si la vida me da palo me lo voy a soportar

I'm not entirely sure why all of my posts involve food (maybe because I write them all before dinner?) but this one does too.
I guess I just like food.
So!

Your average coffee is quite the production here. It's not the huge paper cup full of flavored syrups ordered from a long Starbucks line; it's something taken at a tiny little table with plenty of time to chat or read your Borges (also, reading Borges' writing about his city, while actually in his city, on the streets he's describing and using to describe things? AWESOME).
I order the simplest thing on the menu (cafe con leche, tres facturas) and I end up with three tiny little plates and three teensy little cups, feeling ridiculously sophisticated as I dip my croissants in my tiny-but-strong coffee and finish up with a few sips of orange juice and soda water (which they drink so their teeth aren't stained and their breath smells nice, apparently).

This all makes me super happy.
Actually, when I'm not dying of strep (new fever record for me! 104.9!) this whole city makes me super happy.
They sell underwear on the street. Literally, on the street corners, along with leather goods, comic book figures, fruit, and a surprising number of serious-looking books. And - once - the prettiest (handmade) Barbie dresses I've ever seen.

And I'm still drooling over shoes. I think I'm going to need some dancing shoes - I'm taking a tango class, which I'm really excited for, and I kind of want to learn to salsa too. I miss swing dancing - I was finally getting good back in the US, and even though this is definitely a dance-positive city, swing isn't to be found here. Back to being a beginner. Oh well!


Oh! After a month here, I find out that my host mother is Jewish. This makes so much sense, I'm really not sure how I managed to avoid figuring it out before. She's living up to basically every Jewish-mother stereotype I've ever heard. Ever.
She's quite the character, actually. She's a chain smoker who'll only watch Disney movies and romantic comedies, drinks lots of mate, demands that people stuff themselves with her generally yummy and excessive cooking while adhering to a very strange diet herself, and sings terribly and joyfully while her son, trying to study, begs her to stop. I'm a fan - although I'm fairly sure she, and her entire family, are quite mad.

I survived a sixteen-person family dinner with them last night. It took up at least half of the apartment, and all of its non-desk tables. That's how I found out they were Jewish - there were yarmulkes. And gefilte fish, chocolate-covered matzo imported from Israel, and kosher grape juice imported from New Jersey.
They're not particularly strict, though - my host father isn't Jewish, and they definitely don't keep kosher.
I spent most of the meal trying to figure out if everyone talking at once actually had any idea of anything else anyone was saying. Then there was ice cream, and I was shepherded into the corner with the English-speaking cousins and we had a round of Poke the Foreigner, during which I explained that no, Detroit is not near Montana, answered questions about how many boyfriends I've had, and actually briefly discussed atheism. Ended up being kind of fun.

I've been trying out some classes at UBA - the public university of reportedly 300,000+ students. The classes have been ridiculously hard, but I've been happy to go just to get a feel for the place. The Ciencias Sociales and Filosofia and Letras buildings (which are in entirely separate neighborhoods) are both bunker-like, covered in political graffiti, and constantly full of extremely varied students being hassled by other students handing out political pamphlets. The day I went to Ciencias Sociales it was raining torrentially and the building was full of random dripping. I bought an umbrella halfway there and still looked like a drowned rat with my shoes full of water by the time I got there - and FLACSO sent us an email warning that sometimes some neighborhoods flood when it rains, so, you know, watch out for that. Ha.

More pictures next time, I swear. I joined the photography club, so I have an excuse to wander around with a camera looking like an idiot, taking pictures of rusty cars and mate and buildings and street underwear. You know, things you all want to see!

Hasta luego! <3

Moshiwakenai

I.E. There is no excuse. My last post on here was about 2 months ago. I have been keeping busy.
Japan. Japan is full of so many kinds of awesome it is fairly difficult to summarize them in a text format. Everybody strap in for a bit, and I'll do my best to keep this interesting.

