A year?

Last year at this time, I was sleeping on my Thai bodywork mat, having sold my bed (among so many other things) in preparation to leave the States and settle in the America on the other side of the equator.

Yesterday marked 10 months in Buenos Aires, and next week will be a full year in South America when you count the fiasco that was Chile.  Sometimes it seems that this year has been marked more by what we didn't do than by what we did:  we didn't go to Peru, we didn't go for a visit to the States, we didn't go to Brazil, and we didn't see any of Argentina outside this great city.  You'd think that in a year´s time, especially with having the intention of doing all that and more, that I wouldn't be able to make a list like that.  It's insane how quickly this time has gone, and more insane that we don't feel we've progressed much from the day we got here.

And that's not entirely fair.  We have met a bunch of amazing people, we found an awesome apartment, I speak some Spanish words, we both have jobs, and we have not been struck by any moving vehicles.  Nothing is wasted, and our time in Argentina has been good despite the challenges.

But we're just not city kids, and this is a lot of city.  We knew after a few months here that we didn't want to be here forEVER forever, and we've talked recently about this: why spend so much time and energy building a life here when we don't really want a life here?  Why not face these challenges in a place where we really want to be, and where we can have a puppy?  

Put some pants on.

These short, chilly days are proof that we are moving into winter.  We've had a few frigid days, but for the most part they are fairly comfortable in jeans and coat.

The locals tend to overreact, often wearing gloves, hats, and scarves while I have my winter coat draped over my arm, thinking that maybe I could have gotten away with one more dress day.

I regularly take my coat off on the long walk to work, and tend to walk the four blocks to the gym in my workout shorts. This, apparently, is shocking behavior, since the people who pass me regularly exclaim, "¡Que frio!"

I'm not talking about someone mumbling under their breath about how cold I must be.  I'm not talking about one person mentioning to their one friend that it's way too cold for shorts.  I'm talking about at least one person, during every single one of my underclothed walks, making loud mention of how cold I surely am feeling.

It surprises me every time.  Are they really that concerned?  That surprised?  I mean, can't they figure out that I'm in gym clothes and am probably not going that far?  Can't they see that I have my coat in my arms and that I would put it on if I felt it necessary?

It's so predictable at this point that it's funny.  Might even be worth leaving my coat at home for another month or so.

Stuck but poised to spring.

Argentina is a challenge, which we do a pretty good job with until recently when we realized that this country has probably stolen the July trip to the States we had been planning on.

When Brent moved the office last month, he lost quite a few clients who don't want to travel to the new location. Every time the government passes a frightening new law, which happens about every week, the people cling to their money and cancel their appointments. When the weather is cold or rainy, people stay inside and cancel their appointments. It's not a good time to be leaving for two weeks.

We're at a point where we're unsure whether we need to put our heads down and plow through this challenging time, or if we need to start considering other options.  Yes, we did just sign a two-year lease, but we're listening when an Argentine says, "You should probably move out of this country" -- and more than one has told us that.  Things change every day, but when you take a look at Argentina's history, the big crises involved changes that happened overnight: the people woke up to discover themselves screwed.  We really don't want to be here when that happens.

But we've put a lot of time and money and energy into Argentina. We don't want to give up without a fight. So every day we do the best we can do, but our eyes are open and looking around.

The farther you go, the smaller it gets.

Some years ago, when I was living in the Netherlands, I connected with another ex-pat nanny.  We never managed to meet in person, as she lived far enough away that neither of us made the effort to work around our busy schedules to arrange a meeting, but we emailed numerous times even after we both left the country.  After awhile, though, Kara and I more or less fell out of touch. 

Last weekend, I was going waaaay back through my email inbox, curious as to what I might find, and making an effort to reach out to friends I hadn't heard from in awhile.  I came across my last email from Kara (from like 2009) and thought, wow, I wonder what she's up to.

I sent her an email, asking after her well-being and telling her that I'd moved to Buenos Aires in August.

She emailed back the next day, saying that she had to read my email twice -- not because it had been so long since we had last talked, but because she had also moved to Buenos Aires.  In August.

She lives four subway stops away from me, and this time, we are planning to meet.

Ahh, a visitor.

My friend Adam got here last Saturday, and it's been such a joy -- and not only because he brought us cinnamon and York Peppermint Patties from home. Having him around has been so easy, like he has lived here all along, and it's been a great reminder of what is fun and awesome about this crazy city.

I've had to work the entire time, but we've managed to fit in some fun stuff.  The day he arrived, we took him to a puerta cerrada -- a closed door restaurant. These are a growing trend in Buenos Aires: not an official restaurant, a chef simply cooks an outstanding meal in his apartment. Most of them have seating for maybe 10-30 people, making it necessary to reserve in advance. Casa Mun serves Asian fusion dishes: five courses, each with a class of wine. The food was sooo good, but what really made the evening was the cozy, intimate atmosphere. The chef spoke with us about the food he was making, we met new people, and the meal lasted for three hours. I can't wait for another special occasion so we can do this again.

Sunday was the San Telmo market, Monday was dinner at a parilla, and on Tuesday he left us to visit Iguazú, which made me super jealous, as we haven't been there yet.  He returned on Thursday, did the Pub Crawl that night, and we've had a very chill few days.  He came with me to yoga on Friday, he didn't feel that great on Saturday (unrelated to yoga, though he is a bit sore), and today he has to go home. He and Brent were planning on taking a bike tour this morning (I had excused myself since I work late and was not interested in getting up at 8 to bike, not an activity I especially enjoy), but I woke up and Brent is still here.  I haven't heard anything from Adam's room, so I'm not sure if he's still sleeping or if he went without us. 

My grandma always said that company makes you happy twice: once when they get here, and once when they leave. In that case, that feels very untrue. I'm really going to miss having him, and I really hope he goes home feeling like he had a fantastic Argentine experience.

I shake my fist at you, Argentina.

We went to Uruguay over the weekend, which was great timing after the super-Argentiny week we had last week.

Monday and Tuesday were holidays, again, so Brent missed a day of work -- though we put that day to good use by moving to our new apartment.

On Brent's first day in his new office, the phone didn't work. He hadn't received a bill yet, so he hadn't paid yet. He went in to see what happened, and he was told his service was discontinued because he didn't pay. He said he hadn't received a bill. They said they didn't send it because it was a holiday. He asked why they turned off his service. They said it's because he didn't pay. So while they couldn't get it together enough to send a bill out, they re-organized in time to shut his phone off.

He went to the new office to get a copy of the old bill, so he could pay for the bill that never was. He shares the office with the yoga teachers and massage therapists, and it happened that someone was mid-massage when he got there, making it impossible to get into the room for the old bill.  He sat for an hour and half waiting for her to finish -- and then his clients started arriving!

I took the bill to the pay-place and waited in line for my turn.  The bill had 20 centavos on the end, and I didn't have any coins -- but he didn't have any change for me.  So we got a 20-cent discount, and I got reprimanded in Spanish for not having exact change.

One of Brent's clients later said that he keeps four different phones from four different companies in his office, since it seems that at any point at least one of them is not working for some reason.

Meanwhile, I had been up for four hours after about three hours of sleep.  I got home from work very late as usual, and woke up insanely early to prepare for my new yoga clients, a group of four that my other yoga students sent to me. It was to be my first class in my apartment, and I had to clear space and clean up a bit from the move. We had only confirmed the time and location the night before as I was on my way to work.

8:00am came and went, and the guys didn't come.  I called at 8:20, and received a text back that they weren't coming because they didn't get my address in time.  And oh, sorry, should have told you that. 

I got an email later that day saying that our ride home from Uruguay, leaving mid-day, had been canceled, and we were free to choose one of the other two options: 7am, or 5:30pm. I opted for 7:00. So there was THAT early wake-up to look forward to.

But all went well with our little trip, and we were able to re-set our tolerance for Buenos Aires. Luckily, this week is off to a much better start.

