empty nest

Parents have a way about them. Instead of just deplaning like regular folks, they seem to descend from heaven like angels of mercy wielding credit cards, good times, hot food, cashola, and priceless, kind words of advice.

There last few days with us here in Buenos Aires were spent in proper Nisbet style: nice leisurely walks along the banks of the Delta in neighboring Tigre, enjoying the sunset over the river from a boat-bus, gorging ourselves silly in our favorite Peruvian restaurant, Carlitos, during Peru's football games and cramming in as many last-minute empanadas as our poor bodies would hold.

Late last week I awoke cold and hungry, wondering if my mom and dad might be interested in a coffee and forgetting that I had put them on an airplane the night before back to California. Our house is empty again and visitors have temporarily stopped until later this month when we greet an old friend who returns to Argentina, little Laura Rivas, and Doctor Jenny Yusin who's visit might actually mark the final installment of the Buenos Aires adventure.

I am hungry. Hungry to finish my last Spanish class and have exams be behind me for once instead of looming ahead. I am hungry to be better: a better writer, editor, English teacher, helper, cook, wife and life partner. I am hungry to improve myself in every way and hungry to be on the road feeling I know every nook of every cobblestone of this city. I am hungry to visit Paraguay, revisit Bolivia, and step into Peru, Colombia, and strange coners of Central America. Most of all, I think I am hungry to go home. Though my family is continually littered in all corners of the globe from Michigan to Greece to the South Pacific back to the homestead in a little corner of Goleta, I am hungry to be home again though home may mean poor, jobless, homeless, and a whirling dirivsh of directionless.

As I write, dear friends, snow is falling in big, fluffy chunks onto our terrace in Almagro. My neighbors have taken to the streets with their digital cameras in vain attempts to record this historic day. The-little-heater-that-could is trying its very best to keep the living room above freezing and studying is, once again, being put off in favor of the Gilmore Girls.

patagonian prices

- Flight to Bariloche to Bariloche, Argentina - $300US
- Proper waterproof gloves for scraping ice chunks from mud flap of rental car - $8US
- Hot chocolate and churros in 2 degrees C - $2US
- One night in the finest, homiest hotel in Argentina where you know the owner's son from Santa Barbara and stumbled into completely by accident - $50US
- Pair of boots when you realize that Converse just don't cut it in 8 feet of snow - $100US
- Bottle of the finest Argentine Malbec for end of the day chat - $4US
- Buy into the Nisbet Texas Hold 'Em Poker Game - $3US
- Wool and needles to appease Mary's knitting addiction - $8US
- Digital Camera for proper capturing of the little Mexican's first snow fall, snowball fight, snow meal, and blizzard - $200US
- Getting your rental car dug out of a snow drift by kind Argentine rescue workers after careening, slow-speed accident - Free!
- Post melt down dinner of fine Patagonian Lamb, Trout, pastas and other comfort foods - Who cares? We were post-meltdown at this point.
- View from the top of the Aerosilla at kilometer 17 of the Circuito Chico - Abso-fuckin-lutely Priceless

More photos and adventure stories coming soon. Back to harsh Buenos Aires reality on Wednesday. In the meantime I will be enjoying all the gorgeous ups and downs of our amazing Winter Wonderland adventure with Mary and Roger.

i heart julieta

Last night I emerged from a divine mid-afternoon power nap, a week of semi-sick doldrums and insuportable cramps just in time to catch a cab over to Estadio Pepsi Music on Libertador and catch a glimpse of the beautiful, Mexican singer Julieta Venegas in concert in Buenos Aires. The concert, put simply, kicked ass. It wasn't as sweaty as Shakira at the giant Velez football stadium, it was less rowdy than the Beastie Boys down the street, and there were far fewer psychedelic trip outs than Creamfields on the Costanera. The concert hall turned out to be much smaller than expected giving it the kind of intimate feel that those lucky enough to catch her at the Majestic Ventura Theater just a few short months ago must have had. I think Paul enjoyed it too as Julieta dropped some Mexican-isms talking about amores gachos and singing a song about immigrating to the US of A from her querido México de que nunca me olvido. She was beautiful, sweet, hot hands on the accordion, and a general encantadora.