I have been traveling all over the place. I've been back to Osaka for clubbing, bars, shopping, meeting up with Jeremy Bazinet and Hoang Nguyen (sp.?) and going to the electronics district/a maid cafe/an all you can drink club, and even for a couple dates with a Japanese girl I met at said club. In fact, I've been meeting a lot of people, some of them Japanese, some from America, some from Australia, some British, etc., etc. A small percentage of these have been attractive women, but that is not to say that attractive women are in any sort of short supply in this country. I once overheard a friend of mine say that he didn't come here with an asian fetish, but he's sure gonna leave with one.

I went to a play called Takarazuka. The acors are all women, even the male roles, and some of the overblown acting and setwork puts Broadway to shame. No, seriously. And the best part is, I went to this fairly expensive show on the program's dollar. They pay for a surprising number of things, like making Japanese sweets, going to temples (like Enryakuji, on Mt. Hiei), going to festivals, and next week we're talking a field trip to a ryokan (traditional Japanese style inn) in Hiroshima.

I've been out an about in Kyoto too. I've seen all sorts of temples and shrines, been to two different types of fire rituals, one involving a masive bonfire made of sticks with people's misfortunes written on them, and one involving monks running around a temple with massive torches made of bamboo and pine branches. I've been to two different clubs here, one of which had a drag night, I.E. all m freinds were in dresses, on stage, dancing in front of a massive crowd of Japanese people. I''ve been to all you can eat, all you can drink, and all you can eat and drink establishments. I once put away 14 plates of sushi at a revolving sushi restaurant. The bar street is full of restaurants, from Yaki Niku, to Ramen, to sushi, bar food, soba, udon, tenpura, everything Japanese, and Italian, French, Korean, Chinese, and more as well.

I went to Nagoya to visit Liz Ling, who was in my Japanese 1 class, do some tourism with Shinko Hattori, my Japanese 1 TA, and meet up with a really cute Korean girl I met way a ways back. While there I went to castels, shopping districts, museums, gardens, and even a randomly placed pellet gun shooting gallery. I saw guys in Samurai outfits fighting each other, Katanas from every era ever, and a tree that is apparently also an important Kami. Also, combination revolving sushi/arcade is a brilliant idea.

I've been learning judo which is cool. Except for the fact that my friend kevin, who is 6 foot and change, and at least one and a half of me, is also in judo class. Being thrown at the ground, even if you know how to take a fall, hurts. Speaking of my hobbies, I also met some fire spinners In kyoto, and managed to participate in a burn in Osaka. This famous poi spinner named Yuta was there. There were also a whole bunch of other random funky performing arts acts. It was a good time.

Sorry, that was kinda list-ey, but in summation, I love this freaking country. But I'm also excited to get back to the states and see everbody.

Ojos Que No Ven

Well hello there! I'm not good about these types of things, but I will try and post regularly. Here are just a few thoughts of Buenos Aires so far. This definitely does not summarize my experience, but I didn't feel like repeating the same (now boring) stories about my home-stay, etc. For the record, everything is just dandy!


There are a lot of things about this city that I find hilarious and wonderful. For example, the napkins.

They don't know how to make paper products here. The napkins are made of plastic and/or wax paper. They smear rather than absorb and are also no bigger than a post-it. The tissues and toilet paper aren't much better. Maybe Americans are just messier than Porteños -- I'd believe it.

I was also surprised by how many dogs there are in this city. Most are owned but a good amount are also strays. They all seem well-fed, though, and they are all incredibly well trained. I'm pretty sure I stand out as a tourist by swooning over every dog I see. It also takes longer to get anywhere with me, because I stop every five minutes to go "Aww, puppy!!"

I mentioned that I hadn't seen as many attractive porteños as I thought I would, and my friend curtly reminded me that I spend too much time looking at animals to pay attention to the men. Oops. It's definitely true, though...I'm blissfully unaware. You have to be, though, because here if you make eye-contact with a guy, that basically means you want to (or at least would) have sex with him. Who knew? I'm not just talking about a deep, penetrating gaze, either. A casual glance can mean, "Yes, I want you to use a lame pick-up line on me." Last night these men used the exact same line on us twice. At different times. In the same location. Could they honestly have forgotten?

