zapatos de oro, cafe y gente

I'm sitting in a Starbucks right now, because my in-house (stolen) WiFi quit working (partly why I haven't written anything for so long). And let me tell you, this is not coffee. This is a giant sugary dessert with minute amounts of coffee flavoring. And probably too much caffeine. No wonder Americans are fat; they can't even man up and drink straight coffee without a mountain of whipped cream on top and a silty layer of syrup on the bottom. *slurp*

This could be partly my fault for getting the dulce de leche latte. In my defense, I tried to order the 'mate latte' and 'te con mango de maracuya,' first, but after telling me they had neither the counter-man gave me a Look and asked me where I was from. He was then surprised that I was an American outside of Palermo (a trendy neighborhood more towards the city center). So I ordered the most Argentine-sounding thing (for Starbucks, which means it's not Argentine at all) on the menu.

On that note, I really really really like my neighborhood. Yeah, it sucks to have to leave the house 45 minutes before any class or meeting, and yeah, it's annoying that the guidebooks often leave my neighborhood out entirely (when there's a lot worthwhile to see and eat here) but Caballito is lovely. It's not full of tourists and super expensive like Palermo, it's not scary to walk around in alone like La Boca, and it's not full of narrow streets where you can't see the sky like El Centro. Plus, I do kind of like exploring stuff that none of the other foreigners are going to know about.


Yes - mine mine mine mine. PRETTY.

As it turns out, buying tango shoes is kind of like buying a wand in Harry Potter. I went to the shop the professor for our tango class recommended (Flabella's, Suipacha 263 - just around the corner from Diagonal Norte) and it's this little store, grouped with three other tango-shoe-stores, with all of these stiletto heels and embossed metallic leather toes and pretty straps gleaming from the dusty windows. Half of the actual store space was taken up by this huge pile of barely-labelled shoeboxes. I have no idea how the funny shopkeeper lady found anything, but I spent at least an hour in there, with her poking around the boxes and pulling things out apparently at random, trying to find a shoe that was both pretty and fit me so well I could dance in a heel (believe it or not, that heel up there was one of the shorter, fatter ones in the shop).

While I was waiting for her to find a different color of a pair of rather comfortable but unfortunately dowdy maroon shoes (which they ended up not having, as apparently they make about one of each type of shoe), I spied this golden shoe half-hidden behind a display case...
And then I waved it around and it produced sparks, so I bought the pair. The end!

I wish talking about the beggar who accosted me right outside that shop was as easy as blathering on about the shoes. Or the toothless women with her two children who came into my UBA class a few weeks ago, before the professor had arrived, and lispingly begged for money. Or the kids who work the Subte, passing around notes that say "Con tu ayuda puedo compara comida, Gracias" and kiss your cheek if you're female or high-five you if you're male. Or the man I saw dressed like an Indian holy man except completely in garbage bags, barefoot on a street full of prosperous people in fancy leather boots out to enjoy a day's shopping.
That stuff is harder to talk about, although I remember it just as much. I can't sum it up like I can ice cream and sushi, the fact that yesterday I had no hot water to shower with, or street fairs full of antiques and feathered hats (la Feria en domingo en San Telmo is full of things I could spend all my money on).
But how is the fact that every dusk I walk by whole families digging through the trash left out for the garbage trucks on the sidewalks, looking for salable cardboard or anything useful, supposed to make a diverting note for people back home?
I guess it isn't. Imma say it anyway.

Okay. I have more to write, but now they're playing Michael Buble. Which means I have to leave.

enjoy your pussy excuse for coffee!
- your suddenly-a-coffe-snob pal, Lindsey

I hate volcanoes

I should be in Venice right now.

Instead, there is a cloud of ash over most of Europe (except for Moscow, which kinda makes me giggle), stopping all flights in or out of anywhere.


It's really rather obnoxious. My travel plans were to go to Venice, then Florence, then Rome. Then to Athens, then Mykonos, then Santorini, then Ios. I'm pretty sure I'll get Greece in still, and hopefully Rome, and maybe a day in Rome, but seriously Eyjafjallajokull, I was really looking forward to going to Italy. It was going to be a phenomenal vacation, with the first week being in a country with so much cultural and historical stuff in it, and the second week partying and laying on island beaches. Oh well, I guess I'm just going to have to party instead. *sigh*

Sorry I haven't posted in a while - I was busy being in Paris. Coincidentally (not really), that's also the reason why I haven't been Skyping/FB-chatting with people. I figured it was either tell people about my life (over and over, because they wouldn't tell each other, of course), or go out and actually live it. I am keeping a scrapbook journal though, and (though you wouldn't know through FB) I am taking a bunch of pictures. I'm also making memories, which is how people did it before technology. Although, we seem to be regressing a little for a moment, because of a STUPID VOLCANO.

Sorry. I'm a bit sore about that. I didn't even know there were volcanoes in Iceland, let alone active ones. I suppose I should blame myself for that one, though, not on the volcano itself. It's not its fault that I didn't know about it.

Anyway, I'm still having a lovely time, even during the days that I would have gone to Venice. We still don't have classes, so we explored some of Paris that we hadn't yet, and found several parks, including a water park, complete with slides and a WHALE a few minutes walk from my friend Aaron's house. He was kinda angry at the world that he hadn't known about this for the past few months.