Her music is probably my favorite of all the Latin Music that I try to sing along to in the shower. She sings lovely lyrics with sweet, catchy melodies. Before we went to the concert I read another BA blogger's post about how music in Latin America in general has much more to do with lyrics than anyone else and at concerts you can easily find 80,000 people singing along word for word with their favorite artists. This was certainly true last night and Julieta seemed genuinely touched when the small crowd took over singing duties for her. I tried my best as a gringa to keep up. I recommend her music to anyone taking small, tentative steps into the world of music in Spanish. Her spins on the iPod have gotten me through many a difficult bus ride through Buenos Aires. Enjoy the video and here are the lyrics to my favorite song:

limón y sal

Tengo que confesar que a veces
no me gusta tu forma de ser
luego te me desapareces y no entiendo muy bien por qué
no dices nada romántico cuando llega el atardecer
te pones de un humor extraño con cada luna llena al mes.

Pero a a todo lo demás le gana lo bueno que me das
sólo tenerte cerca siento que vuelvo a empezar.

Yo te quiero con limón y sal, yo te quiero tal y como estás,
no hace falta cambiarte nada,
yo te quiero si vienes o si vas,
si subes y bajas y
no estás seguro de lo que sientes.

Tengo que confesarte ahora
nunca creí en la felicidad
a veces algo se le parece, pero
es pura casualidad.

Luego me vengo a encontrar con tus ojos y me dan algo más
solo tenerte cerca siento
que vuelvo a empezar.

Yo te quiero con limón y sal, yo te quiero tal y como estás,
no hace falta cambiarte nada,
yo te quiero si vienes o si vas,
si subes y bajas y
no estás seguro de lo que sientes.

Solo tenerte cerca
siento que vuelvo a empezar...

la tontita

So after a brief hiatus, here is all the news fit to print here from Buenos Aires.

- It's cold here! Damn cold. It was 2 degrees here in the Capital on Monday and Tuesday last week and Argentines are dropping like flies. Every day the papers report people all over the country dying of cold for various reasons: lack of housing, carbon monoxide poisoning, heart failure, etc. The French woman who keeps coming to my Spanish class at the UBA contagious with fever and flu has made me sick for the second time this season so I am making a point of eating lots of soup and keeping our heaters rocking until this too passes.

- Today is election day here in Buenos Aires and around 2.5 million porteños will vote today to elect a new mayor. All pre-election polls are showing incumbent Telerman with his unfortunate bald head being ousted in favor of Macri, but only the next few days will tell as the quilombo which is the Argentine electoral process unfolds. In the meantime the election has provided political posters like the one pictured here with counter-political messages like topu, garca, and pontete pelo puto. Poor, bald Telerman seems to be taking the biggest swings.

- Last night the lovely Ana Paula, Paul's "work wife" threw a lovely party in honor of Paul leaving his job (take that however you wish). We spent a lovely evening in a beautiful area of Belgrano complete with designer stores, modern apartments, clean streets, wide green spaces, and general loveliness. Despite having no business in such a classy part of town, we had a great time nibbling cheese, empanadas, and cake washing it down with a selection of fine Argentine wines. Good times and giggles were shared by all and I think it's fair to say that part of Paul misses the 'Office Space' world. So far he's a total failure as a house-husband but hopefully even the monkey can learn eventually.

- I had a brand new 'Lost In Translation' moment that brought me to new heights of tonta last night. I was having a hard time keeping up, totally congested with a head full of snot and rapid fire Spanish conversation. Usually it's not a problem but combine fatigue, decongestants, and crankiness and you end up where I was - thoroughly lost. I finally tried to jump into the conversation with an easy topic: an Argentine friend inquired as to what, exactly, was a twinkie. I explained that they are sponge cake, cream filled, but totally disgusting because of the preservativos that they contain. Total silence. It was about 5 seconds before I realized I had committed a rookie mistake in a public setting. DOH! In Spanish preservatives are conservantes while preservativo is the Spanish word for condom. Lots of laughter (mostly from Paul) and one Scottish-level red face later, I tried to change the subject. Serious ego damage alert. Chalk it up to swollen glands.

