Patas Arriba

Kinda Old...

2011-09-18T03:39:00.000-07:00

But I think I love this video/song more every time I watch/listen to it. The lyrics + el video = perfection in a wonderfully morbid lovesong. Hoping that I'll catch some amazing shows in Chile come this enero. If not, dear Dënver, when will you come to L.A.? And I just drank Tiger beer for the first time today without realizing it. How strange is that? P.s. Happy 18th a todos los chilenos.

Arde Santiago

2011-09-01T20:18:00.005-07:00

From Alex Anwandter, to Denver, Javiera Mena, Mamacita, and Gepe, I freaking love, love, love all the new music coming out of Chile right now. The music scene there went from medio fome to super awesome in a couple of years. The new Adrianigual single does not disappoint.

You can download the entire album for FREE in Chile at Cazador (love them even more for that). Or, if you're like me and counting down the days until your December/January trip to Santiago and can't wait, you can buy it on iTunes.

Some things just aren't the same

2011-08-19T12:30:00.012-07:00

Actually, I should rephrase that. In terms of bringing Argentine goods back to the US, most things just aren't the same.

My favorite Argentine sweet is the alfajor de maizena. A big hunk of dulce de leche sandwiched between two little cookies with a little coconut sprinkled on the edges. So simple yet so delicious. Widely available in confiterias around the country, the best alfajor de maizena is made by my boyfriend's mom. They come in three sizes, small, medium, or large, and are perfect to accompany an afternoon coffee or mate.

I've contemplated buying a dozen from a confiteria to share with friends and family in California, but these type of alfajores are crumbly as hell and fall apart with even the most delicate of grasps.

On my recent trip to Argentina I was giddy when I saw this in the local supermarket:

Yes! Prepackaged alfajores de maizena in a fancy box that I can take home and hoard, I mean, share with friends and family! I bought them, wrapped the box nice and snug in my carry-on to ensure minimal smashing and crumbling and saved them sealed until a week ago.

After unwrapping the plastic packaging and taking the first bite, my enthusiasm shriveled like a deflated balloon. There was barely any coconut around the edge of the dulce de leche and the cookies tasted nothing like the ones made by my suegra or in the bakeries. I couldn't even finish the alfajor and left it in the fridge until it got so hard that I finally had to toss it out.

Had I never tried a real alfajor de maizena in Argentina, I probably would have really liked the ones made by Cachafaz. Perhaps my disdain comes from the taste of the dulce de leche, or it could be the strange masa, though certainly it's the context in which they're being consumed.

Instead of being at my boyfriend's apartment, staring out the window, gazing at rows and rows of gray apartment rooftops, talking about the day, listening to city buses and horns go by, or sitting at the dining room table at his parents' house for la merienda with mate and cafe con leche watching bad afternoon television with his family and neighbor, I was at my desk staring at the wall, drinking a glass of ice water, sweating in the 90 degree heat of Southern California, munching on a mass-produced alfajor.

I'll probably try another one of the alfajores I have left. Maybe it'll be better since my expectations won't be so high. It's not that they're bad. They're just not the same.

Buenos Aires Province

2011-07-14T20:44:00.017-07:00

This isn't a post about the "real Argentina". I've always loathed when people try to divide countries and places, claiming one place as more authentic or representative of a culture or nation. Contrary to what some may say, I've never thought of Buenos Aires City as no more or less Argentine because it's large, cosmopolitan, and filled with immigrants. Less authentic, definitely not. More chaotic and loud, hell yes.

Sometimes when my boyfriend wants a break from the city, he returns home to the Buenos Aires province where he's from. More specifically, a small city called Olavarría.

As much as I love the capital, I like going to Olavarría because it's so different from the big city. It's quiet, life is slower, stuff is less expensive, we ride in cars and not public transit, the dogs are off leashes, and we never have to cook for ourselves.

In the city, the view from the apartment is this:

In the province, the view from the living room window at his parents' home is like this:

When we leave the apartment it's all this:

When we go for a walk in Olavarria, it's like this:

A Friday lunch at home in the Federal District:

(Sushi delivery!!!)

Dinner at his parents' house:

(Armadillo seasoned with chimichurri)

When I think about traveling back to Argentina, I get excited about being in Buenos Aires City and Buenos Aires Province. After too much time in the city, I feel a little crazy and sometimes stressed out. After several days in the province, I get a little bored, kind of lazy, and start developing a big belly from eating so much home cooked food. I feel very fortunate to be able to experience all this with my boyfriend and his family. For anyone traveling to Buenos Aires City, I would recommend getting out if possible for a day or two, but don't believe that the experience would be any less real for not doing so. It's just different.

Andar en la calle

2011-07-08T17:35:00.006-07:00

At its worst, the movement of Buenos Aires is exhausting or overwhelming and at best its energizing and inspiring.

Being back in Buenos Aires with my boyfriend has left with me a feeling somewhere between being a tourist and migrant. Having lived here for a year before, I don't feel the need to do any of the touristy Buenos Aires things (tango show, El Caminito, Cafe Tortini, etc, etc). After returning to some of my favorite spots, I've realized that what I really like doing most in this city is wandering. I just like being out in the street and looking at people and buildings and other random things. In a city with so much movement and action, I'm guaranteed to see something new or interesting just walking outside.

The only downside is that I can't wear any shoes that have any semblance of a heel. I don't know how women in heels higher than 1-inch do it. The sidewalks are so messed up that I find myself tripping in Converse. The other night I made the mistake of trying to wear 5-inch platform boots to a restaurant within walking distance and I thought I was going to kill myself or break my neck making the trek. I paid for the embarrassingly short yet extremely comfortable cab on the way back.

The flat boots I did bring are being trashed in the process, but it's well worth it.

Back in Buenos Aires

2011-07-03T18:32:00.007-07:00

I knew I was headed back to Buenos Aires when there was a clamor upon boarding my American Airlines flight. A mix of Hasidic Jews, little blonde kids in boots and blue and white sweaters in late June, Korean passport holders speaking better Spanish than I could ever hope to, and very vocal South Americans with funny accents pushing their way to get on the plane even though their row was far from being called.

And this morning, as I was awakened by horns, and an inexplicable, impromptu show/protest/concert at the national congress building down the street, I thought, "Ahhh, it's good to be back."

My love for the city came back full force and there are moments when it feels like I never left. Only two things threaten to ruin my 3 week vacation here. First, the inflation. It's no joke. Prices have doubled on a lot of stuff. Buenos Aires is no longer a relatively cheap city. When I left, getting in a cab at night started at 3,80. (Pesos) Now it's at 6,90. In July 2010 a cheese and onion empanada down the street was 3,50, and now it's 6,00. I've gone out to eat a couple of times and have found prices to be similar to what I'd be paying in the suburbs of LA. And these are little luxuries that one can do without. So I don't have that much to really complain about. My boyfriend has been talking about the rising cost of rent and other food items for a while now. The subte and buses are the same price, thankfully.

The winter is also pretty sucky. It's so cold. So cold. Perhaps if I'd had the transition from summer to fall to winter, it wouldn't be so bad. But going from 87 degrees and sunny to 35 degrees and gray was just a cruel thing to do to myself.

Still so very happy to be here, though.

Being Gay in Chile

2011-06-28T00:12:00.006-07:00

Recently I received an email from a reader in Africa curious about homosexuality in Chile. I wasn't sure where to begin or if I was even the right person to ask. While I lived in Chile I had several homosexual friends and students, some out, some still in the closet, I didn't feel like I could really comment on what day-to-day life was like for gays and lesbians.

Plus, given that said reader is from Africa, I felt that I had to think very carefully about the response. For example, a gay from San Francisco or West Hollywood would probably find gays in Santiago to be extremely repressed whereas someone from a more socially conservative country might find gay Chileans to be more open.

So I made my best attempt at answering these questions:

"How does the society react to it [homosexuality]? What is the situation like? And how are gays in Chile?

Though I am in a huge closet, I still fancy the idea of being in a society where I can at least breathe. Is Chile a sort of society that I can be able to do this?"

The writer of the email also stated that they thought I was an appropriate person to ask because of older entries I had written about gays in Chile. I had to disclose that the reason why I met so many homosexuals were because of my roommate's lifestyle, my proximity to the gay barrio in Santiago, and the type of students I taught - theater and art (sorry if that sounds like I'm stereotyping, but it's true).

I wanted to provide some perspective, so I just thought about my experiences with the community. I explained that things have changed a lot since the dictatorship ended, and there are more freedoms, socially and politically. There is a gay community in Chile that is active in promoting gay rights in their country. BUT, the rest of society hasn't necessarily caught on. From what I saw, I felt that the younger generation was more accepting and open to homosexuality but older generations and conservatives (obviously) weren't exactly too keen on the idea.

After watching and reading different coverage of last Saturday's March for Sexual Diversity in Santiago, I felt that my answer was pretty much on point. The women's blog Zancada, which supported the march from the beginning, put a positive spin on the event, stating that all kinds of people attended the event, including families with babies, and that attendance appeared to be more like 50,000 people, rather than the 12,000 quoted in other media.

Then I watched this report from TVN and had to laugh because it was so ridiculously one-sided in its portrayal of people who attended the march for equality. (Notice that the anchor who introduces the segment made sure to point out that NO MORE than 12,000 people were at the march. NOT ONE PERSON MORE.)

You don't even have to speak Spanish to get the gist of this very serious and unbiased piece of journalistic excellence complete with the Village People background music, half-naked men dressed like over grown mice, and the drag queens who took over Santiago's main avenue. I guess all the lesbians and heteros who support equal rights were out of town that weekend.

Today in my inbox I find another email from the same reader wanting to know more about what gays in Chile are like. If one were to judge by the above video, it would seem that being gay in Chile was like living out the West Hollywood Halloween Carnaval every day.

But I'm not in Chile anymore and even if I were, I don't think it would be fair for me to try and talk about what it's like for gays there. I'm not gay and I'm not Chilean. I don't want to generalize or project anymore than I already may have.

So if anyone reading this has any thoughts to share or wants to weigh in on this, please do. The person who wrote the email was very interested in hearing other people's opinions. It's easy to google "gay in chile" and read wikipedia pages or news articles about the topic, but it seems that the personal experiences are more difficult to come across.

P.d. Three cheers for NY passing the gay marriage law! It's a shame that California is still fighting it out in the courts.

El Día E

2011-06-18T23:23:00.012-07:00

El Día E is a day in which Spanish speakers around the world have gotten together to celebrate their favorite words in the language. Check out the website for videos with celebs and others from Latin America and Spain talking about their favorite words.

Some of the videos are predictable; Isabel Allende chose Espíritu (spirit), Chayanne selected Amor (love), Antonio Banderas, Alegría (joy/happiness). Meh.

Spanish is like music to my ears so my favorites on the list were Shakira's choice, Meliflua, Boris Izaguirre's, Murciélago (bat), and Gael Garcia Bernal's Querétaro. They choose words not necessarily for their meanings, but their sounds. Shakira's was cool because I'd never heard meliflua and I like saying it and thinking about something sickly-sweet. I especially loved Izaguirre's explanation, that it uses all of the vowels and is like a palabra joyeria.

There are so many words I love in Spanish, but right now my favorite is, and has been for awhile, chamullar. When used as a verb, it means to sweet-talk, bullshit, etc, etc. I also like using it as a noun or adjective and calling people chamulleros.

While I like the meaning of the word and find it to be quite useful in many situations, I love the way it feels rolling off my tongue even more. It's a word I learned in Argentina, so everyone pronounces it cha-moo-shar. It feels good saying it even when I'm sitting in my room alone, and I often find myself repeating it for no reason.

But now I have two new favorite words to say over and over again. Murciélago murciélago, murciélago and meliflua, meliflua, meliflua.

Arenas and I were meant to be

2011-05-19T00:31:00.004-07:00

The public library near my house has a tiny section of books in Spanish, most of which are translations of Danielle Steele novels, the Bible, and self-help titles, but every time I go I find a little gem by Reinaldo Arenas. The first time, wandering around aimlessly waiting for a computer to open up, I came across Antes que Anochezca (Before Night Falls), a beautiful and sad autobiography I never intended to read, but which proved to be a greater influence on my opinion on Cuba and Castro than the four years I spent studying Latin American history and politics in university.

Today after the librarian told me that I was the 164th person on the wait list for Tina Fey's Bossypants, I wandered by the Spanish section again and found Arenas' Viaje a La Habana. Along with Old Rosa, this is the third Arenas book that has practically jumped into my hands. I don't even know what it's about, I just know I have to read it now.

Gracias a la vida

2010-11-28T23:51:00.004-08:00

I'm not a big holiday person. They kind of stress me out. This was my first time celebrating Thanksgiving with my family since 2006 and even though I wasn't in charge of cooking, everything else surrounding the event really stressed me out. It didn't help that a pipe broke on the other side of my closet wall, flooding my carpeted floor, ruining a pair of my favorite boots, and forcing me out of my room which was subsequently torn apart and gutted by two curmudgeonly contractors. Or that my boss told me that we'd be closing for the long weekend meaning that I wouldn't be working for almost 10 days.

So last week I wasn't in a Thanksgiving/grateful mood. I felt cranky, irritated, and displaced. One of the few things that saved me from insanity was a visit from my dear friend Tina, who lives in overcast San Francisco but always seems to bring the sunshine with her when she comes back to Southern California. Last night's fondue, drinks, and dancing in my old neighborhood with old friends in town for the weekend and new friends also helped lift my spirits quite a bit.

This morning, walking around my friend Jen's neighborhood, savoring the sunshine, the palm trees, the houses on the hills, a perfect iced coffee, and her kind words and invaluable friendship, I knew that I really should be counting my blessings instead of lamenting over the things in my life I have little or no control over.

All day I've been thinking about what I was most grateful for in my life. What I came up with were my friends, my family, my boyfriend, my health, and my location. Pretty basic stuff, most of which I'm sure anyone reading this is thankful for as well. Cliche as it sounds, I truly believe these to be the main components of happiness. All the other stuff just complicates life more.

All of this got me thinking about Chilean folklorist Violeta Parra who expressed it simply, and best, in her song Gracias a la vida (Thanks to life), a ballad that's been covered a million times over, including a heart wrenching, and arguably more widely known, rendition by Mercedes Sosa. Both are divine but I have to give credit to the original, which makes me want to cry and/or hug my mom every time I listen to the lyrics.

U.S. Latinos Lack National Leader, Need Crash Course in American Government

2010-11-22T13:48:00.003-08:00

I was going over a report published last Monday by the Pew Hispanic Center, when it came to my attention that Latinos in the U.S. are a long way from finding any sort of national leader. I guess the days of Cesar Chavez are loooong gone.

After being polled to name one important prominent Hispanic national figure, the best guess 64 percent of U.S. Latinos could come up with was "I don’t know." An additional 10 percent were unable to name anyone as most important, while U.S. Supreme Court Judge Sonia Sotomayor came in at third place with 7 percent. Trailing behind were Rep. Luis Gutierrez (D-Ill.) with 5 percent, Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa with 3 percent, and Journalist and Univision news anchor Jorge Ramos bringing up the rear with 2 percent.

