the schlep is on

Buenos Aires de mi corazón. It's been a few weeks on the road with surprisingly little looking back. I am missing my neighbor Margarita's empanadas. I am missing a place that feels like home and a bed that feels like mine. I miss my girls that made me feel I had a family wherever I landed. I am happy to be on the road again and feeling that every day is a new adventure. I am wondering when I will see the streets of Buenos Aires again and whether I'll see them again. I am reeling that my last sights of the city were from the back of a cab, lights on Corrientes ablaze, muddied with tears.

We are blogging over at the thebigschlep about some of the adventures of our overland journey from Buenos Aires to Santa Barbara so please go and read it. In the meantime this page will be mildly out of commission save for future reflections. Thanks one and all for visiting.

it occurred to me

that the email that I just wrote to my sister has a universal appeal and everyone should read it. It also occurred to me that although I am sad to be leaving Buenos Aires soon and not very good at handling change, that no matter where I go in two weeks - I just must get out of here. Enjoy.

jules -

i just had to leave my neighbor's birthday party because i sat down and her uncle said (in spanish) 'wow you've really gotten fat' and i said 'mmm hmmm' and someone said 'don't worry you'll lose all that weight in california' and then he said 'no but really, how much weight have you gained?' and i said 'i don't know' and someone else said 'no, he asked how much weight you've gained' and he said '7 kilos? 10 kilos?' and i said 'i know what he is asking and i said i don't know' and someone else said 'no but how much. you know, your belly (making big pregnant belly gesture)?? BELLY??' i said 'i know. i understand what you are asking. i still don't know. i don't own a scale' and then i left the room crying.

good times. i love argentina.

SERENITY NOW!!!!!!!

xo

de acuerdo

The headlines of today's newspapers around Argentina include a smattering of news of statements made by President Néstor Kirchner yesterday during his visit to Mexico. Sounds like the Argentine president made some bold and much-needed statements about the US plan to build a wall off the Mexican border. The whole story can be read by clicking here. Say what you want about Latin American policies, presidencies, and pundits but when they are right, they are right. Kirchner is saying what too many nations are not saying about the US's ridiculous and frivolous plan. I suppose it is more nauseating for me on the heels of an evening where I couldn't make it past the first 30 minutes of Sicko because sympathetic tears turned into a hysterical near-panic attack when faced with some of the atrocities being swept under the rug back home. The fact that my tax money is being spent to build a country-wide fence and not to ensure that our parents as well as ourselves will one day die peacefully in a bed is just... well, sick.

My mind is just reeling. These things are particularly indigestible when faced with the idea of finally having to go home and face them. The point is that, in this case, Kirchner is right. The wall is wrong. It is a hideous affront to the world and must not be tolerated. While Argentina has a long way to go in some respects, it's worlds ahead in others.

todo mocoso

There's nothing like fresh air and a gorgeous baby to lift up your spirits. Paul and I jumped on the overnight bus to Córdoba on Friday evening after work. We took the Tuesday holiday as an excuse for Paul to get Monday off and spend the weekend with our friends Conrado and Analía in the suburbs of the city. Conrado and Analía, two tried and true cordobeses, lived in Buenos Aires and were Paul's English students until the end of Analia's pregnancy last year when they decided that they could not raise a baby in the city of bronca and packed up and went back to Córdoba where they own a home, the weather is fine, and there is not a snooty porteño in sight. Fair enough. They now seem to be thriving in the domestic lifestyle by enjoying time with the gorgeous and happy Marco, playing with the cutest puppy in the world, Lola, and ridding the house of invading tarantulas. Though everything else was practically perfect in every way, the quick jaunt to the country provided me with a close encounter of the spider kind that I never, ever want to repeat and provided Conrado with the rare opportunity to comment, "¡Qué lindo bicho, che!" a phrase you just don't hear every day.

What a gorgeous weekend. Conrado and Analía were smashing hosts, whipping us through the towns in the Sierras, cooking us riverside asado to die for, allowing us to enjoy their amazing company, and sharing the cutest baby in the world. When Conrado finally broke down and asked Paul if his weekend with the baby had changed his (forcefully negative) mind about having kids of his own one day, Paul stopped, paused, considered the incredible feats of Conrado and Analía (themselves just a few years older than Paul and I, and finally explained his new, softened opinion on children and plan to adopt babies from around the world, raise them as bilingual, and sell them on the child slave market for generous profit. It's nice to know that the sun in Córdoba and the radiant smile of Marco didn't entirely melt Paul's stone-cold heart...

