We've had lazy days in Denver, but I can't say we haven't enjoyed them. Get up when we want. Healthy breakfasts and delicious coffee. Gym. Books. Movies. Dinners with good friends. It'll be worth missing when we go.
Which we're doing! We're going! And I can say, finally, that Panama is where we are going, because we have purchased plane tickets (one way!) and made the whole thing quite official. From there, we will touch base with Colombia and see if that's a place we'd like to settle.
This is all very exciting, as per usual, but especially so this time because we only have to pack for one season: hot.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Friday, December 14, 2012
Culture shock.
When I went home to visit in August, I was struck by the friendliness of all the airport workers as I made my way through customs and immigration. I kept wishing I had a question for them, just so I could talk to them. Sorry to say it, but I had almost forgotten that some people just do their jobs, even as if they enjoy them.
This time, I was prepared for that, but it delighted me all the same. There was friendly assistance everywhere I turned! As I was walking down a long hall, there was a airport worker standing there, just standing, in the middle of that long walkway, and it seemed like his only job was to say,"Good morning to you" and "Welcome to the US". There was a pilot walking ahead of me, and this man thanked him for his service! I was smiling from deplaning to waiting for my next flight.
And with that, I am back in South Dakota, sipping egg nog and being so so so happy that there is no snow on the ground.
Brent wanted one more Argentinean working week, so he is leaving on Saturday. I will be interested to hear how he felt upon being welcomed back home by dozens of people he doesn't even know, and I look forward to meeting him in Colorado for Christmas.
This time, I was prepared for that, but it delighted me all the same. There was friendly assistance everywhere I turned! As I was walking down a long hall, there was a airport worker standing there, just standing, in the middle of that long walkway, and it seemed like his only job was to say,"Good morning to you" and "Welcome to the US". There was a pilot walking ahead of me, and this man thanked him for his service! I was smiling from deplaning to waiting for my next flight.
And with that, I am back in South Dakota, sipping egg nog and being so so so happy that there is no snow on the ground.
Brent wanted one more Argentinean working week, so he is leaving on Saturday. I will be interested to hear how he felt upon being welcomed back home by dozens of people he doesn't even know, and I look forward to meeting him in Colorado for Christmas.
Thursday, December 06, 2012
Argentina being Argentina.
The weekend in Pinamar was so lovely, and that should not be forgotten, which I why I separated these two posts. This one is more so I don't forget why we´re moving out of Argentina.
When Brent got our tickets, he asked the clerk how long the bus ride was. She said four hours. He chose a 1:30 departure time to allow me to sleep in after my night at work and so we could take our time in the morning and walk to the station.
As we got on the bus, the man checking the tickets informed us that we would arrive at 8pm.
"Wait, what?" said Brent, in irritated Spanish. "The woman told me it was a four-hour trip!"
"That's the early and the late bus," he replied, clearly having had to explain this before. "This one takes about seven hours."
"Why didn't she tell me that?"
"They're supposed to. But they usually don't."
So, we settled in for the long trip, trying not to grit our teeth every time we got off the highway to drive several kilometers out of the way to pick one person up in a little tiny town.
But we arrived safe and happy, and we checked into our hotel.
When we checked out two days later, the woman told us how much we owed.
"No," Brent said, totally calm, "that's not what you told me on the phone."
She launched into a lengthy explanation of why the price had risen by nearly 200 pesos. We continued to look at her until she stopped and said, "It doesn't matter, you're right."
Luckily, we somehow got on the express bus to get home, so we were planning on a four-hour trip. It turned into four and a half, because we had to exit the highway at one point and get back on. A handful of protestors (we think -- there were no signs, so we have no idea what they standing for) had lit a bunch of branches on fire in the middle of both lanes and one of the on ramps. The police were there, watching and directing traffic around it while the fires burned and the pyros sat on the barriers between lanes.
And so it goes.
When Brent got our tickets, he asked the clerk how long the bus ride was. She said four hours. He chose a 1:30 departure time to allow me to sleep in after my night at work and so we could take our time in the morning and walk to the station.
As we got on the bus, the man checking the tickets informed us that we would arrive at 8pm.