This may not come as much of a surprise considering that the nation’s largest minority group is comprised of people from dozens of different countries who speak several different languages, represent diverse socio-economic backgrounds, and can’t even agree on what to call themselves. (Latino? Hispanic? Mexican/Guatamalan/Ecuadorian-American?)

What is surprising is that the report also shows that immigrant Latinos were more familiar with the names of the people in the survey than native-born Latinos and that "English-dominant Hispanics are less likely than bilingual or Spanish-dominant Hispanics to have heard of each prominent Hispanic." With the exception of Ramos, all of the leaders tested in the survey were U.S born. Perhaps too many second and third generation kids fell asleep in American Government in high school? Or do we need to watch more telenoticias?

I then started to wonder if we really even need a leader. Is it really necessary or plausible? Can one person really represent and fight for the interests of a group that's so incredibly diverse? Within the community, Latinos are at odds over so many day-to-day things, forget about getting us to agree on politics.

But then I read that one thing majority of Latinos can agree upon are feelings of discrimination in the U.S., with 61 percent saying that it is still a “major problem”, up from 47 percent in 2002, according to data in the report. Maybe it is time to start looking for the next great Latino uniter...

Wish I were in Santiago tonight

2010-11-17T12:13:00.009-08:00

If only to attend this show:

Two awesome Chilean musicians in one show for FREE!

Ms. Tijoux is so rad

and I've had Gepe on repeat on Grooveshark since I first heard

Totally different but equally impressive. So jealous of everyone in Santiago today.

This time change isn't helping

2010-11-16T17:58:00.003-08:00

A few things I've learned from being in a modern, international, long-distance relationship:

1. Trust is crucial.

2. Quality of web video, access to a working computer with high-speed internet, or lack there of, can cause problems.

3. Men in my country seem a lot less interesting. (Not that I was looking.)

4. The recent time change that now separates time in Buenos Aires and Los Angeles by five hours, in which BA is ahead, really makes life even more difficult. (I don't know how my sister did it with 8 hours separating her and England for so long.) My job serving drinks, and the nocturnal lifestyle that goes along with it, compound the problem. Arriving home tipsy at 3:30 am, getting ready to end the day and logging on to chat in bed, don't bode well with a boyfriend in another hemisphere who's been up for an hour, finishing his cafe and getting ready to head to university.

5. More lifestyle changes than anticipated may be in order.

Idola: Renata Medina

2010-11-15T19:09:00.015-08:00

Oh, Renata*. You sinister yet seductive dark angel/devil of Malparida, the greatest Argentine novela ever.

I've watched you from your humble beginnings as a girl from the wrong side of the tracks intent on avenging your mother's death:

to coming closer to your fulfilling your mission to marry your scorned mother's ex-lover, plotting to kill him by breaking his heart:

while sleeping with his hot, married son along the way:

and his evil, younger brother.

As I watch you descend deeper into the madness brought on by your thirst for revenge, I realize that if I were a character in a prime-time South American soap opera, I would totally want to be you. Who else can look this good tossing their enemy's unconscious body into a construction ditch while using stiletto booties to kick a barrel onto their head?

And while we're on the subject, you were totally killin' it in that white suit at the Megabrokers yacht party a couple of weeks ago.

I've also been rockin' one of your hairdos lately. Just for practice.

So just keep on being beautiful and berserk and I'll faithfully keep on watching and rooting for the dark side via internet. You've made 126 episodes fly by like 126 seconds.

*Just to be clear, I'm talking about Renata Medina, the fictional character, not the actress who plays her. Because honestly, I've seen interviews and she seems kind of like a spoiled brat.

Latin Grammys just as lame as regular Grammys

2010-11-12T13:22:00.015-08:00

I'll be honest. I didn't even watch the Latin Grammys last night. I worked, the Laker game was on the TVs there, and even if I had been home with nothing to do, I still wouldn't have watched it.

So when I opened my Google Reader and the first thing I saw were the headlines regarding last night's show and pictures of Mexican pop-rock band Camila everywhere, I felt assured that I didn't miss anything important or even mildly interesting. Then I looked at the picture again and said "bleh!" and "WTF are they wearing?" aloud. Can't those guys afford decent stylists and why do their haircuts look like Kate Gosselin's did two years ago?

(latimes)
What did interest me was reading the recaps here, here, here, here, here, and of course, here. Though most on point was NPR's Alt.Latino blog, in which Jasmine Garsd and Felix Contreras sum up my feelings about the U.S. Latin music industry in general.

It was basically business as usual. The same faces, the same ridiculous one-dimensional portrayal of Latino-ness. I'm so tired of seeing Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony at any event that has Latin or Hispanic in it. The 90's, early 2000s are over, it's high time the media features some fresh, new Latin superstars. And Charo? Really? Really? Who invited her?

It all just seems so stale.

Don't get me wrong, there were some artists featured who do deserve recognition, namely Juan Luis Guerra and Alex Cuba, amongst others. And I must admit, even though it's super cheesy and they played the f*ck out of it in South America and on Spanish radio here, I do like that Chino and Nacho song. I still bump it in my car when I'm alone. Que vergüenza, I know.

On the bright side, Julieta Venegas did win a production award for this video, which I love:

And Cerati did get nods for Best Rock Album and Song. Though I do think Chetes' Hipnosis is a better record and that Banda de Turistas' Lo Comandas is one of the best singles I've heard in a long time. But whatever. I'm just a music fan who actually buys real cds and frequently attends concerts and stuff, so what does my opinion matter?

Btw, neither Venegas nor Cerati were actually mentioned on the telecast so I really didn't need to watch it.

The one silver-lining is that the Latin Grammy's did bring the Argentines in Banda de Turistas up to this hemisphere, which means I'll be here on Sunday to see them in their first West Coast performance. Horray for Latin Grammy spillover shows!

Welcome to the club

2010-11-03T15:47:00.005-07:00

After being back in California for three months, one thing is becoming apparent. The only thing that gives me more pleasure than speaking castellano in South America is speaking Spanish in the United States.

Life was incredibly frustrating before learning Spanish. People always assumed I spoke the language of my grandparents and some, upon discovering I did not or spoke very little, seemed disappointed or slightly judgmental. Where Asians, Caucasians, African-Americans, basically anyone who's not Latino, in this country are applauded for what little Spanish they may know, I always felt like I was trying to apologize or give excuses for my linguistic deficit.

Now the only explanation I have to provide is why I speak with a different accent than most other Spanish speakers where I live.

This revelation hit me by surprise at family birthday party last August. For the first time I could understand all the jokes that my dad's cousins, aunts, and uncles told. As my relatives' conversations slipped seamlessly between English and Spanish I was able to keep up with everything and contribute. It may sound like everyday life to most people who grow up speaking Spanish, but for me, it added new dimensions and understandings to my family and our culture.

My first job when I returned from Argentina was at a restaurant where I used to work at a few years ago. Everyone in the back of the house, the cooks, busboys, food preparers, are all Central American or Mexican. A lot of the faces were the same as the first time I worked there and they got a total kick out of my new communication skills. During our conversations I noticed that many of them would speak about certain, sometimes more personal topics only in Spanish. I got to know some the others, namely dishwashers and bussers, who couldn't speak very much English if any at all, on a deeper basis than just asking them to clean-off a table.

I quit that job for my current one as a bartender at a restaurant owned by a Salvadorean-Nicaraguan family. The parents/owners speak fluent English but you wouldn't realize that if you heard how they address most of the employees, most of whom are also Spanish speakers that were born in the U.S. When my friend hooked me up with the job and I spoke with La Mama, I knew I'd won her over addressing her with my formal, yet politely pleasant, Spanish. Said friend, who's in good with the whole family, later told me in reference to the mom, "She's temperamental but I can tell she likes you." I'm pretty sure I can attribute that to the fact that we speak the same language.

I think my proudest moment so far was a party last week when one of my childhood friends, Laura, who spent many of her formative years living in Mexico, was telling her mother-in-law about me and how impressed she was with my Spanish skills and the fact that I went from 0 to fluent in a matter of years. I love that even my friends are happy for me.

I remember a lecture during university in which one of my professors urged us to learn a second or third language and made a statement like, "Speaking only one language is like seeing the world through only one eye." Not only was I able to see other worlds, Chile and Argentina primarily, more clearly but now I see my own world in richer colors. I'm thankful for that everyday and am reminded every time I hear or speak the language I worked so hard to make mine.

Bumoto Ako and USA!!! A-OK!!!

2010-11-02T14:03:00.007-07:00

After reading Emily's latest post, I was reminded that November is National Blog Posting Month. I didn't blog yesterday, which means I'm already a day behind, so I've decided to use November as post more than once a month month.

It's Election Day in the U.S., and I'm so happy that this means the end of all those annoying commercials on T.V., and those obnoxious mailers filling up my postbox and wasting trees. This morning I voted and was rewarded afterward with the rad, multilingual "I voted" sticker:

For anyone else reading this in the U.S., is it commmon to have "I voted" in this many Asian dialects, or is it a San Gabriel Valley thing? (Btw, Bumoto Ako is Tagalog.)

In other personal news, my boyfriend in Buenos Aires obtained a B-2 Visitor Visa last week! Even more exciting is that it's valid for 10 years! We were both stressing that for the past few months and it's such a relief that all the paperwork and interviews are done with. I can't wait to take a road trip with him to Vegas.

Month without a computer...

2010-10-30T00:43:00.002-07:00

Means a very long blog hiatus.

Still waiting for my laptop to be fixed. Yeah, it really sucks having extremely limited access to the internet but in the meantime I've actually started running, finished two books, started three others, cleaned out my entire room, donated all those old clothes to charity, learned new recipes, met a new neighbor, read the last four editions of the Sunday Times cover to cover, watched too many episodes of Caso Cerrado, and had quite a few interesting late night conversations with my mother.

It's been an interesting few weeks of discovery, reflection, and occasional boredom. I miss my computer.

Maradona à la japonés

2010-09-28T15:03:00.010-07:00

(lanacion-canchallena)

Instead of South Americans making fun of "chinos" the Japanese have flipped the script and took a few shots at one of Argentina's most famous exports - el Diego. The first impersonator is making fun of Maradona's behavior during last summer's World Cup and the second, who runs out in athletic gear brandishing a weapon, is alluding to a 1994 incident in which he shot at reporters with an air rifle outside his home. I love crazy Japanese TV and in my opinion, they pretty much nailed it.

After watching that second video, I think the Japanese may have even toned it down a little. It's a pity that the AFA didn't renew his contract for 2014.

Felices Fiestas Patrias, Chile

2010-09-18T15:58:00.002-07:00

The song doesn't have much to do with Santiago or the country, I just like it and the video reminds me of beach trips I took while living in Chile. For more about Chile's bicentennial celebrations check out CachandoChile or Bearshapedsphere.

Battle of the Bicentenarios: El tamal v. La humita

2010-09-16T11:59:00.007-07:00

terra.com.mx
Two of my favorite of Spain's rebellious offspring, Chile and Mexico, are celebrating bicentenials this week and all the commotion surrounding the festivities has made me think about what I love most about those countries.

Mexico gave me my grandparents, has some kick-ass beaches, and is home to Gael Garcia Bernal, but Chile is where I can say I really began to learn Spanish and acquire a deeper understanding of Latin America. Then I started thinking of food, landscapes, literature, and cultures, and realized I feel connections with both countries, equally as profound but in different ways. Like children, I can't decide between the two and I love them both the same.

But after spending time in and appreciating what has come out of both countries, I can say that there are things I prefer more in one over the other, specifically when I was eating a tamal and thinking about its Chilean cousin the humita. I like them both but if I had to live on a desert island with only the option of one to sustain me which I would choose and why...

The contenders:

From the north comes el tamal, Mexico’s favorite gift to unwrap at Christmas and year-round.

(laeastside)

In the southern corner is la humita, one of Chileans’ favorite choices in a nation where King Choclo reigns supreme.

(eatingchile)

Preparation:

In their humble beginnings, tamales and humitas pretty much start the same. A lot of corn dough here, a little salt and oil or lard there, later to be wrapped and tied up in a husk and steamed or boiled. Sounds easy but ask any abuelita from Santiago or D.F. who will tell you that both are time consuming, pains in the culo to prepare. But then Mexicans add that extra special something in the middle, requiring yet more labor and toil in the kitchen.

Verdict: Given that humitas can actually be made by a single person in a couple of hours without an army of aunts, cousins, friends, and neighbors filling an assembly line, my lazy ass is going with the Chileans on this one.

Variety:

Visit 100 different cities in Mexico and you'll sample 100 different tamales, as well as ending up with a pansa similar to the pot they’re steamed in. Sweet, savory, meaty, vegetarian, cheesy, or filling less, banana-leaf wrapped, there’s a tamal out there for everyone. Visit 100 cities in Chile and it's likely they’ll all be serving the same humita with slight variations on the basil-to-corn ratio, unless someone gets crazy and adds a little goat cheese to the dough, something rare and frowned upon by humita purists.

Verdict: Corn's pretty great and all, but I'm the kind of Latino who likes a lot of spice (and pork and chicken and green chiles) in her life. Mexico takes this one.

Overall:

Both pretty little corn husk bundles, humitas and tamales are kind of like Mexicans and Chileans. From the outside an untrained eye might mistake them for the same, but the similarities end once delving into their delicious insides.

Verdict: Humitas and tamales taunt with their shiny, tempting packaging, satisfy with their tasty interiors, and will both mercilessly steam burn the anxious and hungry consumer if unraveled too fast. I like the way that humitas are more moist and choclo-y but can only eat one-and-a-half and then I'm kind of done. But every tamal is a surprise. Even if someone tells you it's vegetarian, you never know what you're going to get. If I were forced to choose I think I'd lean toward my ancestors on this one.

Since I love most food that comes out my grandpa's big black pot or is sold by street vendors on both sides of the equator, so I'm not going to say one is really better than the other.

I'm really hungry now after writing this so I'm headed down to one of my favorite restaurants to celebrate Mexico's Independence and 100-year-anniversary of the Revolution with a Bohemia and all kinds of other deliciousness.

The power of scent

2010-09-01T11:42:00.002-07:00

A few days ago I was rummaging through a bag of clothes that I still hadn't sorted after moving. I found one of my favorite long sleeve t-shirts that I hadn't worn since leaving Argentina and slipped it on. The fragrance of the fabric softener from the corner lavanderia was strong enough to feel like only yesterday I had taken a load of laundry in to be washed. Immediately a rush of memories and images flooded my mind - the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, the cleaners on the corner of Juan Peron and Ayacucho where they called me "California Girl", the sheets we slept in, his bright turquoise v-neck sweater that soon became mine. The feelings were so strong I had to distract myself in order not to cry.