We are celebrating a lovely labor day in Buenos Aires. We have already been swept with rain, ate some tasty grilled cheese sandwiches, caught up on all the goings-on in our email and One Sorry Blog, and planning for the rest of what promises to be a busy week. I think part of our restless souls is really ready to leave Buenos Aires behind. I already can't wait until my parents come and we can get out of town together. Lucky for me I have fun work, classes, lunch dates, students, correspondence, and a house with a dismantled revolving door to look forward to for the first time in months. In the meantime, those of you with a serious penchant for cute babies can click here for more photos of the mocoso hermoso.

fun with film

Jenny "la rata" Fickert and I seriously tried our best to have no photographic proof of our trip to Mendoza. I handily had my camera stolen two weeks ago (and am still feeling the burn) and Jenny neglected to pack her camera in the flurry to escape from the house in time to make the overnight bus trip. Our plans were foiled when we found a little store and decided to party like it was 1989 with two disposable crapbags. The results were some interestingly bad shots and some cute shots (see above) and everything in between.

My first trip to Mendoza, despite my lack of evidence, was pretty incredible. We soared over the city paragliding, visited some wineries by bicycle, ate some delicious delicacies in the city, I found two (count 'em TWO!) pairs of bargain shoes, ended up out of gas and half way to the Chilean border in our ludicrously cheap rental car while visiting every Argentine pueblito on a desperate search for Cachueta, and finally soaking it up in style at the hot springs when we finally made it. Jenny proved to be a kick-ass traveling buddy, did not let my plague get her down nor get her down when she caught it, and got her first US passport stamp.

I am trying to catch up on my blog, prepare my presentation for Spanish class tomorrow on why the US Health Care System is the worst in the world (how hard can it be?), test websites for Boulevards, bake cake for my 80 year old neighbors birthday, and pack to visit friends in Córdoba this weekend who have a new baby that I am told is un gordito hermoso. I am staying busy, trying to stay warm as the temperature has dropped about 20 degrees in the last two weeks, and trying to just enjoy everything as much as possible.

Sorry for the lag in blog. El jefe is allegedly blasting back onto the Buenos Aires scene on Tuesday morning with my brand new (not quite so fancy but equally functional) digital camera in tow. Hurrah! I am hoping that when I am able to capture the images again, the words will come with it. I will be back in the blogging spirit very soon.

el pingüino

So I guess it just takes one visit to Punto Tombo to become totally obsessed with penguins. This comes courtesy of Sarah Howell who just returned from Antarctica and is on her way back to Santa Barbara for a short visit. ¡Vaya con Dios, Sarita! Hope you have a great trip and thanks for leaving this behind for my giggling pleasure.

carnaval

An escape from the heat and the chaos in the city came in the form of Carnaval in Gualeguachú, a small Argentinean town in the province of Entre Rios that comes alive once a year for the celebration. Shane and I had previously made all sorts of hypothetical plans for going to Brazil for Carnival but one by one, they all fell apart, as did our bank accounts, as all great plans do. One of Paul's former workmates was dancing in the Argentine, bastard stepchild version of the celebration so we figured it would be a pretty good substitute. In Gualeguachú we met up with several of Paul's colleagues who were kind enough to secure us camping space.

Leaving bright and early on Saturday morning, we arrived at the campground which was a hellava scene. Tents everywhere, young, drunk, half-naked porteños covering every square inch of space, trash as far as the eye could see, and music pumping all around from personal stereos to pimped out car stereo systems requiring earplug action. I suddenly felt like I was at a Latin version of Coachella or that I was in Acapulco for spring break 5 years too late. I felt very old and very tired. We passed Saturday afternoon drinking mate on the beach, beer on the patio of the Costa Azul restaurant, and watching the madness unfold.


The main event was from 10pm-2am and was larger than expected. A giant arena filled with visitors from all over the world as giant floats, elaborated costumed dancers, and a bad carnaval song playing on a loop cruised down to entertain the masses. I have spent the last 3 months just generally being in a state of way too hot. I sweat on the subte, hide in the house during unnaturally warm hours, and wake up drenched with trouble breathing from the stickiness. I spent most of the day Friday carefully choosing my smallest, most heat-friendly clothes for hanging out by the river.