Senior city-zens.

This city has a variety of challenges: stepping outside is committing to one big obstacle course. On a daily basis, I stop suddenly or rush across a street to avoid a speeding taxi or bus. I've turned my ankle more than once on a broken or uneven sidewalk tile. It requires four keys to get into our apartment, and the building doors are very heavy. I clutch my purse close to me to avoid becoming a target for thieves.

I can't imagine having to do all that in old age.

There are plenty of elderly making their way down the streets, some with walkers, even. Vehicles don't have a lot of patience for a pedestrian, no matter what the age: the seniors get honked at mercilessly along with the rest of us. Not every curb is made with the disabled in mind, and restaurant bathrooms are sometimes upstairs or downstairs -- usually there are no elevators in those cases. And while a broken sidewalk tile sets me off balance, the same incident for one of them could be dibilitating or even fatal. 

I suppose living here for your whole life gives you a certain level of toughness. I can't help but admire them.  However, while I do hope to be an old woman some day, I don't want to do it here.

Casa Bar VIP Asado

Last Sunday, the Casa Bar held a private party fun time for the employees and the most loyal customers. We ate and drank and danced until about 4:00am, and I have to say I am blessed to know such fantastic people as these:

Spring cleaning. Well, autumn. Autumn cleaning.

I am hardly believing it, but last week we found our new apartment, and tomorrow we are moving in.

This has been a three-month search, a search that went from exhilerating to exhausting to devastating to hopeless -- and then our two-bedroomed, high-ceilinged, light-filled, furnished, peso-accepting third floor apartment in a lovely neighborhood popped up out of nowhere. Pictures to come.

Also this week, Brent will be starting his work in his new space -- the same place where I teach yoga!  It's a hugely beneficial set up for both Brent, who loves working from a yoga studio, and the yoga teachers, who might manage to snag a few chiropractic patients for the classes.

Today, we've been cleaning the mess of 10 years out of this apartment. It was dirty when we moved in, but so desperate we were at that point to just be unpacked and somewhat settled, we did only a half-assed cleaning job to start with. Unfortunately, we never recovered, and the place has felt disgusting for these eight months. The mold is immortal, and there's nothing that could ever be done about the piles of the owner's stuff -- everything from books to files to a dusty, out-of-tune piano.

We've got our stuff packed, and have been attacking every surface with whatever anti-fungal chemical we can find. Truth be told, it's not looking too bad now that we're ready to leave. But we have not forgotten what it's capable of. We are still leaving.

Happy Day, Earth

Last Sunday was Earth Day, and the yoga studio where I teach hosted a special yoga class in park: 108 Sun Salutations in honor of our planet.

This is a trying yoga practice for even the most experienced yogi, so we weren't sure what kind of turn out to expect. There were five of us teachers, so we decided we'd be happy even if it were just us and a couple of other people.

It was a chilly day, but we ended up with about 20 people (some came a little late) in our circle. Each teacher taught a slightly different version of a Sun Salutation, so it was engaging and interesting as we breathed our way through 108 cycles.

Everyone seemed to enjoy it, challenging though it was, and hopefully we will see a few new students in the studio in the coming weeks.

Making Spanish noises.

I can't really say that I speak Spanish, though there have recently been some signs that it is coming along:

• I have managed to have two fully Spanish telephone conversations in the last few weeks.
• Non-Spanish speakers hear me make the Spanish noise with my co-workers and express surprise when they later discover that I speak English.
• People who saw me recently after having not seen me for a couple of months commented on how I have improved.
• I can hear mistakes in the Spanish used by non-Spanish speakers.
• I can spot a typo a mile away (apparently, I am bilingual as a grammar Nazi).

Continued reflection upon the learning of a second language has brought me to this: is the second language ever really yours? At what point do you go beyond "speaking" the language and start "knowing" the language?

There are certain words and phrases, at this point, that need no automatic translation in my brain. I hear them, I know what they mean, and I can act or respond accordingly without thinking of an English equivalent. However, there's still nothing that evokes any emotion. It's still just a collection of sounds, of which I occasionally know the meaning.

If someone were to call me stupid in Spanish, for example (although obviously THAT would never happen), I don't believe my feelings would be in the least bit hurt, because "Eres una idiota" has no emotional resonance for me.  "You're stupid" does.

I haven't taught any Spanish yoga classes yet, but I think fairly often about what I would say, how I would explain things. As a teacher, you strive to use clear language first and foremost, but beyond that, as long as it's clear, you also strive for poetry -- imagery that might help the student understand the pose. When I use words like brighten, expand, ground, and fly, I get a certain feeling that I can put into my body and my yoga practice. When I think of their equivalents in Spanish, that doesn't happen.

Not yet. What I'm saying is, although I am making progress, there is so very, very far to go.

Out, damned spot.

Our washing machine is making noises I am uncomfortable with. The bad news is, I already know it's broken. It hasn't been working right in a couple of weeks, and Brent took the back off to discover that the belt is worn out.  It no longer spins.  No agitation means maybe-not-so-clean, and also that the clothes come out soaking wet.

To tell the landlord or not to tell the landlord.... One of the 100 Crap Things About Renting in Buenos Aires is that the landlord doesn't take care of anything. You pay your rent, thinking you are protected in case something breaks, which at home is a great benefit of renting vs. buying.  Here, it's up to you. This is how we ended up paying to fix the toilet a few weeks ago, among other things.  So we're faced with paying to fix something that simply wore out, which means it was wearing long before we ever got here -- we just happen to be the unlucky ones holding the hot potato -- or just letting our clothes soak in soapy water as the machine makes these disturbing noises for two more weeks.

There is no good news about this, really, except that we will hopefully be moving out in two more weeks.  We still haven't found our new place, but it's coming, I can feel it.  I need a new washing machine.

Being here, now.

I've been reading a lot of books by wise people (it's awesome to be in a relationship with a person who enjoys reading and has more or less the same reading interests). I've been doing a lot of yoga. And for all the stress of the city and apartment hunting and are-we-or-aren't-we really making any money, I am, with more and more regularity, able to come around to the same conclusion: it's already all good.

My early life was driven by goals, which I think is generally good. But when I got to college, this "achieve" mindset started to fade away. I certainly wasn't lazy or even less motivated, I just found my motivation getting directed toward other things. When I started to travel, my whole definition of success changed. It no longer had anything to do with money or anything else traditionally called "successful", and everything to do with who I am and what I experience.

But it's easy to get caught up in the idea of the brevity of life, and over the years I've caught myself thinking, crap, what is THIS, what am I doing, shouldn't I be here or there or somewhere else by now? I have to admit that has happened a few times in Buenos Aires, particularly as I took my first-ever job as a waitress-turned-bartender/cashier.

I'm a sharp cookie. Some people probably thought I'd become a lawyer or a senator or a journalist. I've thought that myself once or twice. So when, at the age of 29, you start working for $3 an hour cleaning up after people when they spill their drinks, it happens that you question your life choices.

But I've been reading lots of books. And doing lots of yoga. And I find myself resting with more and more regularity in the truth: there is nothing I have to be or do. I already Am.

A couple of years ago, I thought to myself how much I wished I'd learned to bartend in college because it looked like so much fun. And now I'm doing it! And it IS fun!

Being human, I might wake up tomorrow and write the exact opposite of what I've written right here, at which point you should direct me back to this, and to the books, and to the yoga, and then I will remember again. We're on a great path: the chiropractic office is growing, Vemma is growing, yoga classes are growing, and we're all kinds of excited for the stuff we're dreaming up.

Damn you, Buenos Aires. You are perfect just the way you are, and we are perfect here with you.

Change of plans (hey, we're really good at that!)

This is another one of those long stories like the one that got us moving out of Chile, every bit as dramatic but not quite as hurtful. So, in the interest of brevity, let us start by saying that Brent is looking for a new office.