So I cut off the sleeves, the neck, and the bottom. I've worn it and slept in it for the past three days straight. The scent is gone now but I still keep smelling my shoulder to see if by chance I can catch just a tiny whiff.

Living out my Julieta Venegas fantasy in La Plata

2010-08-26T12:21:00.020-07:00

Before leaving Argentina, my boyfriend and I were watching some music videos online when this one came up:

My boyfriend mentioned that it had been shot in La Plata, Argentina, capital of the Buenos Aires Province, about half an hour outside of the city of Buenos Aires.

At first I doubted him because he has the tendency to confuse everything great and everyone famous for being from Argentina, but then he showed me the Republica de los Ninos site. According to the site, RDLN was also the inspiration for Disneyland during one of Walt Disney's trips to South America.

Both the little kid and the Julieta Venegas fanatica in me were extremely intrigued. So the next morning we hopped on the train from the Constitution station and approximately 75 cents and forty minutes later we arrived in La Plata.

RDLN was a ten minute walk from the station which led us to the back entrance. I thought I was going to arrive and see castles and all the cool stuff from the video, but instead it was fields of grass and the rides that weren't in operation - it was a Wednesday in the middle of Winter - which gave it kind of a scary abandoned theme park kind of feel.

I wasn't trying to get fancy with the pictures above, rather it was so sunny when we arrived that I didn't realize that I had been taking pictures on some special color mode. But after reviewing them I kind of liked the gray because it captured the eeriness better.

Keeping an eye out for creepy leftover carnies, we walked some more until we started seeing castles like these:

Eventually we made it to the set of the video, on the opposite end of the park. My first impression was how much it resembled Disneyland's Mainstreet. Or I guess how much Mainstreet Disneyland resembles RDLN.

I walked backwards down the above path trying to do my best JV impression. Luckily there weren't too many people there so I had lots of space to wander and stumble while the bf filmed me. And I'm not going to embarrass myself here by posting the video.

After a ridiculously overpriced cafe con leche from the only restaurant open, we stopped by the mosque:

We also found a lake with paddle boats and sailboats:

the planetarium:

an amphitheater:

and an animal farm:

It's hard to see from the pictures but everything was miniature and literally made for kids. There were playgrounds, a child size courtroom, a small church, and even a little train. It was all pretty cute. I would have loved to have come to picnic on a Spring day and ride the bumper cars.

I wouldn't suggest making a whole day trip out of RDLN in the Winter, especially if it's not vacation time as none of the rides were working and none of the dancing people from the video were there. But if you're in Buenos Aires with kids or bored with the parks in the capital during the other three seasons, I would suggest a visit.

Thoughts on international relationships

2010-07-27T06:11:00.005-07:00

I'm sitting in the Mexico City airport surrounded by other travelers with more than three hours to kill until my next flight takes off. I've had a lot of time to think and with the tearful goodbye to my boyfriend in Argentina fresh in my mind, I've obviously been thinking a lot about long distance, specifically international, relationships.

In my opinion, despite the distance, these types of relationships tend to become extremely intense and decisive. This isn't true for all couples, but from the people I know who are or were in a long distance relationships it's often turned out this way. For example, my sister met a young lad from England and within a year they were married, she had their baby girl and now he lives in California with her. I read a lot of blogs from people in South America who met and got married to their significant other within a relatively short period of time. I met a Mexican man on the plane yesterday who had been dating his Columbian girlfriend for 6 months. They are planning on marrying and moving to Sonora, MX before the end of the year. If gay marriage were legal in California, one of my friends from UCLA, who no one ever thought was going to settle down, would have married his Turkish boyfriend who he's been dating for less than two years.

I feel like when you live in the same city or even country as your partner, there's a lot of room for ambiguity and doubt. There's the impression that that person has been or always will be there, and they are taken for granted easier, so maybe boredom comes quicker or it's more difficult to commit or all the little annoying things about them just grow and get in the way.

But international relationships add excitment and novelty which in turn breed more passion. You come from different places, speak different languages, have different ideas and perspectives on so many things. One of the things I've appreciated the most about dating men in other countries is that I felt like I was learning something new all the time. And then when it comes time for one person in the relationship to go back to their country of origin, the dynamics change again. It turns into longing and desire and desperation.

I'm not saying EVERY long distance relationship is this way. Or perhaps I'm just really surprised at the level of devotion and commitment because I come from a city, L.A., that, as described by a friend who moved to California from New Orleans, is full of good-looking, somewhat shallow people who don't want to commit and are always waiting for something better to come along. As an angeleno, I can half agree with that statement.

All I do know for sure is that I have crazy thoughts running in my head now. Crazy thoughts of marriage. I'm not saying I'm going to marry my current boyfriend tomorrow, but now I'm wondering if I've met someone who is marriage material. I know my friends in California are probably choking on their cocktails as they read this, but it's true. I blame my sister for using herself as an example and pointing out that if all else fails and my boyfriend doesn't get a visa to come visit me, perhaps we can follow her and her husbands lead and take a stroll down the aisle. I also blame lack of sleep, my 32 day cycle, and a terrible thirst that can't be quenched because I don't have MX pesos for such ramblings.

I guess my man and I are just going to take it day by day and see what happens. Yesterday, before the taxi arrived to take me to the airport, I skyped my sister in a fit of tears and she calmed my nerves by telling me that these relationships do work and that now it's just going to be like I have a boyfriend who is really busy all the time. Which sounds odd but was kind of comforting?

I'd be interested in hearing from other people who are or were in this type of situation and how you made it work or new it wasn't going to happen.

Me voy

2010-07-26T11:09:00.002-07:00

Leaving someone I love behind, half a world away, is the worst feeling ever.

Perfect lazy Sunday in Buenos Aires

2010-07-11T16:14:00.004-07:00

I love this city for all its hustle and bustle but sometimes I love it even more on days like today. Buenos Aires hasn't seemed this quiet since the hour long silence last Saturday after Argentina's World Cup dream was crushed.

It's dreary and drizzling so I didn't feel bad about waking up at half-past noon. The day started off right when my boyfriend announced he was going to pick up medialunas and the morning paper.

I've only left the house once today to buy vegetables for lunch. As I was walking down Ayacucho towards Rivadavia Ave., I realized how quiet everything was. No cars were honking at each other, I wasn't breathing in black bus exhaust, nor were there any people inching their way painfully slowly down the sidewalks. The silence, the damp air, and the grey sky all created a surprisingly calm and comforting feeling inside of me.

I'm leaving Buenos Aires in two weeks so even though I should be soaking up every inch of the city, it feels so lovely to spend a day indoors doing nothing but reading the paper, watching the last World Cup game, and spending quality time with my man.

The next two weeks are going to be a blur so it's nice to enjoy some calm before the craziness ensues.

I've changed my mind a million times...

2010-06-27T10:11:00.009-07:00

Green shirt? Blue striped shirt? Green shirt? Blue striped shirt?

I'm watching a TV station in Spanish from Los Angeles online that's pro-Mexico and it's got me torn! We're leaving to watch the ARG-MEX game at a bar and I can't decide what to wear. And it doesn't help that my sister just sent a threatening email warning me not to be a traitor.

Green shirt.

Dual loyalties

2010-06-25T12:19:00.009-07:00

The World Cup is making me question my fidelity.

Of course whenever the U.S. team plays, I'm going to root for them. It's my country and I wasn't lying when I put my little hand over my heart and said the Pledge of the Allegiance day after day in elementary school. I made a promise and I'm stayin' true to the red, white, and blue.

But then after that everything gets blurry when other colors start mixing in. Particularly red, white, and green, and celestial blue and white.

There are a lot of soccer crazy countries in the world but I think I can safely say that Argentina has to be up there as one of the most passionate-someone-might-get-killed-during-this-game futbol nations. Though I think sometimes the passion is taken a little too far, it's exciting to be in this country during the cup. One of soccer's living legends is coaching a team full of some of the top footballers, including the best, in the world. It's hard not to get caught up.

So as much as I hate to say it, I really really really really really hope Argentina wins it all. Don't get me wrong, I'm still all about cheering on my patria and if it came down to a game between the U.S. and Argentina, I'd choose the U.S., but it would be pretty agonizing.

Then there's Mexico. While watching the Argentina-Greece game on Tuesday on a giant screen downtown, I saw a young man wrapped in a Mexican flag, face painted, wearing a green jersey, and I felt a little twinge of guilt. What would my grandparents say if they saw me waving a little blue and white flag and screaming over a goal by Martin Palermo? Then I felt worse when I realized that Argentina and Mexico would be facing off on Sunday.

But then after walking around this city that I have grown to love so much, holding hands with my Argentine man who makes me feel at home in this foriegn country, and listening to people celebrating on the streets and on TV, I knew that I'd been cheering on Diego's squad.

Any other game, against any other team (except the U.S.) I'd root for Mexico. But not this year.

The sidewalk ain't for fancy walkin'

2010-06-09T17:42:00.002-07:00

Pet peeve #2,348: Annoying, inconsiderate and meandering pedestrians.

This can happen in any major city with a large population that relies on public transportation. Except L.A. because it's true what they say.

Top offenders include:

The group of girl friends who pretend they are starring in a scene from Sex and the City and have to walk in an impenetrable row of four.

The family with the huge stroller and the toddler who can barely take two steps yet are using the dirty streets as their personal learn-how-to-walk zone.

The old couple walking arm-in-arm that has to stop abruptly in front of EVERY store window and gawk at the windows while standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

The pairs of teenagers holding hands yet standing two feet apart, strolling the streets like they ain't got no where to be even though it's noon on a Wednesday.

The dog owners out walking their two dogs attached to leashes with large canines going in opposite directions.

The confused tourists who pull out a map or fight over directions in the middle of rush hour.

Millions of us busy people have millions of places to be so take it to the park, walk faster or get off the damn sidewalk!

And God spoke to the Argentines...

2010-05-29T19:11:00.007-07:00

It's been an exciting year for Argentina. With the bicentenial, the World Cup, and Buenos Aires' ranking as the most livable South American city, 2010 ain't looking so bad.

It's going so well that God himself has decided to step in and provide words of encouragement to los argentinos. First, according to a speech made by Cristina Kirchner at the opening of the bicentenial fesitivites, God specifically wanted her to be president.

(Image from the Argentine Post via Dr. Lecter/La cena esta servida)

Even more incredible is that the beer maker Quilmes even caught God speaking on tape to Argentines across the nation. (And might I add that I was quite surprised to find he has a porteño accent!)

(The English subtitles are pretty crappy but was the only video I could find!)

So apparently God's a supporter of Argentina's national team AND the Partido Justicialista. Does this mean I'm going to be damned to hell forver if I root for the U.S. in the World Cup and/or contribute to Socialist Party causes in Buenos Aires?

1977

2010-05-28T18:30:00.003-07:00

Ok, so I'm a little late on this:

But that doesn't make French-Chilena Ana Tijoux nor this song 1977 any less awesome. And yes, she's the same rapper from that Julieta Venegas song.

Via Zancada

Happy Birthday, Argentina

2010-05-25T17:21:00.003-07:00

Party like it's 1810

2010-05-23T06:00:00.001-07:00

To commemorate the 200th anniversary of the Revolución de Mayo, Argentina is throwing itself a mega fiesta in the center of Buenos Aires.

The 12-lane avenue 9 de Julio has been closed off for over 10 blocks and noisy traffic has been replaced by numerous displays of all things Argentine. There are four stages for music, dance recitals and speeches, the largest set up directly in front of the Obeslisco.

Each night highlights a particular style of music. Friday was a tribute to National Rock, Saturday a celebration of Latin American music, and tonight is dedicated to folklore. Participating artists include rockers Virus, Las Pelotas, Chilean band Los Jaivas and Oscar winning producer and musician Gustavo Santaolla which means thousands of Argentines were dancin' and drinkin' the unofficial national cerveza in the streets.

Flanking the west side of the Avenida 9 de Julio are food and concessions from Argentina and beyond. On the east side, are pavillons representing each of the nation's 24 provinces with a 25th added to include Argentines residing outside of the country.

Some of the other streets nearby have been (mostly) cut off from traffic and decorated in celeste blue and white, including Avenida de Mayo, which leads to the Casa Rosada.

And Avenida Corrientes, heart of the theater district, appeared to be even more chaotic than usual, even without bumper to bumper traffic.

Across from La Casa Rosada, the historical Cabildo had been repainted for the bicentenial and looked absolutely luminous.

And last night the national Congress building was decked out and lit up with giant speakers blaring Argentine anthems.

Even in a city like Buenos Aires where every day there's something new and exciting to see or do, I have to admit I was impressed by all of the spectacle surrounding the anniversary of the revolution. I'm excited just to be in Argentina at this moment in time so I can only imagine that Argentines feel even more orgullosos than usual.

I'm attending a few more of the events tonight so I'll try to post more pictures of the events in the coming days. ¡Vamos Argentina!

Que te mejores pronto, Gustavo...

2010-05-19T21:36:00.009-07:00

A living legend of Argentine rock, Gustavo Cerati, has been in a Caracas hospital since Sunday after suffering a cerebral stroke following a performance. At the time of this posting, he was in a medically induced coma in what doctors have been calling critical but stable condition.

Me and a ton of other Cerati fans across South America are hoping that el maestro pulls through. His music, solo and with Soda Stereo, is one of the reasons why I initially developed such a strong interest in Argentina. Even when I couldn't string a coherent sentence together in Spanish I could still sing all of the words to every song on Bocanada.

So tonight I'm sending positive thoughts towards Venezuela and truly hoping Cerati can do impossible things and have a quick and full recovery.

I love Somebody that Loves Me

2010-05-14T21:34:00.008-07:00

I'm kind of embarrased to admit this so I'll just announce it on my blog for the world to read. I've become obsessed with telenovelas.

Like, obsessed and involved to a point where I yell at the TV and certain characters have the capacity to give me an upset stomach after watching them do their evil deeds. Obsessed to where I care enough to join a teletrece forum just to bitch with all the other Alguien que me quiera (Someone that loves me) fans about how messed up the time change from 21:45 to 17:00 was.

I even stay up late when I have to work early so that I can watch once a week gems like Mujeres Asesinas (Women Assassins)

and then worry about not being able to see it in the U.S. and being stuck watching the Mexican remake of the Argentine original.

The downside to all of this is that I think I may have become too emotionally involved with Alguien que me quiera, Mujeres Asesinas, and Malparida. Whatmore, I spend an average of 2.5 hours a day watching TV now.

The upside? My Argentine Spanish comprehension and vocabulary has improved by leaps and bounds since I began watching all these shows. I swear I even dream in Spanish now. Sure, I may have visions of illegitimate children, terminal illnesses, love triangles, murder, incest and bloody revenge, but I'm dreaming in Spanish nonetheless.

And yes, I realize how ridiculous the plot lines and characters are but I love them all anyway. And no, teletrece did not pay me to write this. Though they should have.