- The longer I stay, the more homesick I get. I just heard that my dad had a nasty tumble down a flight of stairs. When I called home my sister, mum, and dad were hanging out together trying to make the best of it. I thought about Santa Barbara, how the summer must be closing in, about surfing, about going for walks with my sisters. The cold, dark, gray city makes me miss home. I think it might almost be time.

- A dear friend of mine is pregnant! Congratulations to Carla, her entire family, and her brand new bean! I need to start knitting again.

- That's all for now. I have sickness ADD and can't finish sentences, am way behind on my emails, and have procrastinated all weekend a simple work assignment. I can't wait until I can smell and taste again. Gagh! I am considering taking out a hit on the French woman in my class...

one shameless plug

For those of you that just feel they are too darned busy and important to check out One Sorry Blog - get over it! Now is the time. Somehow my evil-genius Pablito has created a monster over at WordPress that just won't quit. It's really pretty incredible and I encourage those of you who haven't peeped, to check it out immediately. After a short couple of months at the helm, Paul has bribed, brow-beaten, cajoled, begged, borrowed, scammed, sweet-talked, and otherwise miraculously herded a team of super talented writers into creating a sort of online magazine that is ACTUALLY worth reading. Along with the New York Times Daily Headlines and Lost, it's about all that drives me to tune in these days with my rapidly increasing work and kitchen duties.

Paul has amazing rounded up an incredible cast of non-writers that are incredible writers (note to self: remove title of 'writer' from my resume) and experts one and all in their given fields. One Sorry Blog is a maze of cool, funny, insightful, silly, and interesting contributions about all your favorite subjects: movies, television, gambling, etc. Paul Carnivale has joined the cast as a music writer (and so far, a darn good one) and ideas are being developed in Paul's evil genius mind as we speak. 17 minutes ago, Paul officially finished his duties as a full time translator for Trusted Translations. While I'm excited that he will now be my full time house-husband instead, I am a little concerned that his duties will be neglected in lieu of pimping his blog day in and day out. The point is, the site is pretty great and getting greater by the minute...

tune in...and stay tuned.

smarty pants

I need to give a major shout out to my friend Jenny Yusin (pictured here - picture ripped from her photo album) who just received her PhD from Emory University. Jenny graduated under particularly difficult circumstances, likely making her day even more bittersweet than it should have been. I just sit here, toiling away at my menial daily activities and work that seems menial now too in total awe of individuals who can commit themselves so gracefully to their studies - and moreover to the point that we all have to call them "doctor" afterwards. I am proud to know people like Jenny who fight uphill battles, are fiercely loyal friends, and still manage to quietly achieve greatness while it seems no one is looking. Congratulations, Jenny. I mean, Doctor Jenny. I cannot tell you how glad I am that she still watches Grey's Anatomy so that we can still interface on my lowly, earthly level. Never underestimate the power of the primetime love triangle to bring people together.

¡Que coman!

Maybe it's the chilly winter weather, maybe it's the fact that I am working out regularly again, maybe it's the fact that my panza has grown to a panzota over the last year, maybe it's the blurbs I am writing about food over at One Sorry Blog, who knows what it is exactly? But I have food on the brain. Good, fresh, wholesome, nourishing, home cooked food on the brain. I sit here now with Mexican rice and Chipotle chicken (thanks, Bubba Ray) and love life, love winter, love delicious plates of hot food. So without further ado, here are some of my favorite people doing some of my favorite things. I wish you all good soups and stews this winter or good salads and smoothies if the sun is shining where you are. I have to remind myself to be thankful for one of life's most essential luxuries.

strange encounters of the buenos aires kind

Yesterday evening, after a very long day, Paul and I were strolling in front of the Abasto Mall (a giant shopping and cinema Mecca housed in the old Mercado Central). An Asian woman, well-dressed, heels blazing, slightly frenzied ran up to us shouting in broken English. Paul and I stop dead in our tracks. I think we were startled by the appearance of such fashion choices outside of Palermo Viejo and also someone of such elegance deigning to speak to us, schlepping around the city like two idling backpackers. The encounter unfolds, in English, making the whole the even stranger:

Woman: (shouting) Excuse me, excuse me! Where can I find more shopping. (Holds up shopping bags to emphasize meaning of the word shopping)

Paul: (Looks at Clare as if to say, 'Is she kidding?' then points at giant, unmissable landmark of Abasto Shopping Mall) Um, that's the biggest mall in town.