He was sharing with our chiropractor friend here, a fantastic person -- but he and Brent have very different styles, and a parting of the ways seemed destined from the beginning. In the long run, it's absolutely fantastic, and is only a bit stressful now as he looks for his new space.  Already there are options popping up, so we are more excited than anything.  He had a stellar week last week, and is poised only for growth.

We are still looking for a new apartment, torn between paying what we consider to be an outrageous price for an awesome place we really like, or paying something somewhat more reasonable for a box with furniture. Argh.

But, that battle will pick up another day. For now, I've got a surprise evening off from the bar, Brent is making pasta sauce, two glasses of wine are poured, and we've got a movie starting any minute now. I love these moments.

Welcome to Argentina

I woke up this morning (too early, for some reason, having not gotten home until 3:30am this morning) just in time to hear the door close as Brent left for the day, and I came downstairs a few minutes later. I barely had time to pour my coffee when the door opened again -- Brent was back!  "Guess what?" he said.

There's no guessing, so don't even try. Apparently, someone tried to break into the building last night (after 3:30am, because I got in fine).  This is a rare sort of occurrence, and I'm not sure what he thought he was going to do once inside, since each apartment door is pretty heavy-duty, but I'll leave that sort of thinking to the criminal geniuses. Like the one who failed to break in this morning and broke something off in the lock on the door to the building.

The door to the building wouldn't open.

This is the only entrance in and out of the building. We were locked in.

Our doorman was working furiously from this side as four doormen from the the neighboring buildings did what they could from the outside. A line of people waiting to go to work gathered in the lobby.

We're not sure how long he had been working, but within another five minutes (and with the assistance of a power drill), he had taken the entire lock out of the door and Brent was on his way.

Happy Women's Day, yesterday.

A couple of weeks ago, while wandering around the city, I noticed a sign on a restaurant door: Día de la Mujer, 8 marzo, 20% descuento. I thought it might indicate a Thursday ladies' night (just like college!) and didn't think anything of it until I started seeing similar signs offering women's day discounts on many restaurant doors.

I have since learned that this is an international holiday, although I have to admit I have never, ever heard of it before. Even on facebook, I saw many of my US-based friends posting happy women's day messages, so apparently I was the only one in the dark.

At the time of the sign sightings, though, I was thinking it was an Argentine thing. And how delighted I was: kids get a day here, mothers and fathers get a day. I am none of those things. Where is my day? March 8, that's right. Thank you, Argentina. I pointed this out to Brent, who grumbled a bit and suggested that Valentine's Day is women's day, so I took that to mean I wasn't getting any presents.

But, he stopped by the bar on the way home from work yesterday and brought me some wonderful chocolate. I love that he gets me.

The money tree is down the street and to the left.

I must be doing something right, because in the last week two people have stopped me on the street to ask for directions -- and I have been able to accurately give them. I also managed to have a phone conversation entirely in Spanish yesterday. (You must understand, this is 100 times harder than having a Spanish conversation in person.)

The apartment hunt is in full swing. We looked at one on Wednesday that we both really liked, but it's kinda far away from my work, at least for the yoga work.

Also, the guy wants to be paid in US dollars. This is not unusual; many apartment prices are listed in USD, and some owners require payment in USD. Cash payment. I find it ridiculous. I would not set up shop in the US and demand to be paid in pesos. Besides, you're not allowed to get dollars here anymore. The owner of this apartment thought that since we are foreigners, we are still allowed to buy dollars, but from what we have understood so far, no one is allowed, and to get them you have to hit up the black market.

Which we have no interest in doing. We earn our money in pesos. We live in Argentina. We should be able to pay for things in their own currency.

Picture in a magazine.

Brent recently had an interview published in a little magazine called Puebla, distributed mostly in the northern suburbs of Buenos Aires, from what I understand. For those who don't read Spanish, you will have to trust me when I say that it was very well done. It's already generating some interest -- he got three calls the day after it was published, and a bunch of people turned out for the chiropractic talk he gave a couple of days later.

People here are embracing chiropractic. It encourages us in our decision to come here -- although talent like Brent's is needed at home, there are already a lot of chiropractors, and a lot of people who already think they know what chiropractic is. Tragically, from what I have learned from Brent, a lot of chiropractors at home prefer to play into that idea rather than teaching people what it's really about.

Here, he doesn't have to wade through that kind of nonsense. The people who come to him are, for the most part, people who are eager to learn, who want to live healthy and discover true wellness. There is so much good work to be done here.

Find Brent's office on Facebook!  Vida Chiropractic Capital - Maschwitz.

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Vida-Chiropractic-Capital-Maschwitz/169081383199171

Happy holidays, again.

Argentines take their holidays seriously, which I can appreciate. Brent is not bothering to open his office on Mondays because he counted 14 Monday holidays in 2012. At home, holidays are this optional benefit thing that companies offer to employees. Here, you are required to give the holidays. By law, from what I understand.

A four-day weekend means a collasal city-clearing. Last night we were walking home from a friend's house and the streets were empty. (You would think this emptiness would extend to the grocery store. It did not.)

Today and tomorrow are holidays, as is next Monday. For me, this means relatively nothing, since the bar is still open on Tuesday night, and my yoga classes are still taught as usual.

Uruguay, take 2.

We ferried across the river to Uruguay for the second time over the weekend, this time also getting on a bus and going to Montevideo, the capital city.

We have a chiropractor friend there, so the highlight was seeing him and his wife and eating at an outstanding Peruvian restaurant. Aside from that, we walked around a lot, got me good and sunburned, and stewed about the really crappy exchange rate from pesos (Argentino) to pesos (Uruguayo).

Nothing was open! True to this-part-of-the-world form, the Montevideans ditched the city for the beach over the weekend, so all the shops and, by Sunday, half the restaurants were closed. We had a hard time finding an open place to exchange money (and accepted $80 worth of Uruguayan pesos in exchange for $120 worth of Argentine pesos. Grrrr). 

But, as usual, it was nice to get out of this city for a couple of days. Our next Uruguayan stop will probably be further up the coast to the beach at Piriápolis, further yet to the resort town of Punta del Este, or even more far to some other beach towns.

Chiropractic for everyone.

I know first-hand that Brent is especially good at what he does, but then stuff like this happens and it really sinks in.

In addition to people, he has also been adjusting horses and is starting to develop a clientele among that population, especially as the summer draws to a close and the horse-owners return from their vacations.

One of his first patients was Coco, a horse so dis-eased that her owner thought she was going to die. One day, the poor thing felt so bad she wouldn't even get up so Brent could adjust her. So he did it with her on the ground.

A few adjustments later, that little horse is back on her feet, moving around and eating normally again. 

We're looking forward to a thousand stories like that one.

Adjusting a horse seems almost impossible -- I had a hard time imagining it until I saw it, and we have a friend who I'm not sure actually believes that it can happen -- but Brent says adjusting horses is easier than adjusting people. They don't complain. They change and improve quickly. They give energy rather than suck it away (we all know some of THOSE people...).

And they're super pretty.

The summertime trade-off.

As the stifling heat and humidity threaten to turn me into a winter girl, after all, I have taken refuge in the fact that at least the city is empty. Not great for business, granted, but FANTASTIC when it comes to grocery shopping.

Until yesterday.

We've been told repeatedly that February is the slowest month in Buenos Aires, so I was expecting at least another four weeks of grocery-store ease. I was blindsided yesterday when I went in for a few items, not at all prepared for the lines that awaited me. And it was hot in there.

I came out grumpy and sweaty, and I wonder if the days of quick shopping are already over for another season.

Speaking of business, I have taken on a group of four girls as private yoga clients. We've done two sessions thus far, and they are loving it. I am reminded of the great joy that is my work, and the fact that what I do is, well, kinda important. It's easy to fall away from that when it's hot and you're not as busy as you'd like to be, but their shining, enthusiastic faces, new to yoga, bring it all back home.