"Wait, what?" said Brent, in irritated Spanish. "The woman told me it was a four-hour trip!"
"That's the early and the late bus," he replied, clearly having had to explain this before. "This one takes about seven hours."
"Why didn't she tell me that?"
"They're supposed to. But they usually don't."
So, we settled in for the long trip, trying not to grit our teeth every time we got off the highway to drive several kilometers out of the way to pick one person up in a little tiny town.
But we arrived safe and happy, and we checked into our hotel.
When we checked out two days later, the woman told us how much we owed.
"No," Brent said, totally calm, "that's not what you told me on the phone."
She launched into a lengthy explanation of why the price had risen by nearly 200 pesos. We continued to look at her until she stopped and said, "It doesn't matter, you're right."
Luckily, we somehow got on the express bus to get home, so we were planning on a four-hour trip. It turned into four and a half, because we had to exit the highway at one point and get back on. A handful of protestors (we think -- there were no signs, so we have no idea what they standing for) had lit a bunch of branches on fire in the middle of both lanes and one of the on ramps. The police were there, watching and directing traffic around it while the fires burned and the pyros sat on the barriers between lanes.
And so it goes.
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
Out of town!
My awesome birthday present from Brent was a trip OUT OF THE CITY! to Pinamar, a beach town about four hours south of here. (Well, supposed to be about four hours, but I'll get to all that another day.) We arrived on Saturday night and checked into this beautiful little hotel near the ocean.
On Sunday I put on my new swimsuit and we walked a loooong way down the beach. It was beautiful and hot, but windy enough that you didn't realize you were getting sunburned on those three little patches of skin you missed with the sunscreen, or on the top of Brent's feet, but we found some aloe and started taking care of that right after we got back. The walk probably lasted about an hour too long, as we were hot and tired, but it was a great day.
Monday, we explored Pinamar a bit more, then had a long card-playing lunch before returning to Buenos Aires and the most recent subway strike that afternoon. It's nice to know there's more to Argentina than giant, messy city.
On Sunday I put on my new swimsuit and we walked a loooong way down the beach. It was beautiful and hot, but windy enough that you didn't realize you were getting sunburned on those three little patches of skin you missed with the sunscreen, or on the top of Brent's feet, but we found some aloe and started taking care of that right after we got back. The walk probably lasted about an hour too long, as we were hot and tired, but it was a great day.
Monday, we explored Pinamar a bit more, then had a long card-playing lunch before returning to Buenos Aires and the most recent subway strike that afternoon. It's nice to know there's more to Argentina than giant, messy city.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Call me that.
I'm a big fan of the nickname, and I've had a few that were twisted out of my own name and a few that were totally unrelated. I never got into "Mandy", and only one person ever called me that. And because it was only one person, he was allowed. If it had started a trend, I would have cracked down on that nonsense.
But here, tagging an endearing ending onto a name is almost a requirement. I've been Mandi, Mandiña, Mandita, Amandita, Amandiña, Manderiña, Amandis, Amandía, and Amanda all in the same night. I'll kind of miss that when we go.
Brent has been "Brend," "Bret," and "Bread," mostly because the "nt" sound doesn't exist in Spanish, so people have a hard time figuring out what he's saying when he introduces himself. I'll kind of miss that, too.
But here, tagging an endearing ending onto a name is almost a requirement. I've been Mandi, Mandiña, Mandita, Amandita, Amandiña, Manderiña, Amandis, Amandía, and Amanda all in the same night. I'll kind of miss that when we go.
Brent has been "Brend," "Bret," and "Bread," mostly because the "nt" sound doesn't exist in Spanish, so people have a hard time figuring out what he's saying when he introduces himself. I'll kind of miss that, too.
Monday, November 26, 2012
An exercise in tolerance.
Today is another holiday in Argentina, although no one I've asked has any idea what it's for. I went about my usual Monday, with plans to go to the gym. However, I had a very domestic morning: sweeping the floors, cleaning the counter, doing laundry, washing and cutting the stems off a kilo of strawberries, making breakfast, and cooking up the remaining squash so I can make some bread this afternoon. By the time I was ready for the gym, it was already 2:30.