Woman: (frantically checking watch) It open until 10? 10?!

Clare: It's open late for the movies.

Woman: (Sound muffled by frantic heel clicking in direction of Abasto) Thank you!!

We walked away towards Carlitos totally baffled and still in search of Peruvian hot sauce. Very, very strange. Was the woman on an urban scavenger hunt? Did she have a 12 hour layover in Buenos Aires to max out her credit card? Had the throwers at Ezeiza carefully misplaced her baggage? What was the big consumerist emergency? We may never know. But I suppose when you need to shop, you really need to shop.

ya estuvo

Time for a new post, and not just to save my little sister (our very own Network TV Slut) from further bouts of acid reflux from my Mother's Day post but because my finals are over at the UBA and I feel like blogging, chilling, eating oranges, and resting for a couple of days before classes start again (on Monday - shoot me now). This is the first time in a Spanish Exam that I felt I really kicked the ass of the oral exam and choked on the written test. Usually, it's the other way around and now I wonder what it all means.

In the meantime it's election hour here in Buenos Aires and the subte is filled with interesting, funny, and sometimes scary propaganda giving me a little more to look at during my daily commute to and from the UBA. Voting is obligatory here in BA and it always gives you pause as an American to wonder why shouldn't the most basic right of a citizen be a patriotic obligation? How different would the world be if the underrepresented minorities in the US including retirees and minorities were required to make their voice heard? How many lives could have been saved if our popular vote was inarguable? I hope more of us visit the polls next year - with the same passion and vigor that we use while frantically dialing to vote for our next American Idol.

Plus it's wintertime so I busted out my warm coat and have taken to making soup and drinking Emergen-C to stave off la gripa. Although these photos were taken in color, everything feels these days to be in black and white.

feliz día, mamá

Today is Mother's Day in the USA so I wanted to give a shout out to the greatest mom in the world, Mary Nisbet. I know most people think their mom is pretty great but mine really, really is. For real. Today my mom, dad, and sister are going to climb a hill in Ojai, California and have dinner together to celebrate my mom's birthday and mother's day in one and it's only on rare days like these that I wish I was home. Without the support of both my parents, their voices at the end of the telephone, their kind and encouraging words, and their sense of adventure, I would not be able to continue running around whatever corners of the world tickle my fancy. On June 18th, my parents are coming to visit me for the second time in Buenos Aires and I just can't wait. Their last visit was busted up by a burst eardrum, canceled trip to Iguazu Falls, and domestic issues between Paul and I. So this year's trip will be different, filled with fun and healthy people, and the domestic bliss that Paul and I are enjoying.

In the meantime my blog has been lacking due to finals coming up this week. If anyone has insight into the uses of the presente subjuntivo, pretérito perfecto subjuntivo, imperfecto subjuntivo, pretérito pluscuamperfecto subjuntivo, and the like, I have until Tuesday to get it down. Today I am making cookies, empanadas, and things to make my mother proud to entertain asado guests - a beautiful Sunday tradition.

If you talk to your mom today - tell her you love her and Happy Mother's Day. If you're anything like me, her job ain't that easy.

dando vueltas

After two cups of tea and an embarrassing attempt at Scrabble on my part, my boss called me yesterday morning. A serious no-no for a Saturday. The pobrecito recently rolled back into town (literally - wheeled off the plane) with a seriously messed up knee from an egregious kareoke incident in San Francisco. This crazy guy agreed to complete a whirlwind assignment for Rough Guides with a bum leg, 3 days to do it, and rainstorms on the forecast. Naturally, I obliged, using the excuse to catch up with the boss, get a load of his mojo with the ladies in Recoleta, spend a day as a professional photographer's assistant, and get serious advice on what to do with my new digital camera.