The Nation History Museum (eh, the visit took 15 minutes...I'm gonna write about food)

We wandered down to the neighborhood of San Telmo to visit the National History Museum. We were the only people there, which means we were outnumbered by security guards 12:1. No sword- or other-old-artifact-stealing possible today, folks. On the way back we stopped for Indian food.

The absence of ethnic food options here is alarming. In a city the size of Buenos Aires, you'd think you'd be able to find whatever you wanted. And it's not that you can't, necessarily, it's just that you might have to travel a long way to do it. We've come across three Indian restaurants (which we found out today are all the same one, in three locations), a couple of Thai and Chinese restaurants (not counting in Barrio Chino, where there are a dozen or more within a few blocks), a few sushi places, and two Mexican establishments. Twelve million people, but they're all eating steaks.

Spicy is just not on the menu here. The first time we went to the Mexican restaurant down the street, Brent asked for hot sauce. The waiter looked puzzled and pointed to the red sauce already on the table. Nope. Not spicy.

Sometimes we buy peppers at the vegetable stands, and the vendador swears up and down that they're muy picante, which we usually find to be untrue when we get them home and chop them up in our food. (Except for the time I found jalepeños, a rare treat in these parts, and I blended half of one into a curry. Brent was sweating.)

At the bar, locals consistently ask for picante aparte or no hot sauce at all on the chicken wings. Just the other night, I cleared a plate of wings that had hardly been touched, and the woman explained to me that they were just too hot, with a look that clearly said I should do something about that. (To be fair, that sauce actually is pretty hot.)

The apartment hunt is ON.

Things we would like to find in our new apartment that are lacking in this one:

• No mold.
• Access to sunlight.
• A balcony.
• Ceilings that are high enough to walk under without hitting your head.
• A functioning stereo.
• Space for OUR stuff amidst the owner's stuff.
• Windows that are not broken.
• A non-leaking toilet.
• Kitchen cabinets or shelves.
• A faucet that stays attached.
• An oven with actual numbered temperature choices.
• Non-slip stairs.
• Outlets in logical places.

Picking up the tab, and the waitress.

The other night at the bar, I waited on a table of three men and one woman. They were there for three or four hours, spent about AR$300.

Toward the end of the evening, the woman gestured for me to follow her down the hall. It's quieter back there, so I figured she needed to tell me something important, though I couldn't fathom what that might be.

"My English isn't very good," she said, which, of course, means that it's fine. She proceeded to explain that her friend, not the one in the hat but the other one, wanted me to call him, and he put his number on this bill. However, if I should decide not to call, I should take care to scratch out the number, since he doesn't want just anyone calling him. Understandably.

She handed me the five-peso bill (that's just a little more than one US dollar, for those keeping track at home) with his number on it, and the party of four left the bar.

Three things:

• I´m not going to call, because I'm blissfully coupled already, thank you. 
• If you wanted me to call, it would´ve been nice had you made some sort of effort to smile at me and say "Adiós" as you left.
• If you wanted me to call, you should´ve written that number on a $50.

Introducing...Bod•ē from Vemma

As a fitness instructor, I'm usually the one telling people to get off the couch, especially if they're trying to lose weight. And I still say that, and will always say that, whether you're trying to lose weight or not. Movement is an art, a great joy of life, and the best way to celebrate your body is to use it.

But now Vemma has come out with Bod•ē, a weight loss product and program with all the Vemma science we know and love. Yes, you need to eat right. Yes, you need to exercise. But there's help! And it's from Vemma! And it makes me very happy and excited.

The success stories and before-and-after pictures are impressive and inspiring, and I can't wait to see some members of my own team with similar tales to tell.

Just stand on your head and sing the national anthem, you're good.

Every time I meet an ex-pat or extended-stay tourist, I ask them how they went about doing it the legal way. And everyone has a different answer.

We've been told that we have to spend 72 hours outside the country every three months, that we can just leave and come back in the same day, that we have to have residency to pay taxes, that we'll never get residency and we can just pay our taxes, that we can overstay our tourist visa and pay the fine, that we can go to the airport and get a 10-year visa (like the one they give in Chile for $140), that we can go to the airport and get a 3-month extension, that we can visit the immigration office (only once) and get a 3-month extension.

We're about due for another trip out of the country. While as of the last one we had hoped to have more figured out by now as to how to go about staying here long-term, we do not, so we will probably be taking this second trip to Uruguay (possibly Montevideo this time!). After that, I'm leaning toward our bar-owner buddy's advice: just pay the taxes for your business and stay on a tourist visa. Clean and simple, unlike the removal of the mold from our bathroom wall.

Another happy new year.

This holiday season was both strange and wonderful. Brent and I shared our first Thanksgiving (falafel, strawberry champagne, and movies), our first Christmas Eve (traditional Argentine sweetbread, amaretto sours, and working at the bar), our first Christmas (pancakes, opening presents, and movies), and our first New Year's Eve (no food, champagne, and getting violently ill in the bar bathroom).

Side note: I have decent alcohol smarts, and am still not sure what caused me to get so sick. I hadn't had very much to drink. One minute I was fine, the next minute it hurt to open my eyes, hurt to stand up straight. It was a sickness that seemed more like food poisoning, but the only suspect was a couple of chicken fingers dipped in some sauce at the bar. After an hour, Brent was ready to carry me home on his shoulders, but luckily the bartender stepped in and talked me to my feet, and I was able to walk to my own bed.

Which brings us to our first New Year's Day (water, blueberry pancakes, and movies). Today I'm fine, more or less, with a slight fever and a general inclination to stay on the couch.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, there wasn't a lot of indication that Christmas was coming. There were very few decorations around the city (though there was a mall Santa), and none of the stores had any impressive sales. Only a few special-for-Christmas foods showed up in the grocery store, none of which included egg nog (to my lasting disappointment). I can't say I miss the snow, but I will admit that it was kind of weird that it was 90 degrees outside.

The whole season was different and delightful (and could have been improved only by the presence of egg nog, fudge, and the handful of people who read this), and I got to spend it with this really cool guy I know. 2012 is going to be fantastic.

Please repeat that another six times, I have no idea what you're saying.

Last night was my second night working at a bar. Second night ever.

The place down the street where we watch fútbol americano was in need of some assistance. Summer plus holiday time means that a lot of the employees are leaving, so Patrick, the owner, needed some seasonal help. Enter me and Brent.

Last night I was waitressing, not only for the first time in my life, but also in Spanish. I surprised myself by doing okay, even though there was more than one customer somewhat irritated by my requests that they repeat what they said, as I tried to pretend that it was simply too loud to hear them. In my homeland experience in the service industry, I discovered that 98% of people are pretty cool, and 2% are assholes. Here, I'd say it's closer to 75% cool, 25% asshole, and not just because I have crappy Spanish, but because they walk in that way. That's just my assessment after one night. I'll let you know if further research and observation indicate otherwise.

The pay is abysmal, and only a few people leave tips, so it turns into a long night for not a lot of reward. But, it gives us something to do, and Patrick is a great guy so it's nice to be able to help out. On Sunday he's going to teach me how to bartend. I have a feeling this is going to take more than one day.

Change, please.

The other day, I bought a couple of lemons from the fruit and vegetable vendor down the street. "Seis pesos," el hombre me dijo, and I handed him a 10-peso bill and waited for my change. (Which, for those of you who do not know either math or how to say numbers in Spanish, should have been four pesos.)

He came back with a five and said that, since I was so pretty, the lemons would only be five pesos, after all.

Now, undoubtedly this is partly true, since I was wearing short shorts that day. However, I've been in Argentina long enough to realize that the main reason for the extra peso in my pocket was that the guy didn't have the proper change to give me.