When a storm rolled in on Friday and the wind picked up on Saturday, I found myself standing on the bleachers at a giant Carnaval event chilled to the bone, teeth chattering, and without a sweater. My body was in serious shock from the sudden drop in temperature and try as I might to make a Paul-Shane sandwich, drink hot coffee, and warm my numb hands on the fire of the crackling parilla, I didn't warm up. No one else had as much trouble as me but to be fair everyone else was assisted by quickened, drunken heartbeats. Instead I became the sober party pooper and left the celebration early to seek refuge in my tent. Turns out it didn't really help as I was up until 5am shivering and chattering without a sleeping bag and cold as fuck. I am not sure what happened to the rest of the group that night. I know that after the Carnaval, they went to a nightclub until about 6am and that there were strobe lights and transvestites involved. The rest is a mystery and should probably stay that way.

Sunday the weather was back to its normal hellish ways and now I sit, back in Buenos Aires, slightly sunburned from a Sunday outdoors by the river, and just a bit miffed that the weather went feo only long enough to ruin my Carnaval and then back to its old self. My own fault really. Next time I will pack more appropriately and drink WAY more Fernet and Cokes.

even gauchitos get the blues

Since Paul is working on a story about gauchos for a certain, beloved small town rag we took off this weekend for the Día de la tradicción just 90 minutes north of Buenos Aires in sleepy San Antonio de Areco. We had a great day on Saturday sucking rare meat off the bones of freshly killed cow, watching the rodeo style events, and getting a better idea of modern gaucho culture and how it differs from the days of Martín Fierro.

Here are some timeless gaucho images to hold you over until there is more to read but I am sure Paul is working hard on all the sumptuous details as I type. We all need to get a little gaucho sometimes.

Poor, three-legged blog!

My blog really should just be taken out and shot just to put it out of its misery. There is just so much to say. The past couple of months have been filled with thrills and adventures, tears and laughter. Peeing in semi-public places, burst eardrums, hellacious bus rides full of cockroaches, having my heart broken, then put back together, flying like a bird with a paragliding champ, sleeping for a month in hostels, eating steak sandwiches like every day is my last on earth, becoming re-addicted to cigs and diet coke, whipping through books one a day, travelling from the tropical north to the farthest south you can go before jumping the boat to Antarctica, laughing to tears with Julie, and feeling very, very restless.


This link should take you to a small selection of photos from my trip with little Julie... around Argentina in 30 days.

bolivia me mata

When I recover from my "vacation" with Paul I will post the thoughts swimming around in my mind. For now, please feel free to check out our photos from our Tragicomedy in Bolivia, a rich and beautiful country and an unforgettable experience. The following link should take you.

click here

back in the sick of it

I totally hemorrhaged again when I got back from my trip with Lynn. It was total culture shock leaving Buenos Aires for the Northwestern Patagonia Countryside and it was worse culture shock coming home for two weeks. Shortly after Lynn arrived we decided that flying to Bariloche (Argentina’s skiing and chocolate capital) instead of taking the 25-hour bus ride. Lynn made a good point that since she was taking her entire vacation allotment for the year, she might as well not spend more than 2 complete days of it on a bus. It only took us a few hours to sweep in through the clouds to this weird no world where there is no dogshit or $10 peso sex acts and where the mountains and crystal clear lakes unfold all around you like some sort of sick heavenly joke. I spent the first 48 hours or so just in complete shock and awe at the idea of staying in a hostel, trying to speak English again, trying to make friends. I realized pretty fast that I had spent the last four months of my life in a full-body cringe, totally wound-up and scared all the time, constantly on edge, constantly exhausted and suspicious, and totally not myself. The idea of a relaxing vacation was just hard to adjust to I suppose.

Lynn and I shared an amazing experience in the short time that we spent in and around Bariloche. It occurred to me that I probably hadn’t spent that much time with Lynn since she began Medical School, or even before. It also became clear how different we have become and how much of her life I have missed. It was nice to get to know my sister again.