Questions sin respuestas?

2010-05-14T10:20:00.011-07:00

Or proof that I just think/read too much:

Now that I speak Spanish, does it make me more of a Latino? But if I speak Spanish like a South American, does that make me less Mexican-American? When I return to Los Angeles and talk to Spanish speakers there, do I have to drop the vos, the boludos, the ches and the chaus so that people don't think I'm being pretentious?

Why is it that some South Americans, mainly Argentines and Chileans who live thousands of miles away from where I was born, have been quick to embrace me as Latino brethren, whereas Mexican-Americans in California and Mexican nationals right across the border were always quick to distance themselves from me just because I didn't speak Spanish?

And why are some foreigners in South America so desperate to display how much better their Spanish is than other foreigners and always trying to one-up each other instead of help? And why are Latinos in the U.S. always putting each other down or arguing amongst each other about who's Spanish sucks and hating on people who make attemps that aren't always perfect, but should get credit for at least trying?

Why do some Latinos feel like they have to prove their latinoness while others try to deny it? Why does this all even matter?

"It can be tough being a member of an ethnic group that is so synonymous with immigration. Even if their immigrant ancestors came early in the 20th century, continuous immigration means that Mexican-Americans are never safe from erroneous assumptions that they are foreigners... ask the later-generation descendants of earlier waves of Mexican immigrants, and they'll tell you that "Where are you from ... no, where are you really from?" are questions that they have to field all too often. And even if it's clear that they are Mexican-Americans, they still get quizzed about how well they speak Spanish. Assumptions about them being foreign turn from annoying to downright scary when law enforcement personnel suspect them of being illegal immigrants." - author Tomás Jiménez via CNN

Days like this make me wish I were from a country like France so I could just say, "Yeah, I'm French, I speak French and my family's been nothing but French for 400 years". I imagine that cultural identity must be so easy for them.

Bad service and bad tips (yet good food) in Buenos Aires

2010-05-05T09:24:00.017-07:00

Two months after turning 16 I got my first job as a restaurant hostess. A little while later I moved up to waitress and stayed there for about 7 more years working my way through college. Two years after graduating college, I went back to waitressing at night and on the weekends to further supplement my income until I left for South America. I know the ins and outs of the business, I've worked in different restaurants, bars and nightclubs, done breakfast, lunch, dinner, happy hour, late night and basically I've seen it all when it comes to serving.

Other than bad tippers, nothing irks me more than bad service. Which happens to me all the time in Buenos Aires and drives me absolutely crazy. In the 10 months I've lived here I think I've received good service twice and one of those times I was sitting at the bar so it doesn't really count since it was a bartender and not a waiter.

Examples of bad service in just the past week:

A.) Last Sunday afternoon at a cafe in San Telmo I asked the waitress for a sifon of soda, which is like a spray bottle of fizzy water, for my friend and I to share, and I heard her say, "Ok, two mineral waters with gas". I told her, "No, I want a sifon, not bottled mineral water," which would have cost almost three times as much. To which she rudely replied, "No, estos no son para ustedes". (Those aren't for you two.) I've ordered sifons many times at the same cafe and asked, "What do you mean, they're not for us? I want a sifon." A man behind the bar was watching us and she turned around and asked him about the sifons and he nodded his head and told her we could indeed order a sifon. Why she had to get attitude and make it all difficult, I have no idea. I just wanted my sifon.

B.) Last Saturday night I went out with my boyfriend and friend to a nice and extremely popular restaurant in Palermo. Not super swanky but not McDonald's either. I started to ask for a beer and then decided to order a bottle of wine instead. The waiter told me they didn't have that kind of wine. I asked him for a recommendation to which he shortly replied, "you should just get the beer". It's his job to upsell and try to get me to buy a $45 peso bottle of wine rather than a $15 peso liter of beer. WTF? The waiter only returned to bring us our drinks and our food. He never brought napkins, never checked back on us, never asked if we wanted more drinks. The bill came out to $85 pesos. We put down two $100 peso notes and I clearly asked him for change. He came back with $15 pesos, nothing more and left. My boyfriend went after him immediately to ask for the change and was told that it wasn't the waiter's problem and he had to talk to the cashier. We finally got the $100 pesos back in the form of two $50 peso notes. Thanks, jerks.

C.) Last Thursday before my class I went to eat empanadas at a restaurant chain in Congreso. The bill was $15.25 pesos. I put down a $10 peso note and then turned back in my wallet to dig for the rest. While I was doing this the waiter picked up the 10 and put it in his waiter book. I put down six more pesos and he tells me that I need to put down 10 more. I told him that I did put it down and he took it. He said no and that he needed the rest of the money. Then we started arguing about the money. I was so angry at what I considered to be his old man forgetfulness that I was prepared to walk out and just leave and see what they would do. I hadn't done anything wrong and I could have out run him easily. He then puts down 75 centavos, walks away and mutters, "Well, I wasn't going to get rich off of 10 pesos". I related this to an Argentine friend who told me that he knew exactly what he was doing and was trying to take advantage of me being a foreigner. This made me super upset because it is a place I frequent often and won't be returning to.

I'd like to say that this were all random events but they are actually pretty common. As someone with extensive experience in the service industry, I used to be die-hard about tipping at least 15% even though the Argentine custom is 10% and the norm is 5% or nothing. I originally was appalled by the low tips people leave. Now I've become one of those people because the service here is completely horrendous.

If I ask for something without meat, for example a cheese and onion empanada, squash casserole with honey, spring rolls, etc etc, half the time they bring me the wrong item with meat and then get mad at me when I tell them I won't eat it and they need to bring me what I ORIGINALLY ORDERED straight off the menu.

The other day I was pondering all this and wondered, why? Why does restaurant service suck so bad here? Is it because servers don't expect to be tipped very well? Do customers tip poorly because they're cheap or because the service is usually crappy? Which came first? It's turned into this ugly cycle of bad service, bad tip, bad service, bad tip, that I don't see any escape from anytime soon.

*21/5/10 Update*
As suggested by Margaret from Cachando Chile, I've decided to name the above mentioned restuarants. But, to be fair, I should say that even though the service sucked, the food was delicious. Which is why there's a good chance I will go back to most of them.

a) The cafe in San Telmo is El Federal and it is actually one of my favorites in the city. The ravioli de calabaza (squash ravioli) kicks ass. Especially when paired with one of their artisan beers.

b) In my opinion Las Cabras has the best pastel de calabaza con miel (squash casserole with honey) in town, it just sucks that their service is always crappy.

c) And I actually kind of love the restaurant chain La Contiental for their empandadas de roquefort (blue cheese empanadas). The sheisty waiter works at the Av. Callao 202, but they have other locations all over the city. The people at the Flores site who do my to-go orders have always been pleasant.

A hot Argentine mess

2010-05-04T16:30:00.010-07:00

Sometimes I see T.V. so bad that it's awesome and I have to watch it again on youtube and then share it on my blog. This is what happens when rich people confuse having money for having talent, become dilusional and think they're Lady Gaga:

The sparkly leather and mesh covered mess you see above is Argentina's answer to Paris Hilton, Ricardo Fort. Fort is heir to the Felfort chocolate company and according to his now defunct wikipedia page, also an Argentinean businessman, socialite, and ex-model. In a nutshell, he's famous for being rich and acting ridiculous.

A familiar name in the Argentine press, mainly the gossip rags and daytime chat shows, Fort's always involved in some romantic scandal or getting some kind of new plastic surgery. I usually never paid much attention to him until I witnessed his mesmerizing perfomance on Show Match last night. And I'm serious when I say mesmerizing. The TV was only background noise for my boyfriend who was working on a project. I wasn't even watching it until Ricky came on the screen and then I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Out of the 303 views the video has gotten since posting this, I've probably watched it about 297 times. It's like a fascinating train wreck that I can't turn away from.

Allow me to be melancholy for a moment...

2010-05-02T19:22:00.002-07:00

But my good friend Aarika just left Buenos Aires today after studying Spanish here for three months. As as result, I'm suprisingly more sad than I thought I would be. We lived on opposite ends of the city and sometimes would go a week or so without seeing each other, but knowing that a trusted friend from home was only a bus ride away was very comforting to me.

It was hard to leave my family, friends and home behind a couple of months ago, but it was also difficult saying goodbye to a familiar face in a foreign city.

Which leads me to the question I've often asked other friends who have the propensity to pick up and move from place to place - is it harder to leave or to be the one left behind?

Arizona doesn't like brown people

2010-04-26T09:08:00.017-07:00

I don't support illegal immigration. But I do know a lot of people who are living in the U.S. illegally and I understand and sympathize with their reasons for entering/being brought into the country and staying.

Now that that's been said, this new law in Arizona is freaking ridiculous. As a person who comes from a state that also has problems with illegal immigration, I also believe that reform is necessary. But doing it this way is completely absurd and unconstitutional. It always amazes me that the people who claim to be protecting and conserving American ideals are the same ones who distort and destroy them.

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

The Word - No Problemo

www.colbertnation.com

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As Mr. Colbert points out, this law is all about racial profiling. It gives law enforcement officials the right to stop and detain anyone who looks illegal. But what does an illegal immigrant look like?

As a U.S. born citizen of Latino descent, someone who considers herself to be more American than apple pie, this makes me not want to EVER go to Arizona. It infuritates me to think that I could be minding my own business in Phoenix, speaking Spanish with my other U.S. born friends of Mexican descent and then have to prove to some racist law official that I do indeed have the right to be in my own country.

It sounds like something that would happen in a crazy police state from the future or the past. Plus, I'm often asbsent minded and have been known to leave the house without certain important things, cellphone, keys, wallet, id, etc, etc, so chances are that I wouldn't have the correct documentation and then my life would take a crazy turn and be just like a scene out of Born in East L.A.

I also thought about it from the other side, as a foreigner who looks different living legally in another country. I mean, if police in Argentina constantly stopped me on the street for looking too North American and asked me for proof that I was allowed to be here, I would have left along time ago.

Even though many people, including me, have made this a Latino issue, I think it should be portrayed more for what it is, a basic civil rights issue that involves all Americans, regardless of their ethnic background. It's not about being Mexican, it's about my rights as an American, damnit!

So I'm going to wait and see if the Federal goverment steps in, which they should considering that immigration is under federal jurisdiction. Until then I'm boycotting Arizona.

Back to school

2010-04-17T09:49:00.005-07:00

It's officially autumn in South America which not only means cold weather but also the official start of the school year. Because my Spanish grammar and writing could use some fine tuning, I enrolled in a redacción y gramática course at the Centro Cultural Ricardo Rojas, an extension of the University of Buenos Aires.

Right now the only writing I do in castellano is on chat and I need to break the habit of doing things like writing xq instead of porque, abbreviating every other word, and leaving happy or sad faces at the end of each sentence. Plus my punctuation sucks and I always forget about those upside down question marks and exclamations.

Two weeks ago I attended the first class, which takes place in a really cool old colegio, with a brand new notebook and a pen I bought specifically for the class. (Yes, I'm kind of nerdy that way.) It's been five years since I graduated from university and I was excited to be back in the academic environment as a student and not a teacher.

Even though I arrived early to the colegio, I was late for class because the administration had given me an incorrect aula number and I spent 10 minutes trying to navigate my way through three stories of poorly marked classrooms. Funny enough, the first room I walked into and sat down in was an English 1 class.

Once finding my class, I slipped my way in and tried to be as low profile as possible, taking a seat near the back of the room. My goal was to not stand out and have people think of me as the clueless "foreign" girl who needs extra help. I took some Spanish classes during college, but never really got to the level of composition classes or advanced grammar. My pet peeve is when people view me differently and talk extra slow or treat me like I have mental difficulties because I'm not from here. I guess I have a bit of a complex about having to try harder than everyone else just to be at the normal level.

After roll call and the course introduction, our first task was to pair up with someone and write a paragraph presenting them to the class. Here I realized that I was the only non-Argentine in the group. As my partner read aloud about me, I swear I heard heads turning and eyes gazing from every direction. When my turn came to read, my paragraph felt like FOREVER and my accent sounded more conspicuous than usual. The professor corrected a few of my mistakes, something he had also done with other students, but then went on to point out many grammatical problems that Anglo-Saxons tend to have with Spanish.

Taking notice of all this, the young woman in front of me introduced herself and asked me if I understood everything people were saying. She was really nice and offered to help me with anything I needed. I thanked her and told her as I've lived in South America for two years, I pretty much understood everything but I appreciated the offer. Plus, the professor is one of the five Argentines in the country who speaks clearly and uses proper Spanish.

As we were whispering the professor continued with his discourse and then asked me a question which I didn't hear because I was busy talking. I had to ask him to repeat what he had said, leading other members of the class to believe that I truly didn't understand what was happening. During our break a guy sitting next to me told me his sister lives in California and he could put me in contact with her so that she could help me with my Spanish since she also speaks English. Everyone's been really nice and helpful, yet ironically not helpful at all.

So now I realize I'm just going to have to put in extra effort to prove to my classmates that yes, I do speak Spanish fluently, perhaps just not properly. But I'm working on it. The good thing is that many of the Argentines in class are just as clueless about Spanish grammar as I am. The professor asked for an example of an adverb and the room went completely silent. When we were correcting homework exercises people started debating over things like subject-verb agreement and whether or not certain words were adjectives or nouns.

Now if I could only find a course that would teach me how to roll my rrs, I'd be set...

24 hour party people

2010-03-22T10:39:00.008-07:00

In many travel guides I've come across, Buenos Aires has often been referred to as the "Paris of the South." Personally, I think the nickname is kind of stupid and was probably created by someone who never actually lived in either city, but I've never been to France so I can't really say if it's accurate or not.

If I had to make a hasty generalization and compare Buenos Aires to another metropolis, it would be New York City. I have been to the Big Apple on numerous occasions and have noticed that the Argentine capital has a lot in common with the city that never sleeps. I even have an ongoing joke with a friend in NYC that he's living in the "Buenos Aires of the North." Heavy Italian influence, immigrants from all over the continent and the world, a thriving artistic community, prideful, in-your-face, unapologetic locals, renowned theater, streets chock full of yellow and black taxis, a dynamic music scene, mile after mile of grey buildings casting long shadows, graffiti in the subte, graffiti in the streets, and a contagious energy that fills the air day and night.

And when I say day and night, I literally mean ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT. I've partaken in dinners that have lasted until 3am, left movie screenings at 4 in the morning, entered clubs at hours when many people are waking up to go to work, and have found myself still drunk at 11am more often than I'd like to admit. It's a great city for people who love the nightlife.

But for those who have to work the nightlife, it can sometimes be hard to find the energy and stamina to go all night. (And I don't mean sex workers.) I work part-time at a popular bar/minidisco that is open six nights a week. I once went in on a Tuesday to start my shift around 10:30pm and naively assumed that because it was a weeknight I would get off early, hopefully around 2 or 3am. No such luck. I left that night/early morning at 5:15am and a lot of people were still hanging out dancing and finishing their drinks. On my way to the bus stop I passed cafes and little food stands and saw people sharing liters of beer and eating pizza and burgers. Like me, they were ending the night while many others were just beginnng the day.