Now, being a holiday, I should have assumed that they would have different hours today. Often they close on holidays, but I saw no indication of that last week, and when I arrived they were open, so I set about my workout.
After 20 minutes, when it went silent and the TVs were off, I realized they were indeed closing early. So I ran fast and uphill, slightly bitter at having my workout cut short. Yes, I could have asked last week about a holiday schedule, but for whatever reason I did not. And why should they bother to put a sign on the door when it's much easier to just cut the electricity to the treadmill under your feet at 2:58?
In general, I have enjoyed my gym. They have hours that work for me, I like the class schedule, it's never very busy when I go, etc. I even wrote a post last year about all the things I love about it. But now, with just weeks before leaving Argentina, I know exactly what I will NOT miss:
1. The ever-changing prices. My six-month membership expired last week. Three days before its expiration, I asked how much a one-month pass would cost. They quoted me a number that was higher than six months ago, which was too high to begin with, but that is to be expected. I went in the day after my pass expired with exactly enough money to buy a new pass, only to be informed that the price had gone up. No big deal, the woman said, just bring the rest tomorrow. YES BIG DEAL. They guy who told me the price knew that it would be rising, and he should have informed me of it. Grrr.
2. The snootiness. I've met many lovely people in Argentina, including a few at the gym, but I've been going to the same class now, two days every week, since May. Many of the women in there have been doing the same, and even now there are only a couple who will even greet me. There are only a handful of employees who bother to greet me.
3. Cell phones. It's one thing to talk on the treadmill, which is a personal pet peeve. But far more irritating are the people -- and there are more than one -- who check their phone between every single set in the class I go to. It's a lifting class with five-minute sets, and when the rest of us are loading or unloading our bars, stretching or grabbing a drink, these girls are sitting cross-legged and round-backed, poking at their screens.
4. The heat. Buenos Aires gets hot in the summer, but so far this spring there have only been a few days that give us a taste of that oppressive heat. And on those days, the gym gets really, really hot. Luckily, the instructor in my class keeps the fans on -- even despite being asked by one woman to turn them off because she didn't like it blowing on her. However, I heard a story of the instructor in a spinning class who, when asked to turn on the fans, informed his participants that they needed to learn to regulate their own body temperature and suck it up. This in an un-air-conditioned room of 20 sweating cyclists when it's 100 degrees outside.
Now, being a holiday, I should have assumed that they would have different hours today. Often they close on holidays, but I saw no indication of that last week, and when I arrived they were open, so I set about my workout.
After 20 minutes, when it went silent and the TVs were off, I realized they were indeed closing early. So I ran fast and uphill, slightly bitter at having my workout cut short. Yes, I could have asked last week about a holiday schedule, but for whatever reason I did not. And why should they bother to put a sign on the door when it's much easier to just cut the electricity to the treadmill under your feet at 2:58?
In general, I have enjoyed my gym. They have hours that work for me, I like the class schedule, it's never very busy when I go, etc. I even wrote a post last year about all the things I love about it. But now, with just weeks before leaving Argentina, I know exactly what I will NOT miss:
1. The ever-changing prices. My six-month membership expired last week. Three days before its expiration, I asked how much a one-month pass would cost. They quoted me a number that was higher than six months ago, which was too high to begin with, but that is to be expected. I went in the day after my pass expired with exactly enough money to buy a new pass, only to be informed that the price had gone up. No big deal, the woman said, just bring the rest tomorrow. YES BIG DEAL. They guy who told me the price knew that it would be rising, and he should have informed me of it. Grrr.
2. The snootiness. I've met many lovely people in Argentina, including a few at the gym, but I've been going to the same class now, two days every week, since May. Many of the women in there have been doing the same, and even now there are only a couple who will even greet me. There are only a handful of employees who bother to greet me.
3. Cell phones. It's one thing to talk on the treadmill, which is a personal pet peeve. But far more irritating are the people -- and there are more than one -- who check their phone between every single set in the class I go to. It's a lifting class with five-minute sets, and when the rest of us are loading or unloading our bars, stretching or grabbing a drink, these girls are sitting cross-legged and round-backed, poking at their screens.