Sometimes the men trick you here. You think they are attractive, and then they turn around and you see their rat-tail, their ONE dreadlock, their four or five dreadlocks...you name it, they have it. I want to bring around scissors with me and just start snipping these things off. I really can't imagine who led these men to believe this was a good look. I might be too nice sometimes, but I would never go so far as to compliment a single, SIDE dreadlock on a man's head. Don't worry too much, though. There is plenty of eye-candy to go around. You just have to check the hair first.

I saw a vampire last night. No joke. Either they exist and he was one, or he truly believes he is. (I'm sure you know which theory I believe). This guy wore all black, including a black trench coat, had slicked-back black hair, a goatee of sorts, and the craziest eyes I have ever seen. He looked like he was trying to hypnotize us by hiding his irises...that's the only way I can explain it. It was intense -- trust me. Don't worry, though. I wasn't attracted to this particular vampire. A little too sleazy/serial killer-esq for my taste. Besides, where was the bleached-blonde hair and fake British accent?

I think I'll end on that note. Fitting, right? I will try to update more often now that I'm more settled here. We'll see if anyone reads...

Chao!

helter skelter, paso a paso

I've experienced some typical Argentine stuff in the past few days. Most of it has been food-related: mate, which is a kind of tea, drunk in a very specific manner. Kind of bitter and green-tasting. I think it's an acquired taste. Decidedly not so: a submarino, which is basically hot (sometimes foamy) milk with a chocolate bar sunk into the middle. With medialunas, which are like croissants, for dipping in. Oh boy. I drooled over that almost as much as I've been drooling over the shoes in the shop windows. Thigh-high snakeskin boots with five-inch stiletto heels, anyone?
Various (somewhat dubious) meats from the asado (barbecue, basically - I'll stop translating things now). Including blood sausage and grilled intestines, neither of which were actually bad but I didn't quite enjoy anyway. Ugh.
Pizza with mozzarella and onions, empanadas, these marvelous cookie things called alfajores, and mountains of dulce de leche. MOUNTAINS. I'm starting to crave vegetables.

I also went to a milonga, which is a tango dance. Only watched, but it was very exciting anyway. Tango is impossibly sexy when done right, and the place it was at was sort of indescribably perfect - this huge dark, smoky, humid space with moody lighting, framed paintings, and a giant red ventricular heart/deflated parachute/wire sculpture hanging from the ceiling over the bar. Oh, and a live band (with an accordion!) at one point. The only US music I heard all night was Ob-La-Di, and that I can't complain about. I'll have to go back and take some pictures. And lessons, por cierto.

Two important words to know when taking the Subte: permiso (excuse me) and perdón (sorry). Rush hour was frightening the first time I witnessed it: people jam themselves into subte cars so tightly that their shirts end up caught in the doors for the whole ride, and you have to make sure you wade over to the door at least a stop ahead or you won't be able to get through the crush in time.

Also, yesterday was a FLACSO overnight trip to Tigre, a delta zone outside the city in Buenos Aires province. I finally got to know some of my fellow Flacsitos. It's been nice to be able to say things more complicated than "It's hot!," or "Can you repeat that?" for a whole day.
Tigre was beautiful, and probably better explained in pictures when I get around to uploading them.

Classes begin on Monday; more reportage presently.
Chao!

gracias buenos dias bocadillo

I went to Spain. I totally learned Spanish (see above).

I went with a few of my friends here (Kirill, Aaron, Dan) and met up with others in Madrid, both from France (Andy, Rhiannon, Lizzie, Allie) and from Spain (Dana, Ellen, Meredith). Chances are good that, unless you are one of those people or me, you will not know all those names. That's fine, I don't really care.

First off, I actually put pictures on Facebook, so you should check those out.

Ok, first was a 7 hour train ride to Toulouse, which turned into an epic eating party, with some card games and singing and ridiculousness thrown in.
Kirill bought a huge bag of food. I mean HUGE. He included raw eggs (on his behalf, he meant to cook them that morning, and when he couldn't, he decided to bring them to cook in Barcelona. They didn't make it that far). I decided that I really like traveling on trains. Can really figure out why, but I do.