After a recent Saturday night shift, I left work close to 7am and although we had stopped serving drinks, the dancefloor was steamy and packed. While I was exhausted and done with the throbbing music and cigarette stench, the crowd kept going like tomorrow would never come. I boarded a bus that drove through Palermo to the center, picking up partygoers that looked just as disheveled and slightly tipsy as I did. I tried not to nod off against the window and instead stared outside. Plenty of people were walking up and down the sidewalks, restaurants had tables full of people, and fast food joints had lines so long, one would imagine that it were lunchtime on a weekday.

In the end, I love high energy cities like NYC and BsAs. They're inspiring and I thrive off of the chaos, the hustle and bustle and the constant movement. I just need to learn how to tap into and channel that energy for work or else my boss will find me passed out, resting my head on a speaker blaring Luna de miel. (Which is THE jam, btw.)

The Return

2010-03-20T13:45:00.003-07:00

As Lydia pointed out in a comment a couple of weeks ago, I seem to have skipped a posting somewhere between Los Angeles and Buenos Aires. Sometimes I forget that there's other people following this blog aside from my loyal friends back home. (Jen & Tina)

Another reason is that coming back wasn't as easy as I thought it was going to be. When I left in December I had a plan. I was preparing to apply to a graduate program at the University of Buenos Aires and I had an idealized vision of how my life was going to be when I returned in February.

But then in the midst of the application process and after I had already purchased my ticket back to Argentina, things fell apart when I didn't secure the funding I needed to study here. Given that going to school was one of the primary reasons I wanted to return, to say I was disappointed would be an understatement. I decided to come back to Buenos Aires anyway.

The first three weeks back were more difficult than I imagined they would be. I missed my family and friends, had to adjust to the 7th new living situation in a year, suffered in the sweltering humidity after coming from a lovely Southern California winter, faced silence and rejection from one job application and interview after another, battled a horrible and tenacious cold, and questioned myself constantly about what I was doing with my life and why I came back.

So during that time I didn't really feel like writing anything at all.

Now things have improved. I found a really fun job which will make for lots of interesting stories later on. I'm going to take an UBA extension course which may not provide me with a degree but only costs a fraction of the price. And I've decided to go back home for good in the North American Summer, which makes me feel better about being apart from my two favorite people, my niece and my nephew.

Most importantly, I'm remembering the little things I love about this city and discovering all sorts of new stuff and meeting new people, all of which make me realize why I chose to come back.

4 reasons not to speak English with people from the U.S.

2010-03-17T10:35:00.011-07:00

As I've mentioned before, in terms of physical appearance, I'm lucky to blend in in South America. Everyone, foreigners and South Americans included, usually assumes I'm from Argentina, and if not Argentina, than from somewhere on the continent.

So it doesn't surprise me that people from my own country confuse me for being Argentine. Normally, I correct people and speak to them in English but for the following reasons I've decided that I'm not even going to bother.

1. It makes North Americans feel good about their Spanish skills or like they're interacting with the locals. I was exiting the San Juan subte station in San Telmo when a tall man with a blond beard and a hat approaches me and asks in thickly accented Spanish, "Perdoname. Donde esta calle Peru?" He seemed really nice and excited about being able to string those words together in a coherent sentence so I explained to him that it was "cuatro cuadras mas pa' alla" and gesticulated toward the direction. He repeated "cuatro cuadras" and gave me a big smile and looked so proud of himself and thanked me profusely. I couldn't bear to burst his bubble.

2. Sometimes they don't understand my English. I work at a bar that attracts a combination of foreigners and gays. Last night I waited on three women, two from the U.S. and one from Norway, who were all speaking English. The first time I went to take their order, I asked in Spanish but after seeing the difficulties they were having, I switched to English and they still kept responding in broken Spanish. For a split second I wondered if I had asked them something correctly but then remembered that I was using my native language and that I probably hadn't made any mistakes. I guess they just wanted to practice.

3. They seem disappointed that I'm North American and it makes their Argentine experience less authentic. A group of students from New York came into my work and as I went to clean up the shot glasses from their table I asked one of them where they were from and he turns and looks at me and says, "Wow, your English is really good!" So as I was telling him that I was from the US as well, he was still nice but started to lose interest very quickly and then turned to practice his Spanish with their Argentine guide that was taking them on a bar hop around Palermo.

4. Sometimes they're just jerks. If I could use the "I don't speak English" in the U.S. to get out of talking to complete douchebags, I totally would. I should have last night as I was waiting for the bus minding my own business and a young guy approached me. Normally I would have completely ignored him for safety reasons but given that there was a cop on the corner, I indulged him. He says, "Hola! Do you speak English?" I thought maybe he was lost or wanted to ask about the buses so I was like yeah. Big mistake. He starts asking me all kinds of stupid questions about my nationality (North American just like him), why I'm in Buenos Aires, if I had a boyfriend, what was I doing waiting for the bus at 5am and the most annoying of all, why I just didn't take a cab.(Because they're expensive and buses cost a fraction of the price and what may be "cheap" to him in US dollars is not so cheap to someone earning pesos. Dumbass.) When the 12 rolled up I had never been so happy to board a bus.

Keep in mind that all of this happened yesterday. I don't mind the first three types of people listed above. At least they were trying to speak the language spoken here and/or interact with real Argentines. That's cool. Just don't be a complete fool like the fourth guy. If I wouldn't give you the time of day in my own city, what makes you think I would want to do so in a foreign one?

Argentina Rocks for Chile

2010-03-14T11:40:00.008-07:00

As frustrating as it has been to see that most of the international media has forgotten about Chile and the earthquake, it's reassuring to know that Argentina has kept their southern cone sisters and brothers in mind, both in the news and through humanitarian aid. The neighboring Andean nations are well known for a centuries old rivalry but in this time of need it seems that most ill will has been pushed aside.

And what better way is there for Argentines to help than by organizing a massive concert and rocking out for the Chileans?

(Cerati image via RollingStone Argentina)

As if the weather gods were doing their part, yesterday was a perfect day to see live music outdoors. Happy to be out on such a breezy, sunny, humidity-free afternoon, a friend and I went to the Argentina Abraza a Chile concert in Belgrano to donate non-perishable food items and to hear one of my favorite Argentines, Gustavo Cerati. The show also featured Los Fabulosos Cadillacs, León Gieco, and others but Cerati's performance was definitely the highlight. In between songs the singer urged people to remember that this wasn't about governments but rather people in need. He also mentioned that he has a particularly close relationship with Chile, given that his two children were both born there.

At first I had doubts and was afraid that people would take advantage of the free show and open venue and that many would wander in without contributing anything. But after hearing that the first two trucks were filled within the first hour of the show and reading this morning that the 100,000 people who attended contributed 60 tons of supplies, my cynicism subsided. From what I witnessed, almost everyone came with bags of food and supplies.

So kudos to Argentina for maintaining awareness about Chileans in need and organizing a major and totally awesome event in their honor. And here's to hoping that Chile recovers quickly and emerges as an even stronger nation than before.

(RS Argentina)

The Oscar and the Argentines

2010-03-08T18:30:00.015-08:00

(AP)

Last night the Argentine film El Secreto de sus Ojos took home the prize for the Best Foreign Language film at the Academy Awards in Hollywood. I was so surprised to actually find the telecast on basic TV in Buenos Aires that I stayed up and watched the entire, kind of boring show.

In between awards there was a local host here in Argentina who made it pretty clear that the only category that really mattered was the Foreign Language category. So much so that I was sure they would cut off the program mid-transmission if Argentina didn't win.

But much to my surprise, the El Secreto de sus Ojos did emerge victorious and I felt kind of bad for telling the Argentine I was with that his country was probably going to go home empty handed. But in the end I was really happy that director Juan José Campanella took home the second Oscar ever for Argentina, the first being La historia oficial in 1985. And Campanella also gets props for declaring at the end of his English acceptance speech, "¡Vamos Argentina y un abrazo a los hermanos de Chile!" (Let's go Argentina and an embrace to our brothers in Chile!)

Help Chile help Chile

2010-03-05T22:19:00.001-08:00

Or help Kyle or Tyffanie or Google help Chile.

Dialing under the influence: The South America edition

2010-01-19T18:04:00.006-08:00

As a person who likes to indulge in a beer or ten every now and then, I've always prided myself on not being a drunk dialer. I used to have a boyfriend who would call me from different places in Mexico completely wasted to profess his love, say how much he missed me, and assure me he wasn't cheating with groupies. I'd question his logic and ask if his money and my time wouldn't have been better spent having a coherent conversation. And then I'd make fun of him after he'd get his cell phone bill.

So I have no idea why the other night after getting off of work and hanging out with co-workers I decided that it would be a good idea to call South America at 3:30am PST. At that moment I was incapable of counting my tips or lighting my own cigarette but had no problem turning on my computer, logging onto Skype and then calling a special someone in a certain Southern Cone capital.

I don't remember much of the conversation but I do remember thinking, "Hey, it's already 8:30am his time so I'm sure he's awake and would love to hear from a highly inebriated me first thing on a Monday morning! I should totally call him!"

Fortunately, the boy on the other end was happy to take my call. Probably because I was telling him how handsome he was and how I missed him and thought about him all the time and couldn't wait to see him when I got back. (Who doesn't like to have their ego stroked thousands of miles away?)

I woke up the next morning still in clothing from the previous night, makeup smeared, mouth tasting like Camels and Newcastle, with the laptop next to me thinking, "Oh, shit. What the hell have I done?" I looked at the Skype history and saw that we had a conversation for about 20 minutes. I had little recollection as to what we talked about.

Then today I was on facebook when he pops up on my chat to say hi. I acted like nothing happened and replied "Hey you! How was your weekend, did you go to the beach like you planned?" He responds with, "Are you serious? I told you all about it when we talked yesterday." Thankfully he had to get back to work at that moment so I didn't have to admit that se me apagó la tele (I drank so much I blacked out) or pretend like I did remember our conversation. Because I obviously didn't and I knew what would have come next. ("So then you didn't mean those things you were telling me?") And only he knows what else I may have said to embarrass myself.

So now I guess I'm going to have to find some way to restrict myself from making drunken, slurry Skype calls in my second language to cute boys on different continents. And thank god I only have the email for my crush in Madrid.

How I'm spending my Summer/Winter vacation

2010-01-15T12:20:00.014-08:00

1. Watching a lot of TV that's so bad it's good:

The Jerry Springer of Spanish language TV, Jose Luis Sin Censura is like a train wreck or a car accident. You shouldn't look but you can't help it and then you can't tear your eyes away.

2. Getting paid to get other people drunk:

I got a part-time job bartending at a friend's restaurant/bar that hosts bands and DJs at night. One of my favorite jobs ever. Expect another post on this topic when I recover from my work induced hangover.

3. Stuffing my face with my favorite junk food:

Grilled cheese and (animal style) fries with a chocolate shake! Worth breaking all my New Year's resolutions.

4. Spending quality time with babies and besties:

The best thing about being home.

First impressions of home

2009-12-15T21:16:00.006-08:00

1. The diversity is striking - Latinos and Asians and Middle Easterners and Blacks and Jews and mixed breeds like me. Everywhere. (And by Latinos I mean Mexicans and Mexican-Americans with Central Americans sprinkled in the mix.) I can't go anywhere without hearing Spanish and at least one other language. Today I had lunch with my Filipina best friend at a restaurant and listened to a lady speak Spanish on her cellphone behind us while the sushi chefs yelled at each other in Japanese.

2. You can't beat the weather - It rained all day Saturday which kind of sucked but cleared the sky so that the stars were visible instead of smog. Today the sky was a beautiful celestial blue, the sun low in the sky but shining and the city was framed by snow-capped mountains in the distance. The afternoon hit a high of 72F/21C and people were walking around in t-shirts and shorts.

3. Nobody walks in L.A. (County) - I thought I could get by here for 6 weeks without a car and it doesn't seem like that's going to happen. My dad lives in the suburbs and everything is FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR. The nearest grocery store is a mile away, the buses go nowhere and are basically useless and I hate feeling like a 15-year-old that has to beg her parents and older sister for a ride everywhere.

4. Everything is the same but different - I walked into the kitchen at my mom's house, where I was born and where she's lived for about 29 years, and it was totally redone. Same old kitchen but everything had changed. My friends and sisters are the same people they've always been, just with babies, new boyfriends/girlfriends, houses, husbands and living in new cities. Me included.

More to come as the honeymoon phase begins to wear off...

Add Dad?

2009-12-15T21:05:00.002-08:00

So I'm sitting in the kitchen right now chatting with friends overseas and looking for jobs in the neighborhood when an email from Facebook pops up. I just got a friend request from my Dad. Crap. He was looking for my older sister who just had a baby and found mine instead. He's on a roll, too. I just heard him ask about my other sister who was smart enough to keep hers hidden and never open an account.

So I can't play dumb and act like I didn't see it because now we're living under the same roof. I know that this is going to open flood gates to all kinds of aunts and older cousins who I haven't seen for ten years adding me too. Now I'm going to be all paranoid about friends and guys I'm dating leaving me comments and I'm going to have to keep it all clean from now on. I mean, he knows I drink and other stuff but I don't want him to know as to what extent I participate in such debaucheries. This may drive me to want to suspend/delete my profile. Damn.

Back in EEUU

2009-12-11T11:07:00.004-08:00

After tearing myself away from Buenos Aires, passing through the Mexico City airport, breezing through customs at LAX, and an incredible lunch of chilaquiles and chiles rellenos on the way from the airport, I finally arrived home. Or at least to my dad's house. I've spent the last 72 hours eating and drinking my way through the kitchen (I forgot how delicious cherry coke is!), learning English and trying to understand what the hell my sister's British boyfriend is saying, spending time with my niece and nephew, and watching the awesome crappiness that is U.S. television. (When did Salt n' Pepa get a show?)

More updates and a more coherent post to come later when I fully adjust to life home and California time.

Voy en camino a casa

2009-12-07T04:57:00.003-08:00

I've been waiting for this moment for so long and it feels strange to be going home. I'm packing my bags and there's an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach. I didn't think it would be so hard to leave South America/return to California. I feel like I have separation anxiety and I'm not sure why. Weird.

Sé que el tiempo solo pasa...

2009-12-04T14:47:00.006-08:00

It's hard to believe that 6 months in Buenos Aires have passed like nothing. Tonight is one of my last three nights here and there's so much I want/need to do and people I want to see that I don't know where to begin. As usual, I waited until the last minute to do everything and now I'm stressing about it getting done. Three different visitors from Santiago are in town this weekend which adds even more to my full plate, though I'm more than happy to spend time with them all.

So I'm just going to see where the weekend takes me. I don't really feel too much pressure because I know I'll be back.