I'm hoping everyone's good States-side, and that the flooding has gone down to a minimum. Floods, eruptions, snowpocalypse - maybe the Ancient Mayans were off by a couple of years...

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIt's.... FACT TIME! (with additional Pictures)

Time to get serious, yo. It occurred to me that I've been absorbing all these background facts and that they might be Usefully and Pertinently collected here. So I've dug some stuff up.

Argentina is the 8th largest country in the world in area, though the 31st in population. The population of the Buenos Aires is about 3 million, though the population of the "metropolitan area" is about 12 million, making it the third (or second, depending on how you count) largest city in South America.
Montana's entire population is nearly 1 million. MT=380,849 sq km, and BsAs=203 sq km. That gives Montanans about 5600x more space per person than porteños. Someone check my math; I don't think I can handle that absurd of a difference!

The population is mostly white (of Spanish/Italian descent) and mostly (nominally) Catholic, although Buenos Aires has a notable Jewish population. According to the Mexican poet Octavio Paz (that's right, I have a quote!), "Argentines are Italians who speak Spanish and think they're French."
Truth, from what little I know.

The country is arguably the most progressive in Latin America in the area of gay rights, as civil unions are permitted in the capital and some of the provinces, and in 2009 it became the site of the first gay marriage in Latin America. Since the couple was married under special legal (judicial) circumstances, I wouldn't say gay marriage here is legal per se, though.
Abortion seems to be nearly impossible to obtain legally.
The president is Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, and the political system is a many-party tangle I have yet to figure out (and probably won't, since I'm studying flighty surrealist authors instead of politics or history). The former dictatorship(s) still has a marked influence on politics - at least one political party still bears the name "Peronist."

People always seem to be marching for one thing or another near the Congreso building, which is also my Subte stop to get home from FLACSO (where I take four of my five classes). It's difficult to figure out what the Spanish political slogans mean sometimes, especially over the drumming, but at least one was for the Partido Obrero (Worker's Party) and another, on the national Dia de la Mujer, women's rights. It seems to me like there is more political involvement here than in the US on the part of the people, but it's hard to tell. In any case, the marches make walking home exciting.
I've also heard rumors that the Subte will be on protest next week. (But I dun wanna take the bus to school!) We'll see.

For those who don't know, Juan Peron - and his wife, the famous Evita, whose tomb is still covered with fresh flowers daily - controlled the government from 1946 to 1955, and for another year in 1973. Argentina wobbled under dictatorships from 1943 to 1983, and suffered a massive economic collapse in 2001 (bank runs! defaulting on foreign debt! 25% unemployment! huge devaluation of currency!), which it's still coming back from. One of the more common stencil-graffiti signs scattered across the city says "LA DEUDA EXTERNA MATA," which means "the foreign debt kills."

Speaking of, I love the graffiti. At least half of it is political ("Ninguna mujer nace para ser puta!") - some of it stenciled and copied in the strangest places, some of it obscure slogans, some of it blogspot web addresses for opinion-pressing. Stenciled portraits and caricatures, declarations of love, and the occasional tag on a Subte.
"Fuck the Police" it says, on a building that's been standing since 1831. "POETAS DE NADIE ROCK" says another. "Pink Floyd," "Bad Religion," "JETS."
Then there's the straight-up murals, which are extremely variable and all very interesting. This one is not too far from my apartment, on the outside of an art school.

Don't even get me started on the inside of the IUNA (art university) building. Patchwork-y, spontaneous-looking artwork explodes on random walls and classrooms and stair landings; it makes me itch to add to it. The place is kind of spartan and not terribly clean, but oh, the smell of paint. Even though it's in La Boca, which is far away and which the Subte is apparently afraid to enter, I am rather excited to take a class there.

One final historical anecdote I found amusing: in 1982, Argentina attempted to nab the Falkland Islands from Britain, which has claimed them as a territory since at least the 1830s. This failed utterly and in doing so finished off the dictatorship, but Argentina still insists that "las Islas Malvinas" are in fact Argentine, despite the Falkland Islands' government absolutely ignoring them after Britain kicked them out. Hence, "Las Islas Malvinas" must be named as such, and counted as Argentine, on every map printed here, and the nearest cross street to mine is named Malvinas Argentinas. Because naming a street after something proves it exists.
Honestly, I'm not quite sure why Argentina is in denial about this, because though the islands are close geographically, they are also small, full of sheep, and insistently British. Must be that famed Argentine pride.

And thus ends the research portion of the program.

Let us now debate the relative merits of sunsets viewed from my balcony here:


Versus sunsets viewed from my balcony in Montana:


Hmm. I give BsAs full marks for effort, but MT's just got this undiluted gorgeousness...
(that is, a lack of smog and buildings blocking out the mountains).
Well, BsAs, you have six months to change my mind. Give it your best shot.

Next time I will have more to say about ice cream, bureaucracy-fail, and how I am absolutely fed up with aggressive Argentine men (whinnying like a horse? Not an effective mating call, thank you). I do not want to bore anyone with an absurdly long post, however, so I will just add the obligatory food comment and be done: I don't think my host-parents understand that prodding me to "Come tranquila! Come tranquila!" (Eat peacefully! Eat peacefully!) every ten minutes is not having its intended effect. I EAT SLOW, OKAY?

Viva el Partido Obrero!
Or something.

-Lindsey

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!