This lack of small bills and coins -- in a country whose largest bill is worth about US$25 -- is epidemic. When you pay, you will almost always be asked for the exact change, or at least for a smaller bill. When you happen to give exact change, you will almost always be thanked for it. We've talked to business owners who have said that the hardest part of doing business in Argentina is that it's so hard to get your hands on change.

I once had to buy two more pesos worth of dried kiwi because la vendadora didn't have any combination of bills or coins to give me two pesos in change, so we had to round it to the nearest-sized bill I had. It's not unusual to wait -- and wait -- at the checkout at the grocery store, because the checkers don't keep enough change in the drawer and they have to beckon the woman who is in charge of small bills and coins to bring them some every time a person needs it. Brent realized that they are doing this on purpose, because having to wait 10 minutes for 50 cents inspires some people to just say "olvídalo" and walk out without their change, giving the damned Disco a little unearned profit. (We shop there as rarely as possible.)

It's so nice to take a class rather than teach it for a change.

We're a month into our membership at our second gym, and this one, I think, is a keeper. Despite its higher cost, we chose it due to its proximity to our apartment and its extensive group fitness schedule.

I've attended several classes with a variety of instructors in the morning and early afternoon. Although I'm not a big fan of the instructors not using a microphone in such a large room with such loud music, the classes are still easy to follow. The instructors don't tend to make a lot of individual corrections, but if someone is way off base, they make an effort to put him or her back on track. Eh, the fitness floor could use some refinishing, but otherwise I'm pretty impressed by what they're offering. In fact, fitness instructors and fitness goers at home could learn a thing or two:

1. So far, I've seen more male fitness instructors than female. At home, the vast majority of instructors are women. And women do a great job; I should know, as I am one. I'm just saying that it would be nice to see more male fitness enthusiasts stepping up, saying, "This is a valid way to exercise," and encouraging more men to attend classes.

2. The fitness instructors are in shape. Good shape. They could not be mistaken for a potential couch potato; it's obvious that fitness is a major part of their lives. At home...this is true about half the time. Walk the walk.

3. Classes end with a long stretch. At home, the final stretch usually gets squeezed into the last minute or two, and some participants leave before it's over. Which leads me to...

4. No one leaves early! The only time I've seen people leave early is when it's obvious they have to go somewhere -- they acknowledge and thank the instructor on the way out. And they often quit working out a few minutes before that and go stretch by themselves in the corner. At home, people will walk out -- in a huff -- if the class is not what they expected. Sometimes you have to do that, but you never have to be grumpy about it.

5. The only prechoreographed classes (classes designed by a company, which instructors get certified in and are required to teach exactly as they are) are from Les Mills (huge fitness organization, with challenging workouts). Everything else on the schedule is freestyle (planned by the instructor). And the classes are very well attended.

Wait, I had a BIRTHDAY!

I was so excited about celebrating my birthday that I forgot to write about it.

Brent was full of surprises, which I love, even though none of them included puppies. Flip flops, chocolate peppermint candy (not a JuniorMint, but possibly the closest thing you can get to it in this country), and coconut milk were only the beginning. He also took me to a tango show.

The funny thing about the tango, this iconic idea of Argentina, is that Argentines don't so much care for it. Oh, there are huge, beloved tango names scattered throughout history, you can find lots of lessons around town, and there are places you can go to tango the night away, but the dancing is really for the tourists. We love that stuff.

But even though every tango show in the city is performed with the turistas in mind, they are still awesome.

Brent did his research and chose a fantastic venue. Not only was the show incredibly impressive, it included a dinner that was as good as any regular restaurant. I even ate meat, since with the choices available it was either break the vegetarian streak or have pasta, which is never on my list of birthday favorites. Dessert beat the hell out of birthday cake (depending, of course, on the amount of frosting), but it was a bummer that both choices were made of lots and lots of milk, so that Brent couldn't have much of either one. Bummer. Big birthday bummer. (Fun fact: one of the desserts, flan with caramel sauce and caramel ice cream, included a slice of cheese and a slice of what must have been jam. A slice. Of jam.)

The highlight, however, was the tango lesson before the show.

In understanding the significance of this, it helps to know that Brent doesn't dance. Not because he can't -- I know he would do fine after a few of the salsa lessons I'm hoping for on my 30th birthday -- but because he considers it not fun, which I mock him about a little bit because I find it incredibly hard to understand. But, because I love him, I halfway respect this life choice and only try to talk him into dance lessons when the timing feels right.

And he arranged this evening for me knowing full well that he would have to learn dance steps for up to 45 minutes.

The tango lesson was awesome fun, though Brent assures me that it was a one-time birthday event.

I told him this, but I don't know if he believed me: this birthday was the best birthday I've had since Mom put chocolate dinosaurs on my cake. For real.

I love the unknown (and the universe is working hard to remind me of that).

I trust in the due-timeliness of the universe, and it's certainly not that things are going poorly here, but I've started to feel a little uneasy.

I know myself well enough to know that this is due, 100%, or at least 99%, to the fact that I am not busy enough. The working situation we had envisioned before we ever boarded a plane has not worked out. This was fine, because I went to Spanish school instead. But now that's over, and even though I study every day on my own, I have come to realize that I am putting the bank CEO´s kid through college thanks to all my atm fees, and I need to work.

I have been browsing job listings here, which are limited for me with my lack of Spanish. Plus, it's the same problem I always ran into in the motherland: I don't really want to work for someone else.

Having just celebrated (awesomely, thanks to Brent) my 29th birthday, I can't help but reflect a bit. I am excited to be here, excited to get Vemma up and running in this country, but the truth is that I simply haven't found my driving force yet. I feel weird about that, almost guilty, but although there are many things I enjoy doing, I haven't found one that I'm willing to give up all the rest for.

I know it's out there. This might be the year. I don't believe in being ordinary, so something will come about. In the meantime, my head is rattling, I'm spending all day looking for ideas (breaking only to go to the gym, study the español, or make pumpkin bread), and counting on my survive/thrive genius to pull me out of what has become a little slump.

Weekend getaway.

It's nice to escape to a new country for a three-day weekend. We went to Colonia, Uruguay for the last one. It was a trip inspired by the necessity to renew our 90-day visa in Argentina, and when we made plans last week it felt like more hassle than fun, but that changed as soon as we got off the ferry.

Colonia might indeed be the exact opposite of Buenos Aires. Don't get me wrong, we love our new home, but this place is chaotic. Colonia was quiet and clean with wide stone streets, well-kept buildings, and traffic that honors the pedestrian. We crossed streets whenever we wanted, danger-free!

We were thrilled to be able to buy a four-museum pass for US$2.50. We love museums, so it seemed the perfect way to spend an afternoon out of the hot, hot Uruguayan sun.

Yes and no, as it turned out. The museums weren't so much good as they were hilarious. One of them took about two-and-a-half minutes to see. Another was nothing but old stone weapons from one of the indigenous tribes that lived there long ago...and all the weapons were round gray rocks, some of them with notches if they had once served on the end of a hatchet. This place took about four minutes to go through. The other two were much better, and the workers who stamped our tickets were so friendly and welcoming, but still. Museums. Hm.

If you read a guidebook, it most likely calls Colonia a ´´day trip´´ and indeed, if you were on a tight schedule, you could easily see it in that much time. But we spread it out, walked around, lingered over fantastic meals, and could have probably spent another week there if the real world hadn't been calling us back.

The view from the sitting room above our sleeping room:

A playground. That is a barrel. You can crawl inside to swing. This is not the only place we saw them.

The Uruguayan flag also has a sun with a face.

First time in Uruguay!

Gainful employment.

At long last, Brent's Argentine chiropractic office is up and running. And he already had to replace his receptionist.

A few weeks ago, I manned the door while Brent and his chiropractor friend and partner conducted inverviews to find the perfect assistant. The woman they chose was the obvious choice amongst the applicants: she was friendly (a rare quality in service employees here), retired (no danger of her running off to find a better job; also, no danger or her having child or boyfriend or husband drama), and she had been under chiropractic care already (so she already had a basic understanding of the philosophy and what is involved).

