near you – I recommend it. I’ve attached some photos so that you absolutely have to believe me.
Carnival has been raging on in the city. Every night there is a plethora of foamed up kids and music and drumming in the street around the corner. The Tango festival is in full swing at the moment so I’m sure we’ll be checking out some of that. Paul is working tirelessly on his book while I scour the papers for the latest lame American film to watch. Life is wonderful, juicy, and bizarre. I miss home and miss my cat but wonder often if my life in Santa Barbara was not just a fragment of my imagination. Am I actually getting used to things here? Whenever I think I might be, there is foam, moped accidents, chariot races, and, of course, dogshit to slow me down a little and remind me that I´m not in The Goodland anymore.