4. The heat. Buenos Aires gets hot in the summer, but so far this spring there have only been a few days that give us a taste of that oppressive heat. And on those days, the gym gets really, really hot. Luckily, the instructor in my class keeps the fans on -- even despite being asked by one woman to turn them off because she didn't like it blowing on her. However, I heard a story of the instructor in a spinning class who, when asked to turn on the fans, informed his participants that they needed to learn to regulate their own body temperature and suck it up. This in an un-air-conditioned room of 20 sweating cyclists when it's 100 degrees outside.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Happy Thanksgiving
On Tuesday, I made 29 pies. In true my-cooking fashion, two of those didn't turn out -- though it was hardly my fault, as I was using an unfamiliar oven and it darkened the heck out of the tops of those two. The inside was excellent, though, which is how I found out I was on the right track, and how I sustained myself through 10 hours of baking.
On Wednesday and Thursday, dozens of people I know ate those pies, and it made me delightfully happy. I like those people a lot, and it was a great joy to spend Thanksgiving with them.
As every year, there is a great deal to be thankful for. Despite the challenges of this past year, we are a blessed lot.
Also, this just in: Singapore is out. The job offer was waaaay too little for living in a country that pricey -- it's a great opportunity for a new chiropractic graduate, which is exactly the reason they won't offer more for Brent and his 10 years of experience: they know that they can get a recent grad for that much.
Home for the holidays, and then we'll see...
On Wednesday and Thursday, dozens of people I know ate those pies, and it made me delightfully happy. I like those people a lot, and it was a great joy to spend Thanksgiving with them.
As every year, there is a great deal to be thankful for. Despite the challenges of this past year, we are a blessed lot.
Also, this just in: Singapore is out. The job offer was waaaay too little for living in a country that pricey -- it's a great opportunity for a new chiropractic graduate, which is exactly the reason they won't offer more for Brent and his 10 years of experience: they know that they can get a recent grad for that much.
Home for the holidays, and then we'll see...
Monday, November 19, 2012
On the move.
This hardly feels real, having been discussing it for months, but we are finally on our way out of Argentina.
First stop will be Colorado and South Dakota for Christmas! We're both looking forward to a month at home with family, friends, Red Stone mead, Mexican food, and tons of planning for the next leg of our journey: Singapore.
In mid to late January, we'll fly to that super clean, super safe, super expensive little country so Brent can start a three-month trial period in a new office, a trial that is every bit as much for us as it is for them. At three months, we'll evaluate again and decide if we want to stay or go.
Finally. Finally. Adiós, Argentina.
First stop will be Colorado and South Dakota for Christmas! We're both looking forward to a month at home with family, friends, Red Stone mead, Mexican food, and tons of planning for the next leg of our journey: Singapore.
In mid to late January, we'll fly to that super clean, super safe, super expensive little country so Brent can start a three-month trial period in a new office, a trial that is every bit as much for us as it is for them. At three months, we'll evaluate again and decide if we want to stay or go.
Finally. Finally. Adiós, Argentina.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Bod-e Meal Replacement Shakes
Vemma is at it again, which delights us no end. This time, it's meal replacement shakes in Chocolate Ice Cream and Vanilla Ice Cream flavors, which include 16g of protein, 7g of fiber, 690mg of omega-3, and 20mL of the Vemma formula. The pre-order period started yesterday and runs through November 16. Go!
http://amandasides.vemma.com
http://amandasides.vemma.com
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Happy Birthday!
Yesterday was the birthday of the Very Special Fellow, and we celebrated in good style, with bacon, eggs, and coffee cake for breakfast, and dinner out at one of our favorite Buenos Aires restaurants. Tonight we're going to Cirque du Soleil to round out the birthday weekend. A beautiful couple of days in celebration of a beautiful man, inside and out.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
National Bike to Death Day
It's actually not bike-to-anything day, but two things, anyway:
1. We have bike lanes here.
2. Monday was yet another holiday.
I´m not sure where people find the courage to bike in this city, but they do. And Buenos Aires encourages it, having recently (within the last few years) set up a network of bike borrowing stations, where locals can borrow a yellow bike to ride to their destination and drop that bike off at another station. Great idea! Still super scary to ride in the city!