She started training, and the guys had a couple of hiccups with her in the first few days, but they thought she was just nervous and overwhelmed, and after speaking with her determined that she would be fine.

Unfortunately, after about three days of official work, she called Brent and the others aside to say, in short, that she couldn't do it.

Thankfully, the chiro team had another woman in mind for the job, and she was able to step in after just a couple of training days. So far so good with this one.

We've heard consistently that finding good help is hard work around here. The laws protect the employee, making it very hard to get fired, so there is no real incentive to do good work. (In fact, another one of the chiropractors here fired one of his receptionists because she was stealing -- but she sued him and won, anyway.)  This is why it's possible to go into a department store for something specific, stand around for 10 minutes, finally catch sight of an employee, ask the employee for assistance, be told to wait a second, then see that same employee chatting it up with his employee buddy, and leave the store empty handed. Of course, this is a generalization, and we have had some very good service on some occasions, but we've seen this enough times (and had it confirmed by enough Argentines) to realize that bad service is the norm.

So, we're counting our lucky stars and loving the receptionist. She's going to be great.

Look for me in the kitchen.

It's no secret that I'm not outstandingly domestic. I finally admitted to myself in college that I'm a bit messy, I hate doing dishes, and if you were reading this circa 2006 and the four Dutch kids, you know that I had as many bad days as good. But lately, I am cooking like a champ.

We are not without the expected hiccups, at least the hiccups Joel would expect after the bus cake fiasco of 1999, but in the last few weeks we have eaten pad thai, curry, split pea soup, hummus and guacamole by the bowlful, pecan pie, and accidentally fantastic squash with stir fry vegetables. Yes, once the hummus was too thick and yes, once the pad thai noodles were like rocks, but overall I'd consider my latest cooking adventures successful.

I suppose some day I will get a job, which seems to have its benefits, and then maybe I won't cook as often, but for now we are eating like kings.

Get out the vote.

The Argentine presidential election is this Sunday. I knew it was happening this year, as there are a lot of billboards and posters around the city, and the televisions ads have started, but I didn´t know it was on Sunday until someone in Spanish class asked the teacher. Maybe it´s because the campaigning feels rather mild here as compared to the US -- the TV commercials, for example, seem to be largely positive, each candidate just has one or two, and they´re not shown that often. There are a handful of candidates, maybe six or so, at least who have commercials.

The front runner is Cristina (yep, just like Madonna, she goes by one name), who is the current president. Our teacher rolled her eyes and said she wasn´t even going to vote, she´s so sure Cristina will win. From what I could understand, it seems that Cristina is heavily supported by the poorer areas of the country, as she backs a welfare program that makes getting a job seem like a poor decision. This sounds harsh, but I´m translating to you from what I heard in Spanish. I might have just made all that up, I don´t know.

It is illegal for any store or restaurant to sell alcohol this Saturday and Sunday, because we don´t want drunk people deciding the future.

A Happy Birthday

Yesterday was a very special birthday, perhaps more special even than my own and the 25 Days we take to celebrate it (I REALLY need you people to get behind that...): Brent´s.

A very happy birthday to you, my love.

P.S. We went out for sushi, Brent´s favorite, and I didn´t hate it.

High fashion, or maybe they were just high when they got dressed.

You can't say that the Argentines don't have a sense of fashion. It's hard to determine where that sense comes from.

Before we got here, I had read that Argentines are very concerned about their appearance. There is more plastic surgery here per capita than in any other country in the world. It's not unusual to see women walking down the street with bandaged noses. There is a plastic surgery information kiosk in the mall. On the four-block walk to school I pass more beauty salons than I can count.

I haven't gone shopping here yet because, at the moment, there are more important things to spend money on than new dresses (weird, right?). But I've looked in plenty a window, and not only am I disappointed that it seems impossible to buy a pair of shoes for less than US$50, I'm disappointed in the so-called ''inspiration'' that the window mannequins are providing.

Not to generalize. This is a HUGE city, and I've seen many beautifully dressed, perfectly put-together men and women. Many stores sell shoes and purses side-by-side, so you will see many women with a handbag that exactly matches their shoes. However, there is also a trend toward boots, some goofy and some classy, that may or may not match the rest of your outfit, and tights with weird floral patterns. Worn with off-color boots, of course.

Not that I have room to be judgmental, me of the two-suitcase closet and minimal fashion sense of my own, but come on. Floral tights are always a no, as far as I'm concerned.

Camping at the post office.

The best part about living, well, anywhere is receiving packages in the mail, and we got the news on Tuesday that the packages Brent´s parents sent us had arrived.

Since there were three packages, we waited until I was done with school on Wednesday so Brent and I could go together and pick them up. In and out job, right? Pick up packages! Easy! We should have known better.

We walked to the post office and were surprised to see a dozen people standing outside the entrance to the international section. Bummer, we´ll have to wait a little bit. Then we walked inside -- where a couple hundred people were waiting.

We took a number. 86, and they were on 40-something. Okay.

Until 86 was called, and we realized we had the ticket 86A. They were on 86E.

It´s not as bad as it could have been -- E was as far as they went with letters, so we were excited to have only 100 people left to go before we were called again.

When 86A came around, Brent handed in the three notices that we received at our apartment. They were accepted and stamped and we were given -- you betcha -- some more numbers. These numbers corresponded to the numbers assigned to our packages, and we had to wait for them to be called, which happened in random rather than chronological order.

Some hours later, the numbers were called. Rejoicing, we walked through a door into a warehouse-like customs area. Even though the tracking information on the packages said they had cleared customs on September 23 or something, a customs official opened one of the boxes and went through it a bit, asked us how long we were staying here, and whether the things were used or new. After he approved the transaction, we took the boxes past another man, where Brent signed for them, confirming that we had indeed spent four hours at the post office to pick them up.

Two things: #1, if you want to send us a package, ask yourself if the contents are worth spending four or more hours in a post office for. #2, these definitely were worth it. Thank you, thank you, Jody and Larry.

Back to school.

I started Spanish school on Monday, and I´m loving it. It´s four hours a day, five days a week, and I enrolled for five weeks...which I might extend at that point, we´ll see how it goes and what else I am busy with.

They put me in a level that´s a little bit easy for me, but it has been great review and practice. The classes are small, 3-5 people depending on who shows up. My only regret is that I didn´t start this four weeks ago, but we only just found this school last week, and it´s really close to our apartment, so in the end I´m glad I held out for it.

In other news, yesterday was the first day of spring, the official start of dress weather.

You can take the rat out of the gym...

At last, we have joined a gym.

It was not an easy task. There are a lot of them, and when we think of joining gyms, we think of paying about a dollar a day to do so, since you can join very decent gyms at home for that much. Here, every gym we visited was more expensive, so we kept brushing them off, thinking we'd uncover a better deal. Not so much.

The good news is that most gyms let you go month-to-month, and many don't even charge a registration fee -- like the one we decided on. It's about six blocks from our apartment, not the gym of anyone's dreams but perfectly adequate.

It's a little on the smaller side, particularly the weight room. On the first day, there were four of us in there, and it felt packed. Luckily, working out during the day means you won't see it much busier than that. They also have a variety of fitness classes, though most of them are in the evening -- when it is much busier.

It feels so good to be sweating and sore again. The break was good for my system, as I was definitely overdoing it for the last year, but as I learned through some weird bug bites under my arm and on my back (Chile, circa the entire month of July) that also resulted in my face breaking out in fury, and a weird stomach unrest right after we got to BA, I don't know the out-of-shape body very well. It's been gymified for so long, for really most of my life, it becomes very unfamiliar when it goes two months with little more than long walks. I understand it from a fit perspective, and I feel that if I had been running through the bug bites and tummy trouble I would have known how to handle those things and get over them quickly. As it were, I did not. So, I am relieved to be getting back on good terms with this body, and back to a state from which we understand each other.