It was a seriously fun day schlepping from Las Violetas, one of my favorite hundred year old cafes in Almagro (with not a tourist in sight), to the El Ateneo Gran Splendid bookstore (which we agreed may be the most beautiful bookstore in the world), down to La Boca to check out kids playing soccor and check prices on galpón rentals. The nice thing about traveling around with a boss with a bum leg is that you travel in style, taxiing everywhere and cruising around at a pleasant pace. Even the heavy cloud cover didn't manage to stop Greg from getting some beautiful shots. I am pretty impressed at what a pro can come up with with just a camera, a few days, and a shoestring budget. Hopefully the rest of the world can check out the results in the new Rough Guide to Argentina. I love my new baby digital camera that fits in my pocket and rocks like a pro. This will keep me in photos until I wake up one morning with money for my digital SLR under my pillow. Happy Sunday, one and all.

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.

best week ever

I have officially neglected my blog for far too long. I will now, try to pitifully explain why. So to rip off my sister the network TV slut, in no particular order, and in true Nick Hornby style, here are the highlights of my week in Buenos Aires:

- Jenny "la rata" Fickert, of Santa Barbara Independent fame, arrives at Ezeiza International sans luggage. Read more about the power and prowess of the baggage handlers at Ezeiza here.

- Jenny proceeds to exit the customs area without filling out a claim for her baggage causing an unhelpful conversation with an angry porteña and having to coerce our way back inside by any means necessary.

- I take Jenny on the obligatory schlep through the Recoleta Cemetery and the feria at the Plaza Francia where a kindly pickpocket relieves me of my digital camera and some great photos. Can't even lose focus for ten seconds in this town when you have to pee...

- We take in a touristy but fun tango show to celebrate Heather Christensen's birthday at boogie down at Fugees 99.

- After a long night at the boliche, the phone rings at 9am on Saturday morning. A friend of a friend (who we hadn't even had the pleasure of meeting yet) has the expected South American dysentery. I spend Saturday morning in the hospital and buying soup and crackers for a poor, unwell soul.

- Heather and Taylor depart on Saturday evening. This time, Taylor leaves with two passports having obtained a second to replace the first (which he lost in the taxi from Ezeiza) just two hours after the first was returned. Sheesh. The Heather and Taylor whirlwind trip goes out with a bang.

- We barbeque most of Sunday afternoon and spend it with Leta, the friend of a friend, who is recovering well from her dysentery and I feel pretty crappy by the end of the meal and have to skip the cake (balls!).

- I wake up Monday morning with the plague (which I am sure is a free gift courtesy of the sick and needy at the German Hospital on Saturday morning). I haven't slept at all Sunday night because I can't breathe and my throat is almost closed up.

- I spend Monday morning in the hospital (again), the rest of Monday afternoon schlepping my corpse around town playing reluctant tour guide while trying to procure my medication from various pharmacies.

- Having procured half of my medication, I throw my prescription in the garbage and put it out in the street for collection (chalk this one up to the no-sleep factor).

- I find out that someone I care about very much has a broken heart. And I worry.

- Today I faced a very hard 2 hour Spanish class being that I have the plague and all. I still haven't done my homework.

- I bought bus tickets for Mendoza leaving Thursday night on a coche super cama, nothing but the best for the plague-ridden.

- I figure I'll be alright if I can get through 8 more days of visiting friends.

- I am broke, broke, broke. So broke it's a joke (just thought I'd throw that one in for good measure!)

- Digital camera donations accepted (see the above highlight).

Back soon...

leaving las vegas

There is, as always, good news and bad news. The bad news for Las Vegas is that Justin Mabardi is heading out of town. After a serious stint whipping the Dragone show La Rêve into the greatest show on the strip, practically taking residence at my personal Mecca, Wynn Las Vegas, Justin is cashing in his chips and is going (going) back (back) to Cali (Cali). Serious bummer for you Las Vegas. At least Las Vegas is full of hookers, money, and big hair so the city will likely survive.