Luckily, we do have some bike lanes along some of the major streets, and a few months ago there was some minor construction as they created routes along another long street where I frequently walk. Here, a bike lane means more than just some painted lines. It also means a large yello curb that separates the bike lanes from the main road.
Seems like a good idea, providing a barrier between car and bike. However, I have seen several people -- mostly elderly people -- trip over this barrier. It's a good six inches tall, which is quite a step to clear. Just yesterday, an old woman was sitting on the ground on the street side of this yellow death trap, surrounded by people and a couple of cops. I didn't see this particular fall, but I can imagine.
In holiday news, everyone was off work on Monday to celebrate Be Nice to Each Other Day. I thought this might mean a little more freedom and safety in crossing the street, or more timely customer service, but not really. To top it off, I could neither go to the gym nor go shopping, because both places were packed by all those people who should have been at work, but who were instead out and about not being especially extra nice to each other.
1. We have bike lanes here.
2. Monday was yet another holiday.
I´m not sure where people find the courage to bike in this city, but they do. And Buenos Aires encourages it, having recently (within the last few years) set up a network of bike borrowing stations, where locals can borrow a yellow bike to ride to their destination and drop that bike off at another station. Great idea! Still super scary to ride in the city!
Luckily, we do have some bike lanes along some of the major streets, and a few months ago there was some minor construction as they created routes along another long street where I frequently walk. Here, a bike lane means more than just some painted lines. It also means a large yello curb that separates the bike lanes from the main road.
Seems like a good idea, providing a barrier between car and bike. However, I have seen several people -- mostly elderly people -- trip over this barrier. It's a good six inches tall, which is quite a step to clear. Just yesterday, an old woman was sitting on the ground on the street side of this yellow death trap, surrounded by people and a couple of cops. I didn't see this particular fall, but I can imagine.
In holiday news, everyone was off work on Monday to celebrate Be Nice to Each Other Day. I thought this might mean a little more freedom and safety in crossing the street, or more timely customer service, but not really. To top it off, I could neither go to the gym nor go shopping, because both places were packed by all those people who should have been at work, but who were instead out and about not being especially extra nice to each other.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Fake value.
False currency is common enough here that every store clerk will carefully examine the 100-peso bills for authenticity. I do it myself, in my job, so it has become quite easy for me to identify a fake.
I've never had a fake US bill, though it seems to me that if you get caught trying to spend one at home you will likely get detained and thoroughly questioned -- at least. Here, you are simply asked to put that fakey back in your wallet and produce a real bill.
The other day at the bar, an American couple handed me a 100-peso bill to pay their bill -- clearly a fake. I told them so, and the guy handed me another as Brent explained how to tell the difference. The second bill was also a fake. The poor guy was getting flustered, and said with some shock in his voice that he got those bills from his bank back in the States. He paid with a credit card, and wondered if he would be able to take them back to the bank -- I told him to try, and my fingers are crossed for him.
To be fair, a good fake bill looks a lot like the real thing. Brent ended up with one in his wallet last week. The difference is in some subtle details and the feel of the paper.
Of course, a bad fake bill is downright laughable. The girls at the bar were left a fake 20 as a tip -- and the bill´s design had been printed crooked on the paper.
I've never had a fake US bill, though it seems to me that if you get caught trying to spend one at home you will likely get detained and thoroughly questioned -- at least. Here, you are simply asked to put that fakey back in your wallet and produce a real bill.
The other day at the bar, an American couple handed me a 100-peso bill to pay their bill -- clearly a fake. I told them so, and the guy handed me another as Brent explained how to tell the difference. The second bill was also a fake. The poor guy was getting flustered, and said with some shock in his voice that he got those bills from his bank back in the States. He paid with a credit card, and wondered if he would be able to take them back to the bank -- I told him to try, and my fingers are crossed for him.
To be fair, a good fake bill looks a lot like the real thing. Brent ended up with one in his wallet last week. The difference is in some subtle details and the feel of the paper.
Of course, a bad fake bill is downright laughable. The girls at the bar were left a fake 20 as a tip -- and the bill´s design had been printed crooked on the paper.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
It's not that I wanted to stay, I just didn't want to leave.