Really, Argentina? Really?

We love living here, but wherever in the world you go, you will come across a few things that make you go, ''Oh, come ON!''

• Buses will hit you. Cars will hit you. Taxis will hit you. They are not afraid. Your best chance of survival is to be in the crosswalk when there is a pedestrian light, and it is set to ''go'', but even that is not a guarantee. And not all crosswalks have those. And some intersections don`t have official crosswalks. Good luck.
• Some restaurants have a cover charge. It's just a few dollars, usually, and it is mentioned on the menu and added to your bill at the end. According to my guidebook, this covers the use of utensils. What if I bring my own?
• You need a note from a doctor in order to join a gym.
• You need someone who owns property in Buenos Aires proper to sign off on you if you want to rent. We got around this with our apartment because we are renting from one of Brent's old friends, and there are ways around it with the office, but they are painful things like paying someone to sign off on you, or paying six months of rent up front.
• The dinner hour is very late here, 9:00-midnight. The awesome Mexican restaurant down the street opens at 8:00, and we have been the first people there at that time on two occasions. We're hungry!
• Breakfast is sort of a non-thing, so if you want to go out for breakfast, you have your choice of coffee or coffee and a croissant at any of the many cafes around the city. We haven't been out to breakfast, but we love breakfast and do miss the opportunity to go get some killer french toast. Well, the french toast part, that's mostly just me.
• The cinnamon is a joke. In Chile, too. I don´t get it. It looks different, smells different, and tastes different than the substance I have known as cinnamon all my life. It's still recognizable as cinnamon, but it's not as powerful and not nearly as good. This is a blow to a girl who is used to eating and loving cinnamon every single day.
• Clothes, shoes, and electronics range from kinda to silly expensive, and there is no Kohl´s equivalent.

A quick back-track.

In the excitement of getting to Buenos Aires, I glossed over the bit about how we got here. We crossed the Andes on a bus, after all.

And it was majestic. Rock and snow, so big, so beautiful. For the first two hours especially. The last 10 hours weren´t as fantastic, especially since three or four of them were spent at the border, waiting for the immigration officials to get their act together. Apparently the pass had been closed for the previous five days due to snow, and there was quite a backup of cars and buses wanting to get through.

That brought us to Mendoza around 9pm, where we visited seven hotels before we found one with a room to spare. We ate six different kinds of grilled meat (minus the intestines) and called it a day.

The next day, a Sunday, was Argentina´s Día del Niño (see previous entry). We wandered around Mendoza, a very cool little city, and boarded the bus for another 14-hour journey to Buenos Aires.

A beautiful day in the neighborhood.

If this is winter, Buenos Aires, I'm in love with you already. I have been wandering around coat-free today, as has been possible on most of the days since we've been here. On the other days, I've felt totally comfortable in my winter coat or light jacket. Finally, the kind of winter I've been dreaming of my whole life.

It occurs to me that I've never lived in the city. Denver is as close at it comes, and I lived in the suburbs, not the city itself. I've visited many, but with just a few days in each one they were novelties to be enjoyed, not jungles to be survived. It's madness, really. So much traffic, most of which has no concern for the pedestrian in the crosswalk. I wanted to go running the other day, but realized that I would have to walk to the park to run, since it's impossible to run down the street when there are so many people out and about.

Nonetheless, it's pretty awesome. Within a two-block radius you can find several gyms, countless restaurants, a store that sells dried melon (among other fruits, but melon quickly became the most important), a couple of convenience stores (perfect for picking up a beer or alfajores), several specialty stores where we buy meat and quinoa in bulk to avoid the grocery store, and a grocery store.

Ah, the Disco. The other day, Brent went to meet up with a chiropractor friend of his and I went off to run errands and do some housework. I needed four things at the grocery store. Quick trip, right?

An hour or more later, I emerged and beelined for my apartment, not to emerge again for the rest of the day. It was impossible to compare prices, not only because the aisles are narrow and I spent most of my time getting out of the way of the millions of other people, but because the price tags are never under the appropriate product, if they exist at all. Exhausted, I got in line to checkout, where I stayed for the better part of the day as it backed up behind me. This was the middle of a weekday!

So I will try to survive on dried melon. I don't want to go back to the Disco again for a long, long time.

Buenos Aires

One week in Buenos Aires and we´re incredibly happy to be here. Between Brent´s friends and some good luck, we have an apartment in a really nice, safe part of this enormous city. Furnished apartment, I might add. With adequate heating. No sleeping with fifteen blankets or cooking on a hot plate, people.

It´s actually more expensive here than it was in Chile, and that will take some getting used to. We´re scouting gyms today, having already rejected two for their outrageous, by our humble standards, prices. They were nice gyms, though.

There will be more to share when, well, more stuff happens. For now, what I´m saying is, for the first time in two months we have an actual home, so you can safely purchase plane tickets to BA.

Blizzards and tear gas: Adios, Chile.

On Wednesday, we arrived in Valparaíso, a very cool city on the coast that we rather wish we could stay in. First, it was all business -- Operation: Luggage Retrieval.

You might remember that most of what we own was still in Santiago as of Wednesday. We could have taken the bus to Santiago, metro-bus-walked to the suburbs, expensive taxied it back to the bus station with all those suitcases, and then taken another bus to who knows where. Or, we could rent a car. So we rented a car, drove to Santiago, gathered our things, and were back in sunny Valpo by lunchtime.

We´re relieved. Finally, officially, we are done with those people who turned our lives upside down from the day we got here.

It was snowing in Santiago. This is a very rare event, and we drove through it. Luckily, it was not rush hour.

We got back to our hostal to see on the news that ít was snowing in Santiago, and also that there was a big protest going on in Santiago -- and right here in Valparaíso, as well -- about higher education in Chile. This was not the first of them, as it´s been going on pretty much since we arrived in the country, but this was a big one. As we walked home, the cops were shooting water cannons and, as we discovered later, rubber bullets and tear gas. It had been hours since the tear gas, but as we walked down the street our throats and eyes were burning. Even this morning, people were still walking around with their mouths and noses covered.

And with that, we bought bus tickets to Argentina. We´ll be in Mendoza by tomorrow night, and then it´s off to the gigantic city of Buenos Aires. How´s that for a change of plan?

Conspiracy theories.

Not to be all dramatic and self-centered about what has been going on here, but...we´re pretty sure we´re being plotted against. Examine the evidence:

Our #1 contact in Valdivia is good friends with the enimiga mentioned in previous posts. This contact is a wonderful woman who had introduced us to lots of Valdivians who were either excited about chiropractic, able to help us get legal to stay here, or both.

After the negative event in Puerto Montt a few weeks ago, we wondered if our Valdivian friend would still speak to us. She did! And she was still very nice! We thought she was able to see the event as something that was between us and her friend, a very unfortunate misunderstanding.

And then the phone stopped ringing. Appointments for adjustments were canceled. People who said they´d call us back didn´t call back. It´s like they all disappeared -- and the one thing they all have in common is our #1 contact in Valdivia.

I mean, what would you think?

We´re unsure at this point if we´re being patient or inactive, but we can´t take it anymore. So we´re leaving Valdivia tomorrow, getting on a bus and heading north to see what happens. Look out, Buenos Aires, you might be next.

¨So far, Día del Niño...sucks.¨

Brent´s words, around 4:00 pm on Sunday. August 7 was Día del Niño, a holiday we gathered is basically like Mother´s Day or Father´s Day, except for children. Like they need another one.

It looked about like any other day at the mall, except the kids hopped up on ice cream were also wearing cardboard crowns and carrying balloons. The food court workers were all wearing costumes, and the movie theatre had 14 screening times for Los Pitufos.