We got to Barcelona that night, and had paella for dinner (definitely the thing to get in Spain). It's really yummy, though I still can't get over the food looking back at you (they don't peel the shrimps for you ahead of time).
Las Ramblas is a giant open-air market that we went to the next day that had EVERYTHING. Seriously. Anything you could want to eat, it had it. Chocolate, fruit, fresh eggs, meat, seafood (the lobsters were still alive, which freaked Kirill out like nothing else).
We made a game of pickpocketing Kirill. We succeeded way too often than we should have, haha.
Gelato is yummy, even in Spain.

A few things to know about nightlife in Spain (especially in Barcelona). It doesn't really start until around 2am. The clubs don't even open until 1am. It makes sense when you realize that the normal time to eat dinner is around 10pm. Another thing is that when people walk around handing out flyers, it's a good thing. They actually give you good deals, like free mojitos (yes, actually. Andy and I got some when we were walking around). Also, a lot of Spanish people understand English, but no one understands French. This means that, if I wanted someone to leave me alone, I would say "Pardon, je suis une fenetre" which means "Sorry, I am a window", but of course, they didn't know that :D

las impresiones primeras

Just so you know, if I never come back it won't be because I was kidnapped or because I ran off with a handsome porteño or because I got my passport stolen and they wouldn't let me out of the country. It will be because they have about eight different flavors of just chocolate ice cream in every heladería. Swiss, Turkish, mousse, dulce de leche, bittersweet, with fruit... And that's only the chocolate! Glee. Also, you can order it delivered to your house.
Which brings me to my next point: the specialties in food here are beef, pizza, ice cream, and wine. And porteños are absolutely thin and stylish creatures. HOW?

I take the Subte from my family's apartment to the FLACSO building (and presumably everywhere else, for now. The bus system seems labyrinthine - so much so that they don't appear to make maps of it because they would be such tangles). The Subte line I take was the first in South America, and I don't think it's changed much since it was built in 1911. It's creaky and sway-y and wooden (and AWESOME) and they leave all the windows completely open to the tunnel which I seriously doubt they'd do in the States because someone could be stupid and stick their hand out the window. And sue. Although I don't really ride subways there, so I guess I wouldn't know.

Much difficulty communicating. I feel very stupid. I'm used to not being able to speak because I have too many words to choose from and I want the exact right one, so it's really hard having too few and not being able to conjugate on the fly.

My host family are, I'm pretty sure, the nicest people ever. The mother is an excellent cook, the father gave me a mini-tour of the neighborhood, and they keep forcing food on me and are very good at breaking the communication barrier. I also have a host brother who seems very funny, but I haven't seen him much because he has scary medical school finals. (I guess when you have two tests a semester and that's your entire grade, you stress about them).

The weather is beautiful (and really disconcerting - my host family talks about skiing in July and going to beach in January) but a sad consequence: I think I've killed ten mosquitos in the last ten minutes. And the little bastards just keep coming.

I'm definitely starting to get why FLACSO gives us so much orientation time. Going from no classes in February in Montana to this is overwhelming.

In other (and completely unrelated) news, I love this man.

Chao!

hola por la primera vez!

I can see half of Buenos Aires from my window. My balcony window, in the middle of town. *is smug*

I am uber-fucking-excited. (Can I use that word? There aren't any Small Cousins reading, right?)

I am also ridiculously tired, as I was traveling for about 24 hours straight. I almost missed my last (12-hour) flight, too - had to sprint across the Atlanta airport and beg the captain, along with five other late passengers, to put the ramp back up to the plane so we could get on. And he did, thank goodness.

Drivers here do not seem to put much stock by lane lines. It seems to be more of a 'hmm, if I go halfway onto the shoulder, almost knock over that scooter, and put on a sudden and alarming burst of speed I can probably squeeze past that taxi' kind of a deal. Who's excited?

Right. So, instead of going on about everything I think I know about BA, or whinging about my terrible luck in catching strep (Okay, I'll do a little of that. I couldn't swallow for five days, for Pete's sake. Or think straight, 'cos my temperature was over 101 for most of that time, too. Oh boy) - anyway (sorry, did anyone expect coherence?) - anyway - I'll just say YAY I'M HERE and go for a nap.

I think I'm going to post a lot of nonsense here. But that's okay; if anyone objects they can ignore my posts and go read about Parisian chocolate instead.