Now having been back in Argentina for about a month, it's especially easy to admit I wish I hadn't have had to come back quite as soon as I did. Two points of note:
- Brent lost my umbrella while I was gone so, gentleman that he is, he bought us a new one. The unfortunate part of this is that the new one is Argentine, and it broke after two uses.
- The first rule in my gym´s locker room is "No smoking."
Saturday, August 18, 2012
South Dakota, Nebraska, and Colorado: a vacation?
This time, yes.
Three weeks ago, I was coping with the fact that I wouldn't be visiting the States for awhile. Brent and I were both disappointed, as we had mapped out a little Denver-area festival that included all our favorite restaurants, camping, and theater, but we understood that staying put this time was in pursuit of a greater good. It's just too hard to leave a blossoming business for two or three weeks.
But suddenly the opportunity for a trip arose, and five days later I was flying standby from Buenos Aires to Atlanta to Minneapolis to Rapid City, my sister having arranged a stealthy airport pickup so I could surprise everyone else. Brent stayed home, so it's been nothing like the trip we envisioned taking together, but we'll save that one for another time.
A couple of days at the ranch were spent mostly outside with the dogs, breathing clean air and enjoying the summer. I drove with my aunt to Omaha to see Jack and Avery and my two nephews, the newest of which is just a couple of weeks old. Shauna had arrived at their place the day before, so the little boys had three days with three aunts, all of whom brought gifts (but I was the only one who brought gifts from Argentina, so THERE).
From there I drove to Denver, and spent a beautiful couple of days with Brent's mom -- girl talk, long walks, dress shopping. I had such a great time with her that I hardly noticed the dentist appointment I had to sneak in. (Except now, when my jaw still hurts. I'm noticing it now.) My CO time did feel a bit rushed, as I had several appointments to make and very little time to make them in. There are so many people I wanted to see, but I didn't even tell most of them I was there, since I knew there was no way I'd have time to see everyone.
Now I'm back in Rapid City, having lazy days and finishing up the last-minute shopping before going home, which will probably be on Tuesday.
Remembering that streets can be clean and customer service people can be helpful and air can smell good and traffic can stop for pedestrians makes it a little hard to go back to the city, but Buenos Aires is home for now. The break has been great (necessary, even), but my tolerance for that place has been reset and it's time to get back to my friends, enjoy what I enjoy about BA, and hug the wonderful man who's holding down the fort.
Three weeks ago, I was coping with the fact that I wouldn't be visiting the States for awhile. Brent and I were both disappointed, as we had mapped out a little Denver-area festival that included all our favorite restaurants, camping, and theater, but we understood that staying put this time was in pursuit of a greater good. It's just too hard to leave a blossoming business for two or three weeks.
But suddenly the opportunity for a trip arose, and five days later I was flying standby from Buenos Aires to Atlanta to Minneapolis to Rapid City, my sister having arranged a stealthy airport pickup so I could surprise everyone else. Brent stayed home, so it's been nothing like the trip we envisioned taking together, but we'll save that one for another time.
A couple of days at the ranch were spent mostly outside with the dogs, breathing clean air and enjoying the summer. I drove with my aunt to Omaha to see Jack and Avery and my two nephews, the newest of which is just a couple of weeks old. Shauna had arrived at their place the day before, so the little boys had three days with three aunts, all of whom brought gifts (but I was the only one who brought gifts from Argentina, so THERE).
From there I drove to Denver, and spent a beautiful couple of days with Brent's mom -- girl talk, long walks, dress shopping. I had such a great time with her that I hardly noticed the dentist appointment I had to sneak in. (Except now, when my jaw still hurts. I'm noticing it now.) My CO time did feel a bit rushed, as I had several appointments to make and very little time to make them in. There are so many people I wanted to see, but I didn't even tell most of them I was there, since I knew there was no way I'd have time to see everyone.
Now I'm back in Rapid City, having lazy days and finishing up the last-minute shopping before going home, which will probably be on Tuesday.
Remembering that streets can be clean and customer service people can be helpful and air can smell good and traffic can stop for pedestrians makes it a little hard to go back to the city, but Buenos Aires is home for now. The break has been great (necessary, even), but my tolerance for that place has been reset and it's time to get back to my friends, enjoy what I enjoy about BA, and hug the wonderful man who's holding down the fort.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Something to love.