Which is another conversation entirely. ¨Smurfs¨ is a made-up word, is it not? Did the word ¨Smurfs¨ exist prior to the creation of the little blue creatures? Because here, the Smurfs movie is called Los Pitufos, and we couldn´t figure it out. How do you translate a made-up word? What is a pitufo?

So we looked up pitufo in the dictionary. It means, ¨Smurf¨. Really.


We went to Capitán América. Dubbed.

Which reminds me of a couple of expense report items I missed. Movies only cost about US$5 (slightly higher on weekends, at least at this particular theatre), and popcorn is even a little cheaper, too. Laundry, however, costs about $12 per load.

Expense report.

We had characterized all Latin American countries as being relatively inexpensive, but we´ve found that Chile is more or less on par with home. The good news here is that we´ll be able to charge prices for our services that are similar to what we charge in the States. The bad news is that we´re not working yet.

Restaurants are slightly more expensive, although most of them offer great set lunch menus for US$5-7. Produce is much cheaper than at home, but most other groceries are comparable or more expensive. City buses seem reasonable, though I have no basis for comparison.

We´ve asked around, and it seems rent is quite a bit cheaper, but we´ll find out how it comes out after the water and electric bill when we get our own place.

Our most important purchases so far, in order of awesomeness and survival necessity, include:

1. Hedgehog slippers
2. Space heater
3. Raincoat

In other news, I am making consistently stellar cookies, which are not only delicious but provide for an excellent excuse to stand over the oven, which is the warmest place in the house.

Making a grocery list and tearing it up.

Something that reminded us of home -- at first glance -- were the giant grocery stores. With names like Jumbo, Bigger, and Lider (Leader), we were pretty sure we would eat happily ever after.

Then we shopped in them. Granted, right now our main shopping trips occur at a store with a much less promising name -- UniMart -- but I´m thinking they´re probably all about the same. The size is grossly misleading.

There is an entire row of flour, an entire row of sugar, an entire two rows of wine. There is an entire row of rice -- but no brown rice. There is an entire row and a half of milk -- but no soy or rice milk. There is an entire row of mayonnaise, for heaven´s sake. That one is probably my favorite, because there aren´t even different brands of mayonnaise. It´s the same brand in the same size container on every shelf for half the row. And they don´t have jalapeños, either.

Not that we aren´t eating well. We´ve found some fantastic restaurants and cooked some wonderful meals, even without jalapeños, and part of moving to a new country is abandoning some of your old favorite things (jelly beans) in exhange for finding new ones (dried pears, porotos y fideos, rosehip tea). I can´t say I´m not a little disappointed in the rice situation, though.

At least it isn´t boring.

I´ve been thinking for the last three days about how to make this long story short.

We came down here to meet a friend who was going to help us with a lot of the moving-to-another-country stuff. From the day we arrived, something seemed a little bit off, and it went steadily in that direction over this past month. We´ve spent most of our time waiting, because even though nothing was coming through, there was never a solid indication that it wouldn´t if we were just patient.

Until Friday. It was ugly. But now we know, which is all we have really wanted since the beginning.

Now we´re starting over, which is made somewhat more difficult by the following:

1. Most of the people we know are connected by two degrees or less to our amiga-turned-enimiga.
2. Three-quarters of our luggage is a 10-hour bus ride away in Santiago, at the home of this woman´s brother.
3. It´s still cold.


More difficult, but not impossible, and in a way we´re rather relieved. Now we can just get on with it, whether here or in Argentina or whatever.

I´ll admit, this kinda sucks. But I still wouldn´t trade it.

You can´t bake cookies without a recipe, baking soda, and an oven.

We moved out to Niebla, an hour-ish bus ride from Valdivia, to live in a delightful ocean-view cabin that a new friend is letting us borrow until the end of August. Delightful and cold. It serves as more of a windbreak than a warm haven, but we are happy after piling every blanket in the house on the bed.

Our first night there, Brent set about to light the parafin heating unit and I set about to make cookies, which I´ve been dying to do ever since we realized we might never feel warm again. I improvised oatmeal cookies without butter (we had olive oil instead) and baking soda (substitute: more oatmeal!). I went to start the oven and, new to the process of the gas stove, I couldn´t get it to light.

By this time, Brent was also not getting the parafin stove to light. As our last hope of decent heat was dwindling away, this was not the time to be asking for help. Instead, I lit a burner and ''baked'' my cookies in a frying pan, which resulted in a pleasant granola-bar-like creation that managed to be both burnt and under-cooked.

I find myself here without my Pepperdine sweatshirt, fleece pajamas, or slippers. During the packing process, I thought, ''I haven´t worn these in ages, and I can fit three dresses, which I wear all the time, in the space it takes to pack one Pepperdine sweatshirt. I usually wear shorts to bed, anyway, and socks make perfectly fine slippers.'' 

I failed to consider, however, that there might not be another country on the planet that heats its homes the way America does. Furthermore, I do not wear dresses all the time in southern Chile in the winter, so I´ve been laying Brent´s sweatshirts on top of my thin (and easy-to-pack) gym-bound hoodies and cooking dinner in my coat.

The Bikram Experience

One of our friends here is a Bikram yoga teacher, and she owns a handful of studios in Santiago and Puerto Montt. We attended a couple of classes when we were in Santiago, which I almost forgot to tell you about because it feels like years ago at this point.

Brent took a couple of Bikram classes a few years ago, but I had never done it before. I was surprised to discover that the workout itself is not that challenging. Some of the poses are in the tougher spectrum, but you don´t hold them for very long. What makes the whole thing damn near impossible is that oppressive heat.

It felt good for about 30 seconds after first entering the room because it was so cold outside, but that novelty quickly wore off. I was totally overdressed in a tank top and cropped yoga pants, and it still only took about five minutes to sweat through them completely.

Í wouldn´t say I dislike it, necessarily. I even went back for another round three days after the first. I would do it again. But not regularly.

P.S. We live in Chile now.

Brent and I moved to Chile, which I forgot to tell some people. Not that those people are any less important, it just came together quickly and it didn't feel like there was much time for telling things. But now I am telling you! And this is exciting!

Upon arrival, July 1, we stayed out in the suburbs of Santiago for about a week. How far out? When we decided to head south (in the southern hemisphere, heading south in the winter is not the best idea), it was a two-hour walk/bus/metro to CENTRAL station, where we hopped on a 12-hour bus ride to Puerto Montt.
While we were there, sometimes an entire day consisted of walking to the internet cafe, having lunch, and walking home. Santiago. Is. Not. Small.

On our second day in Chile, we went exploring. We were going to catch the bus, but when the bus wasn't there when we wanted it to be (i.e. immediately), we said, what the heck, let's keep walking and see what we see. So we walked. And walked. And 10 hours later, having not yet reached the center of the city, we got some dinner and took a bus home. Santiago. Is. Not. Small.

Now we're in Valdivia, a lovely city with less rain than Puerto Montt. We're almost thinking of calling this one home, but we are waiting on a few things, one of those things being paperwork, the kind that permits us to work in this country. Once the paperwork gets going, it could be up to four months before it's official, but at least we'll know it's happening. The main focus now is just getting it started.

In the meantime, we're eating food and walking in the cold and meeting fantastically kind people. And speaking Spanish, some of us better than others.

Flameshield Film Festival

Remember when I made a super-short horror movie promotional piece? It's going to be showing at this festival on October 15, along with Jimmy Drain's short film Stealth Eye (the short version of the upcoming feature The Dead Rose) and a few other short pieces. If you're in the Denver area, come on by! This is the first thing I was cast in after moving to Colorado, so I'm terribly excited to see how it turned out.

And there was a short trip to St. Louis somewhere in between feeling the need for a break and feeling the need to move....

My "brother" Joel (of From Bohemia to the Balkans fame) got married a couple of weeks ago in the St. Louis area. Thus, I vacationed to Missouri, and then to Nebraska. It's no Europe, but I wouldn't have missed this wedding for the world.