As far as where we were, there are no words. We teamed up with 2 other Americans for the Siete Lagos or Seven Lakes Route so that we could afford to rent a car and do the trip in a couple over a couple of days instead of the panicked 3 hour bus tour the brochures offer. After a few short hours in the car Sean, one of the other Americans, suggested that we were all experiencing serious “adjective deficiency” because after a while of your jaw dropping, gasped breathes, screaming wow, cooing, commenting on how, beautiful, charming, lovely, gorgeous, breathtaking, wonderful, magnificent, spectacular, incredible everything is, you just sort of run out of things to say. Combine that with the fact that at every bend in the road, things just get better, and you realize quickly that you might as well just keep your mouth shut and enjoy it.

It felt good to be out in the country, to have offensive smelling clothes. It felt good to hike for hours and be on a real bike. After the initial shock to the system, it did feel nice to meet people and speak in English and, for the first time in my life, be the better half of a barely-Spanish-speaking duo.

When I returned to the city I really had a hard time readjusting. Once again I was back in this world of honking horns and “kill or be killed” pedestrian walkways, of guys testing out their English on you by asking “Would you show me your pussy?” and just feeling really sorry for myself. Every time I want to throw up my hands and say that I hate it here I try to bite my tongue and remind myself that it is me and not this place. But it is hard.

I am about to finish my Spanish class at UBA – my test is next week, and still I often feel my Spanish is no better than the day I arrived. I have a hard time understanding the accent people and (naturally and understandably) people speak very quickly and impatiently. The other day I was in a giant, expensive, and touristy store buying something. The store clerk rang up my items then said something that I didn’t understand. I asked as politely as possible if she could repeat what she said more slowly. She rolled her eyes and told me, “No importa,” with a giant sigh. But it does matter to me. I wanted to cuss her out and run out of the store screaming that I would never shop in that shithole of a place anyway but I couldn’t think how to say that in Spanish. Naturally, I meekly bought my overpriced things and limped out into the street like a wounded puppy. I curse myself for not having thicker skin. Maybe on some level I am tougher than when I got here and when I return to Santa Barbara I will realize that I am practically a New Yorker by comparison. For now, the porteños continue to be able to crush me like a bug every day.

The winter is very erratic. For a while life in the city was extremely cold and I was wearing all my clothes at once and still coming home cold. The only way the Argentines survived the worst of the weather was the world cup fever that felt like an inferno striking a polar ice cap. It’s been 15 years since I lived in a country where the world cup mattered. And while it mattered in Scotland, it was mostly because everyone in Scotland was glued to their televisions to root against the English because the Scottish side never qualified for the cup. El Mundial, as it is called here, is inexplicable. There are televisions everywhere. There are televisions in kioskos and newsstands. Cafés and restaurants are standing room only. You can’t pass a conversation without someone talking about football or the Brazilians being putos. Children and grandparents are decked out in team colors. Oh, and the entire country is drunk.

After one of Argentina’s wins we walked to El Obelisco which is a few short blocks from our house and one of Buenos Aires’ most recognizable landmarks. It was reported the next day that hundreds of thousands of people were there. People were climbing on top of garbage trucks and thousands of cars honked their horns. Fireworks exploded all around and people drummed and danced and chanted cheers for the home team. It felt like being in the eye of a hurricane. While your own world is relatively calm, life explodes all around you.

Argentina is a crazy and lonely place. Anyone who wants to get a great sense of it should invest in Pico Iyer’s Falling Off the Map, which is a serious of essays on “Lonely Places”. He really gets to the heart of this strange place.

Paul headed up north yesterday. He will spend the next month stomping across the Northwest border towns that cuddle the Bolivian border. News from him will follow. Time permitting I will go and meet him in a couple of weeks before Mary and Roger descend into Argentina.

I can’t wait to see the folks. They could not be coming at a better time. Since leaving town I have missed 2 funerals, just found out I am missing a wedding, and no less than 3 nervous breakdowns. At these times I feel homesick. And I miss my friends. I do, however, know that what I am doing here is important; that I won’t see how much I have changed until I go home. I won’t see how much stronger and smarter I am until I confront my past life - which I'm sure will be unrecognizable. I can't imagine what I ever did with a Venti Latte from Starbucks anymore. This is something I have to remind myself of every day when I feel weak.

I am attaching a photo of Paul and I… in the eye of the Mundial hurricane.