I'm vibrating at an elevated level today, and I thought I should write something, anything, while I'm feeling positive.
I am ashamed that most of what we have had to say and write is fairly bummer-like and even angry at times. Argentina can be a dirty trick, but here's the thing: we are well. We are blessed. We are living the type of life we want to live, the type that most people are afraid of living. even though it hasn't come around to the point we are aiming for it to come around to. We understand that this is all part of a greater design, and even though it might be uncomfortable at times, we know it's preparing us for whatever lies ahead.
In the spirit of my truer self, here's a list of things I adore about Argentina:
Spanish. I love that I can walk around and listen to it and it's normal now. Not that I understand that much of it. Still.
Dulce de leche. Caramel sauce for EVERYTHING! These people put it on toast and call it a breakfast! I think it's weird on bread, but I love it on apples, bananas, and spoons.
Alfajores. Just dulce de leche surrounded by cookies and covered in chocolate. Heck yeah.
Protests. Okay, this is kind of a half-and-half, because the protests are a huge pain in the ass, and often kind of silly. But look: they care enough about what's going wrong to organize themselves and create a fuss, and I can appreciate that.
Open-mindedness. People are receptive to yoga, chiropractic, and network marketing. They don't spout off about what they "know" about these wonderful things. They listen. They learn. They participate.
Asado. A traditional summer Sunday in Argentina takes place in a backyard, surrounded by family and friends and way too much grilled meat. Even though most restaurants here revolve around steak, pasta, and pizza, and we long for Thai, Mexican, and Chinese, I do love the chorizo and the cheese they put right on the grill.
Puerta Cerrada. I mentioned this restaurant trend in the post about my friend Adam's visit. It's a seriuosly cool experience, and I can't wait to do it again.
Hidden gems. In a seriously run-down building you can find an awesome modern apartment. Around an unassuming corner will be hiding a delightful little bar or restaurant.
Rapipago. Although they aren't always very rápido, the idea is there: you go here and pay any and all of your bills, from gas and electric to cell phones. If you make it through the line, it takes about eight seconds and you know it's taken care of.
The parks. Green space is a rarity in Buenos Aires, so the parks are crowded on beautiful weekends. It's lovely to see the tai chi pracitioners, the soccer games, the fitness classes, the inline skating competitions, the dogs, and so much more.
I am ashamed that most of what we have had to say and write is fairly bummer-like and even angry at times. Argentina can be a dirty trick, but here's the thing: we are well. We are blessed. We are living the type of life we want to live, the type that most people are afraid of living. even though it hasn't come around to the point we are aiming for it to come around to. We understand that this is all part of a greater design, and even though it might be uncomfortable at times, we know it's preparing us for whatever lies ahead.
In the spirit of my truer self, here's a list of things I adore about Argentina:
Spanish. I love that I can walk around and listen to it and it's normal now. Not that I understand that much of it. Still.
Dulce de leche. Caramel sauce for EVERYTHING! These people put it on toast and call it a breakfast! I think it's weird on bread, but I love it on apples, bananas, and spoons.
Alfajores. Just dulce de leche surrounded by cookies and covered in chocolate. Heck yeah.
Protests. Okay, this is kind of a half-and-half, because the protests are a huge pain in the ass, and often kind of silly. But look: they care enough about what's going wrong to organize themselves and create a fuss, and I can appreciate that.
Open-mindedness. People are receptive to yoga, chiropractic, and network marketing. They don't spout off about what they "know" about these wonderful things. They listen. They learn. They participate.
Asado. A traditional summer Sunday in Argentina takes place in a backyard, surrounded by family and friends and way too much grilled meat. Even though most restaurants here revolve around steak, pasta, and pizza, and we long for Thai, Mexican, and Chinese, I do love the chorizo and the cheese they put right on the grill.
Puerta Cerrada. I mentioned this restaurant trend in the post about my friend Adam's visit. It's a seriuosly cool experience, and I can't wait to do it again.