I stole the name of this post from the lyrics of the latest single from Banda de Turistas. The video caught my eye a few weeks ago and this song has been on constant repeat in my head and headphones ever since. Their upcoming shows in Buenos Aires are just more things to add to the list of what I'll miss while I'm gone.

L.A. on the brain - 4 days and counting

2009-12-03T16:20:00.009-08:00

The closer I get to my departure date, the more anxious and excited I feel about going home. Buenos Aires has my heart for now but Los Angeles is a part of my soul.

L.A.'s been in the air lately, enticing me back. My friend Jen's visit last week was a reminder of all my favorite things I've been missing including style, people, places and music. Two of my students are going to visit L.A. during the holidays and we've been chatting about stuff to do in Southern California. Plus, I just saw the movie 500 Days of Summer, which I found to be very intriguing for several reasons. The story, the soundtrack, the actors, and the fact that the filmmakers made L.A. seem like a city with normal people and cool architecture, not just Hollywood, Venice and all the other fake bullshit which is how it's often portrayed to my dismay. Watching it made me get all excited about going home.

And then Monday morning I was going through the culture section of Clarin and read about how this year's Invitado de Honor at the 23rd Guadalajara International Book Fair is the city of Los Angeles. ¡Qué bárbaro! I really like Guadalajara (my grandmother was from Jalisco as well as my ex-suegra who I love almost like my own mom) and this makes it even cooler. Though I'm not so sure about the promo video for the FIL:

Read more about the book fair and the relationship between LA and MX at two of my favorite blogs Intersections or LA Eastside. In the meantime I'm going to be enjoying my last few days of Spring in Buenos Aires and packing for my return home.

Manu Chao in BA: Sweaty, rad and looooooong

2009-12-02T06:53:00.003-08:00

If I could choose any place in the world to see Manu Chao, I think Buenos Aires would be at the top of my list next to Mexico City. In terms of intensity, enthusiasm and endurance, last night's show lived up to definitely lived up to my expectations.

Even though the show was added last minute at the Estadio Cubierto Islas Malvinas, the place was packed. It was humid (of course) and drizzling, so inside it was pretty hot and sticky, none of which deterred fans from turning half of the floor level into a giant mosh pit. I lingered in the back with the rest of the weed-smoking, freestyle dancing, didn't want to get crushed by huge sweaty aggressive dudes, crowd.

Manu Chao's performance was super high energy and everyone got their money's worth from the set that lasted about three and a half hours. As much as I love his music, I had to sit down towards the end of his 40 minute encore. Then I felt lazy when someone next to me pointed out that he's almost 50 and could out-rock most of us who are half his age.

If you've never listened to Manu Chao, I suggest you do so. Right now. He played this song last night and of course everyone got excited. Especially the skinny guy in front of me with the Maradona tattoo on his right shoulder blade.

(Thanks, Elizabeth!)

Buenos Aires, I can't stay mad at you

2009-11-30T13:50:00.011-08:00

So last week I started a post/rant about Buenos Aires and decided to put it up today even though I wrote it last Wednesday. I did so because I want this blog to accurately reflect my life in this city and not just be all rainbows, lollipops and bombons.

I was all angry and stressed when I wrote it but then the next day the city did what it's does best. It totally charmed me and made me fall in love with it again. The weather was perfect, the sky was blue, people were good-looking and smiling, the transportation system worked, everyone gave me change in monedas without any problems, the grass was green and I didn't step in any puddles. I had a delicious salad lunch at a sweet restaurant in Palermo with one of my best friends, went to MALBA with her and one of my favorite people from across the Andes, had cafe con leche with them afterward, and then tried to talk them both into moving to the city.

I don't know if this says more about me as a person, or about Buenos Aires, but I rarely find myself in an in between state. For better or worse, this city brings out the passionate feelings in me. It's either love or hate, anger or joy, heaven or hell. There are so many things here that frustrate me like nothing else and then other qualities that make me never want to leave. Like Saturday afternoons lying on the grass in Parque Centenario staring at tree branches and waiting for someone to come by and offer me fresh baked budin to go with my coffee. Busy mornings in the center near the Casa Rosada when the city and the day are fresh, exciting and full of promise. Riding the D line and seeing some of the best looking men in my life casually reading novels or listening to their headphones. Empanadas and beer at outdoor cafes on Tuesday nights with good friends. Buying rainbow colored fruits and vegetables every other morning at the verduleria less than a block away. The accent and the gesticulations that go with it. The kindness and the don't give a fuckness of the locals. The constant feeling that this is a city where things are happening.

And this is just a fraction of what makes me forget about all of the complaints in the last post. As upset as I may get, I have no doubt that this is where I want to be.

I was talking about this with a friend who also has a similar view of the city and we agreed that sometimes it's so ridiculous that all you can do is laugh it off. Laugh or write an angry blog I guess.

Buenos Aires, I love you but you're bringing me down

2009-11-25T11:33:00.002-08:00

The humidity has been intolerable for days and it feels like there are multiple layers of the city sticking to my skin and for once I'm praying for rain in hopes that it will cool off and then yesterday after riding multiple metro lines during rush hour because one had stopped working completely and I didn't have change for the bus, I was unwittingly attacked by a swarm of mosquitos on my right leg and what more I'm sick of being broke all the time and of fighting shopkeepers and cashiers for small bills and monedas and of my neighbor's loud ass, unpredictable music, the clutter upstairs, the mess in the kitchen, the fact that the sun sets earlier than it should in the summer, and it's getting annoying not being able to find any restaurants that serve anything more than empanadas, pizza and pasta because now my jeans are starting to fit tighter and not in a sexy way.

Aside from home there's still no place I'd rather be but at this moment I'm burnt out, about to explode and ready for an escape.

Picking up right where we left off

2009-11-22T10:25:00.006-08:00

To say this weekend has been extremely hectic would be an understatement.

I'm hosting two visitors this week. A Chileno and one of my best friends, Jenny, from L.A. They both have different agendas and reasons for visiting so it's been a bit tiring trying to keep up with them both. He doesn't speak much English, or gets really shy when I try to make him, and she doesn't really speak Spanish so when the three of us are together I'm the official translator. Exhausting but amusing.

I hadn't seen Jenny for so long and it's been over 5 months since I left Santiago which was the last time I saw Felipe. But it feels like nothing has really changed with both of them. I was a bit worried that there would be awkward silences or weird moments of trying to reconnect, but no. So far it's been pretty comfortable with both of them. I love it. It's nice to know that although there are great distances between us and so much time has passed, our relationships have remained almost the same. My feelings for Felipe surprisingly came back full strength which makes me wish Santiago and Buenos Aires weren't so far apart.

Right now I'm off to do the touristy stuff in San Telmo with Jen and send Felipe off to practice. I like taking care of them both and sometimes I feel more like a mom than a host.

Buenos Aires' other immigrant community

2009-11-18T18:14:00.007-08:00

When the topic of immigrants in Argentina comes up, people mainly think about Italians, Spaniards, Jews, and maybe the occasional German. But no one ever mentions the Koreans.

Before I started living in Buenos Aires, I had no idea that there were so many Koreans living in the city. The first time I visited I never noticed because I stayed mainly in the touristy areas. Now that I live and work here, I've realized there are a ton of them here. 22,024 to be exact, though the population has gone down from the 90's peak of about 35,000. Wandering around neighborhoods like Flores, sometimes it seems like more.

Koreans are known for owning a lot of clothing stores, which is apparent to anyone who has ever gone shopping for clothes on Avenida Avellaneda in Flores. But what I think is funny is that a lot of Koreans actually own a lot of "chinos" here. Which kind of relates to a bone I have to pick with Latinos using the umbrella term "chino" to describe everyone of Asian descent. Each Asian culture is totally different and unique so I find it a bit insulting to lump them all together. I know that people from South America probably wouldn't like it if everyone in the United States referred to them as "Mexicans" or "Spanish." My grandmother from Osaka, Japan has actually slammed a door in someone's face for assuming she was from China and speaking to her in Chinese.

So the little markets that can be found on almost any block in the city, commonly known as chinos, are run by Asians. A lot of these Asians are Korean and the one by my house has a tendency to play K-pop at crazy loud levels which I kind of love. I also love the little snacks and cold coffee that they import from Korea. A little expensive, but worth the occasional indulgence.

More than 70% of my students are Korean or Korean-Argentine which surprises a lot of people. The older ones immigrated from Korea and the younger ones were born in Buenos Aires. One of them is 18 and a huge soccer fan so when I asked him who he would root for in the World Cup if it came down to Argentina vs Korea, he said he wasn't sure. I also had an interesting talk about identity with another one of my students who was born in South Korea and moved here when she was very young. She's in her late 30's and says she still feels like an outsider here because of how she looks and speaks but is also treated like a foreigner when she visits Korea. Tough.

While looking up Koreans in Argentina on the internet, I came across an essay from a Korean American UC Davis student about her experiences in Buenos Aires. I thought it was pretty accurate and worth a read. It's part of what I find so interesting about living in the New World and being a product of it. It's all these cultures in one place, clashing, combining, and manifesting themselves in places and people that can't be easily compartmentalized. We're all human hybrids that have roots in and allegiances to more than one country or culture. I think that's why I find the Korean community here so interesting because I can relate to being born in a country that sometimes makes you feel like you're not 100% part of it. So instead I feel like it's up to people like us to redefine and reshape it.

Back from a hiatus

2009-11-18T17:14:00.006-08:00

So I kind of dropped the ball on the whole blogging for a month straight thing. For a couple of reasons. First, I got super sick last Friday. Not only did I not feel like blogging but I didn't even want to be alive. The only place I wanted to be was back in my mother's womb for a few days. Second, even though I have all these post ideas scribbled everywhere, I haven't really had the time to thoroughly form and write them out. As Lydia pointed out today, I didn't want to fill the empty spaces by blogging about how I didn't have time to blog.

Kudos to everyone who has kept up with it though.

I still like to think of November as marathon blogging month so I am going to try to blog more than usual. But it's not going to be easy considering one of my best friends from L.A. is flying in tomorrow to stay for a week, the last guy I dated in Santiago is coming to the city on Saturday to play shows and hang out, and Kyle is also supposed to be in town next week. I know I'm going to want to spend time with these people and not in front of my laptop.

Also, I know I suggested a group blog about food and travel a few weeks ago, but whenever I tried to think of all the great food I've eaten abroad, all I could come up with were all these little fragments of memories of meals that I wasn't sure how to turn into a coherent post. So unless anyone actually wrote a post and had their heart set on that, I'm kind of scrapping that for now.

While I wasn't blogging, two really cool things happened in Buenos Aires. Last Saturday was La Noche de Museos, an international event that happens twice a year in which all the museums in Buenos Aires are open from 8pm-2am with free admission. Instead of going to the more popular places that had people lined up around the block, Elizabeth and I decided to stay in our neighborhood, Caballito, and check out some of the places we'd never visit otherwise. It was pretty rad since there were all kinds of people out all over town and the night kind of felt like the whole city was celebrating culture and history together.

(Associated Press)

Additionally over the weekend, a judge in Buenos Aires granted gays the right to marry. Hooray for equal rights! I was extremely disappointed, angered and surprised when voters in California passed Proposition 8 last November, so it was refreshing to hear this news. Argentina will be the first nation in Latin America where same-sex couples can marry, though there are places such as Mexico and Uruguay that allow civil unions. Here's to hoping that other places will follow in Argentina's footsteps.

When a cookie is acid and water is alive and evil

2009-11-12T18:32:00.013-08:00

I learned two words today. One I love for the sound and the literal translation, the other because it mixes baked goods and drugs.

A student was talking to me about why he doesn't like the beach. He was describing a water animal and used the word aguaviva. I'd never heard the word for jellyfish before but the image of "live water" made me realize exactly what he was talking about. I loved it. Live water swimming in cold seas and stinging people. I relayed this to a friend who told me that she'd learned the word medusa instead. Also rad. So I looked up jellyfish on wordreference.com and found that aguaviva is used in rioplatense Spanish and in Mexico and Columbia they're known as aguamalas (bad water). I asked my roommates about the word aguamala and their friend interjected with, "Si, son malas porque te pican!" (Yeah, they're bad because they sting you!) Awesome. All three names are way cooler than jellyfish.

Later I was having coffee and cookies with a student. The cookies we were eating are known as pepas. They're little, round shortbread cookies with a a marmalade-ish center made of a fruit called mebrillo. As we were eating and talking about how we both loved pepas, I told him that I was pretty sure I had overheard the word used in a different context and asked him about what else the word pepa meant. He thought about it for awhile before telling me that pepa is also street slang for a a drug. Turns out, it's also used to talk about hits of LSD. He asked me where I'd heard it used like that and instead of telling him that I'd overheard some friends talking about it, I quickly lied and said T.V.

I'll never look at pepas or jellyfish the same again.

Kobe reveals his inner Mexican

2009-11-11T06:51:00.009-08:00

Original Video - More videos at TinyPic

They say everyone in L.A. speaks a little Spanish. I guess superstar basketball players like Kobe Bryant are no exception. Last night on the premiere of George Lopez' late-night talk show he showed off his Spanish shit-talking skills with statements such as, "Mira, cabron" (look, asshole) and "Como me chinga, este cabron aqui!" (how he fucks/screws with me, this asshole here) in reference to fellow Laker Derek Fisher.

After watching the clip, I immediately thought,¡qué padre! (how cool!) I knew Kobe spoke Italian but had no clue as to the depth of his East L.A. cholo swagger.

And oh, how those sweet words take me back to the motherland and Mexican Spanish. I still slip sometimes and want to say words like cabron, or use nieve instead of helado (ice cream), popote instead of bombilla (drinking straw), and fresa instead of frutilla or cuico/cheta (strawberry or spoiled, posh, snob). (Maybe Argentines are just looking for more excuses to use the double-l and sound special?)

So in light of all this, I can't wait to get back to D.F.'s biggest suburb, aka Southern California, and brush up on my Mexican.

Not this ish again!

2009-11-10T18:03:00.003-08:00

There was another subte strike today for the second time in seven days. Plus more protests around town. Just another day in the capital.

Frustrating but at least it gives me a legitimate excuse to be late for work.

I wasn't expecting this from Brazil

2009-11-09T18:08:00.006-08:00

I came across this story in the news (in my book Dlisted is a totally reputable source of information and the only one that truly matters) about a woman who was expelled from a university in Brazil for wearing a mini-skirt and provocative makeup. Crazy coming from a country whose name is almost synonymous with visions beaches covered with scantily clad locals.

Perhaps her clothing wasn't exactly the best choice for an academic environment but isn't this the same country that brought the world the children's show Xuxa?

Watching this video makes you wonder what century these people are living in.

WTF is that about? I don't speak Portuguese but I do understand the word puta. All those in the the misogynistic mob that looks as if its on the brink of becoming violent need to be expelled from this planet for their intolerant, prepubescent behavior.