The good news? For all my faithful readers in California, Justin is continuing his relationship with the world of Dragone and going to work on the new show, Carmen, at the La Jolla playhouse. Click here to read the press release and learn more about the production. All theater lovers, Justin fans, surfers hitting San Diego, or those who should just do what I say (I think I have pretty much encapsulated everyone I know now) should all head down to San Diego and check out the show which will run June and July. Hurry, because Justin (and the show) are likely to be swept of to Broadway. Glimpses of this man are rare and precious in California. If Justin's past stage ventures are any indication, this show will be spectacular.

when good gringos go bad

Heather and Taylor joined us in the middle of Friday morning's thunderstorm. I promptly spent a day tromping around the city in wet socks and shoes (which I am convinced is responsible for my fever chills and scratchy throat this morning) and feeling like I was in high school all over again. They have spent most of the weekend on the Sarah Howell tour of Buenos Aires and celebrating Sarah's birthday in proper worldly style - with food and friends.



Paul and I did our very best to entertain by whisking the group to Carlitos, a Peruvian restaurant in the heart of Almagro. We ordered up a Peruvian favorite, Papa a la Huancaina, and giant plates of rotisserie chicken, french fries, and fresh salads. We ate ourselves sick until our final dish arrived an hour after we ordered it, and an hour after we were assured that the waiter forgot about it.



I had to include the photo of what was left of the table after Taylor, Sarah, and Paul were finished with the beef noodle dish. This, my friends, is what happens when typically good, well-mannered gringos are confronted with piles and piles of delicious Peruvian delicacies.

vecinos, ruido y oscuridad

This week already seems a bit nuts. It started out with a tormenta gigante that swept through the city on Sunday leaving us without electricity for a day and a half and living our Monday in the 19th century. For us, it was a relatively non-event. I spent the morning cleaning and re-cleaning all the floors of the water that had flooded in from the outside, then washing and re-washing the towels that I had used to clean the floors, then throwing out rotting food from the decorative refrigerator, using the outage as the perfect excuse to defrost our freezer that needs defrosted approximately every two weeks anyway. By early afternoon I was losing to myself at Solitaire, 75 pages into my novel En El Tiempo de Las Mariposas (the most I think I've ever read in Spanish), and wistfully imagining myself a modern day Emily Dickinson, writing by candlelight and composing future masterpieces.

Around 10pm the serious levels of bronca started to set in and the porteños became ornery as porteños are like to do. We thought it would be a perfect opportunity to visit our favorite Almagro restaurant, Carlitos, but we stepped into the street to quite a scene. The moment we stepped outside, we experienced a protest tactic that I had previously only read about in Bad Times in Buenos Aires by Miranda France. It started as a giant banging from a single balcony. It sounded like someone pounding a wooden spoon against a giant metal pot. It grew... to a fever pitch. We scurried away from the noise and on to the bus. 10 minutes later we were safe in the folds of our restaurants watching the bronca unfold on the televisions. All of our neighbors lined up in our usually quiet corner of South Almagro, banging pots, yelling, holding up traffic, and making mischief... all in the name of the government turning their lights back on. Fair enough the day without lights left most of the businesses in our neighborhood paralyzed for a day. In Buenos Aires, a day's earnings are no small potatoes. Ultimately, the neighbors did well taking their protest to the streets as deep into the night, the lights flared back up with a vengeance and now our fridge is running like a champ again.

Despite the ruckus, I dearly cherish our neighborhood and neighbors. The top photo is of our two next door neighbors Estella and her mother Margarita. They sleep Burt and Ernie style in beds 6 inches apart, are constantly force-feeding me empanadas, pickled eggplant, cakes, tartas, and mate (I blame them entirely for my weight-gain), and they call me linda and tell me I speak good Spanish. On this particular evening the stayed out watching tango until 5am (as all good porteños do) and I had to take a picture as Margarita is clearing wearing a wig (this hair came out of nowhere). The first photo is our precious Felipe, el vago, who jumps through our roof every morning like clockwork. He's quite spry for an old kitty.