Hidden gems. In a seriously run-down building you can find an awesome modern apartment. Around an unassuming corner will be hiding a delightful little bar or restaurant.
Rapipago. Although they aren't always very rápido, the idea is there: you go here and pay any and all of your bills, from gas and electric to cell phones. If you make it through the line, it takes about eight seconds and you know it's taken care of.
The parks. Green space is a rarity in Buenos Aires, so the parks are crowded on beautiful weekends. It's lovely to see the tai chi pracitioners, the soccer games, the fitness classes, the inline skating competitions, the dogs, and so much more.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Big development: dumpsters.
Garbage in Buenos Aires is an ongoing problem that you eventually kind of get used to. It gets piled up on the streets in anticipation of the garbage trucks, and it usually gets scattered all to hell between the pile-up and the truck's arrival during the night. BA streets are pretty dirty.
Recently, the garbage workers went on strike. (Argentines love a good strike.) I didn't pay much attention to this, other than to notice the garbage piles were higher, smellier, and more scattered than usual, so I didn't know why they were striking.
However, as I was walking home last night, I first noticed that the biggest of the piles were gone. Oh, good, I thought, they must be back to work. Then I came across something that made me double-take: a dumpster.
I have never seen a dumpster in Buenos Aires. We have marveled at this before, at how simple it would be to curb the garbage problem simply by providing a place to put the garbage! But there it was, shiny and new. And a few blocks later, I saw another one.
I don't know if they were brought about by the strike, but it´s possible. If so, I'm impressed to see that this national passtime made a change.
The next milestone will be if people actually use them. Brent and I once saw a man step out of his store and toss a handful of torn up paper onto the sidewalk. So we'll see.
Recently, the garbage workers went on strike. (Argentines love a good strike.) I didn't pay much attention to this, other than to notice the garbage piles were higher, smellier, and more scattered than usual, so I didn't know why they were striking.
However, as I was walking home last night, I first noticed that the biggest of the piles were gone. Oh, good, I thought, they must be back to work. Then I came across something that made me double-take: a dumpster.
I have never seen a dumpster in Buenos Aires. We have marveled at this before, at how simple it would be to curb the garbage problem simply by providing a place to put the garbage! But there it was, shiny and new. And a few blocks later, I saw another one.
I don't know if they were brought about by the strike, but it´s possible. If so, I'm impressed to see that this national passtime made a change.
The next milestone will be if people actually use them. Brent and I once saw a man step out of his store and toss a handful of torn up paper onto the sidewalk. So we'll see.
Monday, July 09, 2012
That's one well-dressed puppy.
Obviously, the business we should have gotten involved in when we came here was the dog clothing business. There are entire stores devoted to the miniature sweaters, and it doesn't seem to matter how hot it is outside or how much fur a particular dog has, there's a good chance he's going to be wearing a stylish overcoat.
Most of the dog clothes are of the same basic design, like a blanket with sleeves for the front legs, and they come in a shocking variety of colors and patterns. A few days ago, however, I saw a small white dog in a knitted sweater and a tiny pair of jeans. That's a new level. I couldn't stop giggling for four blocks.
Most of the dog clothes are of the same basic design, like a blanket with sleeves for the front legs, and they come in a shocking variety of colors and patterns. A few days ago, however, I saw a small white dog in a knitted sweater and a tiny pair of jeans. That's a new level. I couldn't stop giggling for four blocks.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
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?
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?
Friday, June 15, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, June 09, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, June 03, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
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.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 02, 2012
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:
Monday, April 30, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, April 27, 2012
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.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Making Spanish noises.
I can't really say that I speak Spanish, though there have recently been some signs that it is coming along:
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.
- 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).
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.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, March 30, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, March 23, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, March 09, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, March 02, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
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
Monday, February 20, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, February 17, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, February 10, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
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 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.)
Friday, January 27, 2012
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.
Friday, January 20, 2012
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:
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.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, January 13, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, December 09, 2011
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.)
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.)
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, December 03, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, November 25, 2011
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.
First time in Uruguay!
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!
Friday, November 11, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, October 21, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
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.
A very happy birthday to you, my love.
P.S. We went out for sushi, Brent´s favorite, and I didn´t hate it.
Friday, October 07, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)