Thank God for Sundays

2009-11-08T16:22:00.003-08:00

The only day where I can get home at 7am, sleep until 3pm, meet a friend for ice cream and empanadas and actually feel somewhat productive. Or at least not feel guilty for being so lazy and hungover.

Best meal abroad?

2009-11-07T15:04:00.003-08:00

Yesterday Elizabeth and I were chatting over a pitcher of clerico and talking about the foods we are going to miss the most when we are no longer living in Buenos Aires.

Since love of food seems to be a common theme between all the bloggers I know, this gave me an idea for another group post. What is the best meal/food that you've had abroad or even in your own city? If someone where coming to visit you in Valparaiso, Buenos Aires, Copenhagen or San Francisco, where and what would you tell them to eat and why?

I'm going to take a week to do "research" so I'll be posting mine next Saturday.

I need this

2009-11-05T19:00:00.003-08:00

As a thirsty gal who likes to stay hydrated, I carry water everywhere I go. Aside from chugging water all day, the only other liquids in my diet are coffee and alcohol. And since coffee and alcohol make me thirsty, I often drink water with both no matter where I may be. Unfortunately bottled water is expensive and creates a lot of waste. Lately I've just been buying water once a week and reusing the bottle until I lose it or it gets gross. I also know that that can be detrimental to my health due to the chemicals in the plastic, something that concerns me on a daily basis.

So when I saw the Vapur water bottle, I had one of those "why didn't I think of that?", moments. I want one. No, I want two. One could be for water and the other one could be used as a an easy to hide and stash flask.

A silent subte and chaos en las calles

2009-11-05T07:12:00.015-08:00

(photo from lanacion.com)
If I didn't love this city so much it would drive me completely insane.

Due to a conflict between two workers' unions and the government, subway workers called a daylong strike which means the subte won't be running today. Just like that. So the millions of people that live in Buenos Aires and depend on the trains will just have to find other ways to make their way through the city. (Although I must give them credit for beginning the strike at 11:00am so that the morning rush hour commute wasn't affected.)

Throw in the protesters blocking the Av. Panamericana and a march/strike by hospital workers downtown, and commuting through the city just gets more complicated.

This morning I had to take the bus from San Telmo to Caballito and had already mapped out a route. Although the subte would have been more direct and a bit faster had it been working, I actually like taking colectivos because I get to see more of the city. It's finding where they stop that can be a problem.

I was looking for a bus I'd never taken before and even though I'm familiar with that part of San Telmo, I was wandering around trying to find the stop. I saw my bus go by without stopping where my trusty comoviajo indicated so I asked a kiosco worker and a cop who led me in the general vague direction before talking to a man who worked at a newspaper stand. I asked him where the 126 stopped and he was like "right here, in front of this stand. Obvio." On the wall of the building waaay above our heads there was a small sticker indicating PARADA 28 but nothing about the 126. I took his word for it and the colectivo arrived within minutes.

All this made me wonder, WTF? How the hell are people supposed to know this? Who decides that the bus is going to stop right there on a tiny one-way street on a random corner? And why don't they spend the extra 50 cents and post a PARADA 126 sticker on the wall or something? Why can't stuff be less confusing? Baby, tell me why it's gotta be like that.

The bus ride turned out to be pleasant and went down streets I'd never ventured through. I took notes and plan to walk around these newly discovered places on my next day off. I got excited about the city again.

And this is representative of life in Buenos Aires. It's chaotic, frustrating and crowded, stuff doesn't always work right or doesn't work at all. There's protests, discontent and discord, and the unexpected always occurs and can totally fuck up your day. But then the city can also be counted on to keep surprising me, keep charming me and keep on moving me and itself.

Between cake and bread: Budin appreciation

2009-11-03T21:27:00.008-08:00

sweet, moist, exquisite
little loaf, make me happy!
slice to eat with love

húmedo, dulce
quiero comerlo todo
lo voy a zampar

do you want a taste?
recipe for Budin here
enjoy send me some

I take the cue from certain people I know: Halloween 2009

2009-11-02T19:03:00.009-08:00

I got a request from a friend to post more pictures of my life in Buenos Aires. I'm the most unphotogenic person ever so don't expect to see many more photos with me actually in them. Plus my friend borrowed my memory card while visiting me and then accidentally took it back with her to Santiago so I had to steal these from another friend. There aren't too many but these are for you, Aleen. (Or if you're a FB friend of mine you can see the rest.)

Me (left) and my roommate Sol

My yanqui partner in crime, Elizabeth as Alicia and her pal Claudio guest starring as some kind of Argentine indie-pirate

Sol once again with her bf, roommate #2, aka Ale-san.
Soon after those pictures were taken came Elizabeth and her roommate feeding me jello-shots, fernet, empanadas, a cab ride to another party, a ska-band and then everything kind of went fuzzy. From what I remember, a good time was had by all. Especially the white rabbit who joined us for the hangover session the next day.

Fuerza Natural in Buenos Aires

2009-11-02T07:49:00.005-08:00

Last weekend Gustavo Cerati, aka "El Maestro", former member of the legendary Argentine rock band Soda Stereo, announced that he'll play a show at Club Ciudad in Buenos Aires on December 19th. His new album Fuerza Natural was released a few months ago and the first single Déjà vu has been on heavy radio rotation ever since.

I'm not crazy about the new album but Cerati's past work, solo and with Soda Stereo, is so amazing that I still would have loved to see him perform in his hometown. (Sadly, I'll be in California on the 19th.) I first saw him in L.A. when he was touring for "Siempre Es Hoy", then for "Ahi Vamos", and once more during Soda's "Me Veras Volver" 2007 reunion. All three times he sounded incredible live.

I remember watching "El Ultimo Concierto" with an ex-boyfriend a few years ago and seeing the frenzied fans all over Latin America and thinking that they were like the South American version of the Beatles. So Cerati's like my Argentine Paul McCartney. He may be 50 but every time I watch a video, new or old, and see those deep blue eyes and hear that smooth voice I get a tingly sensation in my stomach and feel like a 13-year-old teenybopper.

30 blogs in 30 days/ Tía times two

2009-11-01T17:03:00.007-08:00

After reading Clare's blog Musings from inside, outside, and underneath, I was inspired to join in on the National Blog Posting Month challenge. So it's with great pleasure that my first blog for this month is about my new niece Chloe who was born around 3PM California time today.

She's a 9lbs 10oz bundle of British, Mexican, Japanese and American joy. I can't wait to be home with her and my nephew Jacob who I've only seen in pictures and on skype. I'm going to be the cool aunt who teaches them Spanish and feeds them sushi. It's strange to have such strong feelings of love for two little people who I've never even met.

In the armpit of Argentina

2009-10-31T08:30:00.010-07:00

When I said I wanted to be surrounded by hot Argentines in Buenos Aires, this wasn't quite what I meant:

The past two days in this city have been incredibly intolerable. If this is what January and February are like in Buenos Aires, count me out. I'll willingly skip most of Summer. Normally I like warm weather, but here the old cliche rings true that "it's not the heat, it's the humidity."

Por el amor de Dios, (enter every cuss word in every language times ten), it's freaking humid here. I feel like I'm going to melt, wither away, or kill someone.

No one ever warned me that the humidity was this awful. My porteño roommate described the Summer saying, "it feels like there is a person constantly on top of you weighing you down," And that person happens to be an overweight, foul-smelling, sweaty old man.

Yesterday I woke up feeling damp. I felt hot and cranky while eating breakfast, sweaty in the shower and then had trouble putting on my makeup because my face kept greasing up no matter how many times I blotted. I was feeling like Marc Anthony by the time I walked the two blocks to the nearest Subte.

The situation then proceeded to go from bad to worse. Riding the subte en hora pico (rush hour) is like sitting in Satan's crotch. It's all of the same problems above but worse because you're stuck underground and some guy has his hand on your ass and is rubbing it over your thin cotton dress. And there's nothing you can do because you don't know which of the perverts it is behind you and you can't even turn your head to look. Which was me yesterday.

I love this city like it were my own but now Buenos Aires is seriously testing me. It's heat and humidity then rain on constant repeat. I can deal with all of the other setbacks of this place, inefficiency, crime, poverty, corruption, bad drivers, dog messes, decaying infrastructure, fútbol hooligans, I take them all in stride. But I just can't hang in this humidity.

I wish everyday was Ñoqui Day

2009-10-29T15:33:00.011-07:00

Because then I'd have an excuse to pig out on one of my favorite foods in Argentina. The 29th of every month has been designated as a day people eat gnocchi and leave a 2 peso bill under the plate to bring prosperity.

And I can't get enough of the gnocchi here. I had some last Friday night as well and it seems like no matter what it's composed of, be it potato, squash, wheat flour, or topped with, tomato sauce, pesto, cheese, it's always delicious.

I went to the market tonight about ten minutes before it closed and a man behind me was frantically piling packages of gnocchi and Quilmes beer on the conveyor belt while rapidly talking to the clerk about how to properly salt and cook the dish. I guess I'm not the only one who gets excited about the 29th.

Plus I think it's really cool that there's a day dedicated to a special food. When I get back to L.A. I'm going to start an official Soba noodles or Chilaquiles day. Or maybe I'll bring Ñoqui Day to California...

I can't stand the rain

2009-10-21T07:37:00.003-07:00

It kind of rains a lot in Buenos Aires. Makes me wish I had a better umbrella, a stay at home job, or at least a really nice pair of galoshes. I'd buy a pair but I know that as soon as I do, it's going to be dry for months.

L.A. Now first posted the rain video above and I think it explains a lot about my strong aversion to the rain. It's basically in my blood.

No DST for ARG by order of CFK

2009-10-20T21:55:00.005-07:00

Last Friday President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner stopped (Daylight Savings) Time in all of Argentina. Which is a bummer for a person who sleeps late and stays out even later. What made it most disappointing was that it was a last minute decision not to do it. I was all ready to start enjoying a longer day when it was suddenly yanked away. One of my favorite things about summer is knowing that the sun won't set till almost 9 or 10pm.

Now I'm awoken at 6am with the damn sun all shining in my face and greeted by approaching darkness when I get off work. Plus in a city famous for a late nightlife, it is not fun leaving a club when it's super bright outside and everyone looks totally wrecked. Not fun, nor pretty.

I want to be President of somewhere so I have the power to control time too.

Dia de la madre makes me miss my mom mucho

2009-10-18T19:51:00.005-07:00

Today is Mother's Day in Argentina. I have no idea why it's today and not in May with most of the other Dias de las Madres in the world.

All I know is that I want to be with my Mom.

And my sisters, one of whom became a mom two weeks after I left home and the other one who will be a mom in about two weeks time.

My mom is so awesome and the older I get, the more I appreciate her and everything she's done. Days like this make me think that 20 months is way too long to be away from the woman who I owe so much of my world to, including life itself.

She doesn't speak Spanish but I'm still calling her to wish her a feliz Dia de la Madre and to tell her that la quiero mucho.

Peter Capusotto, Latino Solanas and la cultura latina

2009-10-13T21:52:00.005-07:00

Peter Capusotto y sus videos has quickly become my new online obsession. The comedy sketch show airs Monday nights on Canal 7 in Argentina but since we don't have TV at our place, I've been watching it on the internet.

If you don't understand Spanish or don't get Argentine Spanish, I'm sorry and I wish you did because his videos are funny as hell. Some of the most memorable clips have been Rock vs. Policía and those featuring Violencia Rivas, but I am fascinated by Latino Solanas, a character from the barrio who shows the viewer how to be Latino. (Using MTV, reggaeton and Daddy Yankee as a point of reference.)

After watching that clip with my Argentine roommates, Sol and Alexis, as well as another norteamericana, Elizabeth, the topic about what it means to be Latino came up. Both Sol and Alexis tried to make the claim that Argentinos, Chilenos and Uruguayos aren't really Latinos like the rest of the continent and they're so much different and more European. But what does that mean? True, most natives to this part of South America were wiped out by the Spaniards and replaced by southern European immigrants but that was centuries ago. Sometimes I want to tell people to get over themselves and that "it ain't where you're from, it's where you're at," and there's no shame living in Latin America. Chilean, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Honduran, different people, different places, all Latino.

I always hear talk about how Southern Cone nations are so unlatino and living here has made me question the whole concept of pan-Latino identity and culture. Are Chile and Argentina really less Latino because the people are relatively light-skinned and don't eat spicy food? Because they import their coffee instead of growing it and, aside from tango, don't dance with much rhythm?

Either way, something's got to change in terms of how Latinos are portrayed in international media around the world, and by that I am mostly referring to the U.S. The video was an obvious exaggeration of Latinos in mainstream media, yet accurately and comically reflected a lot of bullshit stereotypes that we get stuck with. For now, I'm getting sick of writing the word Latino and am off to watch some more Capusotto clips.

I just might die with a smile on my face after all

2009-10-13T13:36:00.004-07:00

The best things in life are free and sometimes kind of dangerous.

As I was riding on the back of a small motorcycle through Caballito, Palermo and Belgrano, weaving in and out of lanes, avoiding and annoying passing cars, thoughts of possible death or dismemberment did cross my mind more than once. But they were quickly pushed aside whenever I felt the sun on my back, the wind whipping against my face and the engine purring near my feet.

Nothing can compare to cruising through a city on a moto on an early Spring day. Whether you're the driver or the passenger, it's a completely different experience than being enclosed in a steel and glass case on four wheels. Every time I rode my old Vespa through the California neighborhood I grew up in, I'd see something new or interesting that I'd never noticed before. It's like the feeling of exhilaration that comes with the risk of riding a motorcycle or scooter heightens all of your senses.

The trees on Av. Pueyrredón were greener than I'd ever seen them and the graffiti on Av. Juan B. Justo appeared in colors more brilliant than ever. I caught brief pieces of conversations in cars next to us and smelled the doughy aromas from the bakeries we passed.

When we arrived at our destination, I had the scent of exhaust stuck in my nose, my hair was completely disheveled and the front visor part of my helmet had broken, but I couldn't have cared less. Sure, people drive crazy here, the helmet didn't quite fit and the brakes were a little rusty, but all of that was forgotten en route to Belgrano. For twenty-five minutes all I felt was pure joy and love for the city. Buenos Aires never looked so alive and inviting.

I wish this kind experience on anyone who comes to Buenos Aires, or any city. Life is simply more fun on two wheels.

Postcards from Federico

2009-10-02T07:30:00.003-07:00

I first saw Federico Aubele spin at a party in downtown Los Angeles few years ago and was completely intrigued by the tall, lanky Argentine with the crazy head of curly hair who had all the girls crowding around the DJ stand. Then I heard his debut CD, Gran Hotel Buenos Aires a little later and found out what all the fuss was about. The record was like a long lullaby I would listen to at night while visions of the metropolis circled my head. I'd think, wow, is this what Buenos Aires sounds like? (Not entirely, as it lacks the sound of car horns, howling dogs and roaring buses, thank goodness.)