I am deep into the dark forest of learning the past and conditional usage of the subjunctive. Level 5 Spanish at UBA generally just gives me a headache these days despite wonderful teachers and endlessly entertaining classmates. My favorite is the Brazilian girl who speaks Portuguese the entire time. I expect she is just hoping our professor was dropped on her head as a small child and won't notice. Bright and early on Friday, Heather and Taylor arrive for their whirlwind spin through the city. I am honing up my empanada and panqueque skills for their visit.

The news of the week is that Mary and Roger, my parents who drove me to write great literature (take that how you will), are braving Buenos Aires for a SECOND TIME and coming to visit in July. I feel very loved to have parents that will fly all the way to Latin America to see me. Maybe they are coming to see the glaciers, the penguins, or the falls, but I feel loved anyway. It makes me wonder, how far on the globe I would have to go for no one to follow me there? Is actually possible, in this day and age, to fall off the map? How lucky am I to have a family that will come and see me, no matter how far into the heart of darkness I go? I am, in so many ways, a lucky, lucky girl.

poker, picadas y los pinche porteños

I was wondering if it would actually be possible to get all of my favorite things into a single post when my favorite night of the week returned to haunt me - poker night. Last night we were joined by the incomparable Gena Mavuli, her friend M.E., M.E.'s Bolivian boyfriend whose name (but not personality) escapes me, and their Brazilian friend Rodrigo.

Poker night is always good for fun. The evening moved beautifully from tasty picaditas and empanadas, to brownies and cookies, to far too much beer and wine. Conversation drifted from why Hold 'Em is the most jodido game of poker in the world (and naturally so since everything from Texas is jodido), to how great it is (this mostly came from those with giant stacks of chips), and around to a subject that we were all violently agreed on - that porteños are the most jodido people in the world. Lots of laughs were shared on this one. God bless porteños for being a constant source of amusement and entertainment in mixed company.


It was all going swimmingly until Gena stepped up and won all the chips like a rockstar. Even low stakes poker comes with a pinch and pocket jacks sting like a bee. For me, it was nice to see another female take the big prize after the men consumed too many beers but Gena will have to come back soon so that I might have my vengeance. When you don't have the cards, you don't have the cards...

Saturday morning beckons me back with thoughts of crosswords, Scrabble games, and bike rides. I will try not to shoot myself in the meantime while my two elderly neighbors are rocking out like teenagers to the dulcet sounds of Phil Collins. Mal estilo porteño knocks from all sides.

cómo te quiero, changuito

So having suffered a week bout of general malaise and writer's block, I decided I would craft a meaningful post about my changito and being engaged and in love and all that bollocks - all in honor of our "fakaversary" which was yesterday. I crafted it thoroughly in my mind. It was a heartfelt post, funny but tender, touching all all the delicacies of finding someone to share your life with, however lame and Scrabble-filled your life may be.

Naturally, that little bastard beat me to it... again. His ode to our "healthy" relationship is posted today at One Sorry Blog. You gotta check it out. It's hilarious and better than anything I could say. It says it all, really.

I will say this. I do love the kid. I love that he doesn't let me win at Scrabble - ever (though I pretend to hate him for it). I love that he buys me the crossword on Sunday. I love that he makes fun of my "shows" then BEGS me to watch them. I love that he helps me make the bed sometimes. I love that he is almost entirely socially unacceptable. I love that he doesn't mind my panza gigante. I love that he lets me love him and he loves me back. I love having someone to scratch my back in the middle of this mosquito infestation.

The photo above is one of my favorites of us after a mosquito day in Colonia, Uruguay. Playing scrabble COVERED in lotion and trying, trying not to scratch.

stencilandia

Another bike ride found us in the alley near the Plaza Lavalle where stencil artists go to town. Here is some more cool Buenos Aires stencil art for you and I have chosen the distinctly Argentinean stencils. I just worry about poor David and his hot mate kettle so close to his junk...