When his second album Panamericana was released, I was glad to have it in MP3 format because I would have worn it out a million times over had it been on vinyl. I loved the images the songs triggered of the places that the Pan American highway passes through, connecting my continent to his. Amatoria came out a few weeks ago and though I've only heard a few tracks I like what I hear.

Judging from his tour schedule it doesn't look like he'll be back in his native Buenos Aires anytime soon but for anyone reading in the U.S., I would definitely recommend checking him out live. Or taking a listen:

Hachi Machi!!!

2009-10-01T19:40:00.014-07:00

Spring is in the air in Buenos Aires and so are the piropos, aka catcalls.

I know piropos bother a lot of women and a ton of postings have been written on the subject. I've been fortunate enough to never have received any obscene or sexually explicit ones, so the only thing that really bothers me about them is that they come from the mouths of men who are old enough to be my dad and who are usually kind of fugly.

But what if we ladies were to flip the script?

Today as I was walking around the city and riding the subway sans headphones, two thoughts crossed my mind. The first was that a lot more dudes murmur things to me under their breath than I realized. The second was, "GOD DAMN!! There are some fine men in this city!" Unfortunately for me, the two are mutually exclusive.

I'm not saying all the guys in Buenos Aires are smoking hot. (I wish.) Especially not the feos who make the comments. But the ones that are good-looking are like super ridiculously handsome.

Ok, maybe not Nacho Figueras handsome, but incredibly foxy all the same.

So when a hottie went strolling past me today while I was on my way to the market, the first words that crossed my mind were, "Que rico!!!" and "MMM, MMM, MMM!" Later on the subte, I noticed a pulchritudinous porteño in front of me without a seat and wanted to offer him my lap. And then I wondered what would happened if I turned the tables and started catcalling the men of this city.

I know that traditionally men are supposed to be the chamuyeros, sweet talking bsers, and that Argentine women are notorious for playing hard to get and acting disinterested and all, but this is the 21st Century, right? It's all about equal treatment and a loosening of gender roles and breaking the glass ceiling and all that stuff.

So, come on girls, next time you see a man that tickles your fancy, don't be shy, let him know! Make kissy noises at him or go psst, psst! Tell him that he's a prince or a doll and that you've fallen in love at first sight. Better yet, make a remark about how good his ass looks in those Levis. If it's somewhat socially acceptable for them to do it, why can't we?

I have enough problems looking a cute boy in the eye, let alone calling him out on his beauty, so I've yet to challenge this prescribed behavior role. Until then I'll wait for the day when another female says aloud what I'm thinking and keep the dirty comments to myself. But if you catch me on the subte, eyeing a young gent, you'll know why I have a little grin on my face.

(On a somewhat related note, I'm not entirely out of my mind according to Guanabee's The International Fuckability Hierarchy Index: Latin Countries. And the part about Chileans is high-larious.)

I am what I am depending where I'm at

2009-09-29T18:37:00.009-07:00

So apparently September 15 - October 15 is National Hispanic Heritage Month in the U.S. As a person of Hispanic heritage from the U.S., this is the first time I'm hearing about any of this. I guess I'm not "Embracing the Fierce Urgency of Now!" as this year's theme suggests. I actually didn't hear about it until I came across this discussion about being called Latino or Hispanic from Tell Me More on NPR.org

For any person living in the U.S. of Latino/Hispanic descent, this is an age old question that we've all dealt with, whether it be on census forms, enrollment applications, or even discussions amongst friends. In California, I identify myself as a Latina or Mexican-Japanese-American. I think Hispanic sounds very conservative and I don't like the fact that it was created by a small sect of government goons and then imposed upon a population that now numbers more than 45 million. As columnist Ruben Navarrette points out in the discussion, that point of view might be particular to L.A., so I can't speak for anyone else.

But then the question gets trickier when I put it in the context of my life in South America. I sometimes say I'm norteamericana but that encompasses Mexico and Canada too, which isn't completely accurate, so I usually say "Soy de los Estados Unidos", but then people ask for more information so then it becomes "Soy de California", and then they ask why I have a Spanish apellido and so on and so forth.

I've never come out off the bat in Chile or Argentina and said that I was Latino. But 9 times out of 10 after telling people here that my grandparents and great grandparents were born or raised in Mexico, people embrace me as brethren. But then I feel like the honorary Latino amongst South Americans. It's a weird feeling of being in the middle, neither here nor there. Not necessarily bad, just strange.

This comes down to the idea that I'm estadounidense in Latin America and Latina in the United States. (Just another reason why I think California should separate from the rest of the country so that I could just scrap all this and say I'm Californian from the get go. My life would be so much easier.) What do other people born in the U.S. of Latino descent living or traveling in Latin America call themselves? Are we Latino, (north) American, or both? And who decides?

When do we eat? / What do they eat?

2009-09-28T18:43:00.006-07:00

As I was lovingly preparing my nightly seven ingredient spinach salad about an hour ago I started thinking about eating habits and how mine have changed since living in South America. I've always been somewhat health conscious but I'm happy to say that here they've changed for the better.

I've gotten used to the big lunch, smallish, later dinner thing with a few snacks in between, which I love. It makes so much more sense to have the most filling meal in the afternoon so that you can spend the rest of the day burning off the calories. When I first arrived, it was a bit difficult for me to get accustomed to. Lunch at 2PM?! Dinner at 9 or 10PM?? (Or even later in Buenos Aires.) When cooking at home, I pretty much eat when I want to but still make my midday meal the most substantial.

And I think I'm starting to figure out why all these Argentine women are so slender. Everywhere else I'm known as the skinny girl and here, I'm normal. On first glance, one would assume that they have every reason to be carrying a little extra chunk. There's all kinds of meat everywhere on everything, prepared in every way. The pasta and pizza are delicious and plentiful and the empanadas are made in a size that would allow anyone to eat three in one sitting. (Or more.) All the artisan ice cream shops and cafes boasting breakfast or afternoon specials with coffee and medialunas (sweet or buttery croissants) make me weak in the knees. And don't get me started on the confiterias and panaderias (bakeries and bread shops) that stop me in my tracks every time I pass by. Walking by such places, smelling the sugary love in the air, I always wondered how there weren't more overweight people in this city.

But then after watching my roommates eat, I realized that they don't eat that way every day. They also eat more reasonable portions and, what I've learned to do myself, cook using real food and real ingredients. Contrary to what I was used to in the U.S., processed food, soda, and fast food are really expensive here. It makes so much more sense to cook at home from scratch.

I'm not saying all Argentines eat perfectly balanced diets and are in great shape. Definitely not. I still see beer bellies and muffin tops, for sure. Plus the excessive meat consumption grosses me out a little. But what I am saying is that the number of obese or overweight people is nowhere near the level in the the states. A lot of people still eat crappy here but not as crappy as a lot of North Americans do. I started thinking about what I miss about food back home and thoughts of In-N-Out grilled cheeses and fries, real milk shakes, slurpees, ranch dressing, giant frappuccinos, and other stuff that probably isn't great for me.

Don't get me wrong, when I get home I can't wait to have a fresh Krispy Kreme donut off the conveyor belt or have a super greasy IHOP, hangover breakfast full of carbs and sugar. I love that stuff. But then I think about the surprise people here get on their faces when I tell them about all-you-can-drink soda fountains at fast food places and the giant sized containers they come in and then feel a little gluttonous.

I acknowledge the fact that Argentina has one of the highest rates of anorexia in the world, a very serious problem, and that women are very conscious of their physical appearance. But I highly doubt that every Argentine woman I see has an eating disorder and I think it would be unfair to say that.

But what I am saying is that I like that it's cheaper for me to buy a pound of apples than a small bag of Doritos. I like how it's less expensive to buy half a week's worth of groceries than it is to eat lunch at McDonald's. I like that the fact that within a one-block radius of my house, there are three fruit and vegetable markets and not one fast food place. Though there is a tiny restaurant with killer empanadas that I have to fight myself not to buy a dozen roquefort or humita whenever I pass. But what I've learned to love even more are sweet strawberries with yogurt for breakfast and crisp spinach salads for dinner.

Argentine man born without body

2009-09-28T07:15:00.002-07:00

Quique should be an inspiration for all of us:

Group post: Horror Travel Stories

2009-09-25T21:20:00.004-07:00

Eileen from Bearshapedsphere has taken it upon herself to take the reins of the group blog, this time about "megaultrabad" travel stories. After reading other blogs, I feel quite fortunate to only have experienced bad travel moments rather than life threatening situations or entire trips that made you wish you had stayed at home.

So now I feel like a weenie writing about things that were only slightly irritating or unfortunate. Like the time our bus got canceled from Cusco to Tacna in Peru, 15 minutes after it was supposed to leave and I literally had to fight with about 30 desperate and aggressive Peruvians and one shiesty ticket seller who kept calling me amiga, to get our money back and find another way back to the border in order to not miss our other bus so that we could make it to our flight out of Calama, Chile back to Santiago. (Did that make sense?)

Or the time that I was battling food poisoning in central Mexico on a road trip from Guanajato to San Miguel de Allende with my ex-boyfriend, Esteban and his family. Not only was I trying not to puke my guts out along what seemed like the curviest road in Latin America, but his 5-year-old nephew, who I love like one of my own, was behind us in the backseat with an inflatable toy hammer with a bell in it that he pounded continuously on our heads and the seat back while whining about how much he hated Mexico and wanted to eat at McDonald's. Eventually, we both ended up throwing up before we reached our final destination. That was the longest car ride of my entire life.

Or when I was welcomed to Buenos Aires when I came in June by three of the most unhelpful motherfuckers in the world. The attendant on the bus I took from Chile to Argentina chatted me up the entire last hour of the trip and told me he would help me get a cab once we reached the city so that I could make it safely to my hostal. According to him, people from Buenos Aires weren't to be trusted and he, a friendly Mendocino, would help me out. Alone and weary from traveling, I was so grateful for what I thought was his kindness. Once we reached the Retiro bus station, he was nowhere to be seen but the bus driver took pity on me and all of my luggage and told me he would help me and call a cab for me at the CATA office on the second floor of the terminal. So together we struggled with all of my suitcases up the escalator (no elevators in sight), and got to the office where he proceeded to ignore me. So I asked the man at the counter if he could assist me in calling a cab. He then pointed out the window, downstairs, outside and told me I could get a taxi myself. I then had to get all of my luggage back down the escalator by myself. (2 suitcases, one small hand suitcase, a very large backpack and my giant purse.) As I was struggling down the escalator the largest of my suitcases began to topple and I really became frightened that it was going to fall on top of all 103lbs of me and that I was seriously going to injure myself. So I asked the woman behind me who was watching me, had no luggage and had her hands in her sweatshirt pockets if she could help me out. She looked at me, shook her head no and said, "Asi es la vida." (That's life.) She then proceeded to step over me and my suitcases that collapsed in a pile at the bottom of the escalator. My only consolation to her extreme cuntiness was that she was as ugly on the inside as she was on the outside. So while my sucky situation was temporary, she was stuck with her misfortune for her entire life and was therefore angry at the world.

So that's all I've got. I guess I should be happy that I don't have anything worse to share and all the bad things happen to me on my home turf. Read other people's craptacular travel experiences at Bearshapedsphere.

Weirdest photo I've seen all year...

2009-09-24T10:46:00.005-07:00

All I can say is WTF is this? Courtney Love and Hugo Chavez?!!? If there were two people in the world who I never thought I would see smiling and embracing each other, they would have been on the list next to Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Amy Winehouse. I guess anything can happen in New York City. And no, this was not photoshopped:

(From Guanabee via Life)

Thanks, but my English is fine.

2009-09-23T21:18:00.010-07:00

Sometimes I forget how much I blend in until I surprise Argentines who think I'm one of them. And who then try to give me tips on improving my English.

I was riding the C line on the subte this afternoon and decided to do a little lesson planning on the trip. I pulled out a textbook and was leafing through it when the helpful man next to me says, "You know, if you want to learn English, there's a really good site online..." and starts telling me about a web page that he uses and how the book I had was kind of hard and he didn't like it. I wanted to laugh and tell him that I'd been fluent in English for the past 28 years but at this point, all I'd had the chance to say was, "Oh, yeah?" When he stopped talking, I thanked him for the advice and informed him that I wasn't taking classes but was actually the teacher. He did a double take and was like, "whaaa?" This led to the whole, where are you from, what are you doing here, etc., etc. He looked me over again and asked, "Well, you must be of Latino descent, right?" This led to another speech that I've given 100 times before about my ethnic background to which he nodded approvingly.

I got off at my stop, thanked him for the tip and told him I would pass it along to my students. I had a little smile on my face because I like it when people think I'm Argentine. Even people from the U.S. have told me the same. It pleases me because in general, I think the women in Buenos Aires are good-looking, slender and very well put together.

But I always wonder why people are so surprised to find out I'm from the United States. Do North Americans of Latino descent not travel much to South America? Or is it because we're underrepresented in media? (Doesn't anyone down here watch Ugly Betty?) I consider myself to be a California girl to the bone and this is what we look like. Yes, there are a lot of blonde blue-eyed chicks like the ones on TV, but there are literally millions of women there who are morocha with olive-skin just like me. (Like Murs said, "[L.A.] got the blond bombshells and sick Latinas.")

But I guess it could go both ways. Given the way people look here, if any Argentine were randomly picked and dropped in Los Angeles, most would probably assume they were a local as well. Maybe they'd even try to give them tips on Spanish if they ran into one at a taco truck. (Se dice pollo como poi-yo, no poy-jho!)

I can smile about it now but at the time it was terrible

2009-09-20T10:36:00.012-07:00

Or Karma is a bitch: It was funny until it happened to me.

I woke up on Friday morning, took one look in the mirror and realized that it was not going to be a good day. The face staring back at me had a swollen upper right eyelid and a huge pinkish red bug bite on one cheek. I couldn't believe it had happened to me AGAIN, the third time in three months. WHY, GOD, WHY??!!

Despite all of my attempts to get rid of it, a mosquito had been buzzing around my room the night before, sporadically waking me from sleep, circling my ears and face, trying to fight its way under the sheets that I had burrowed myself in. The next morning my Quasimodo face was a testament as to who had won the battle.

As I was taking my antialerigico , Aerotina, a generic Argentine version of benedryl, I couldn't help but think of a similar incident that happened in Santiago. One morning my friend Maria* woke up to find her eye swollen from a mosquito bite. We were on our way to the Chilean civil registry to do paperwork to get our ID cards and were running late. She was stressing over her face and lagging behind and though I felt bad for her, I remember telling her something like, "Don't worry so much! It's not so bad, just put on sunglasses, and let's go. It's not like you have to take pictures or anything." That's when she corrected me and reminded me that in fact, we did have to take pictures for our carnets (ID cards).

Oops. Yikes.

So we went to the registry, took the pictures and poor Maria was stuck with a Chilean ID card that made her look like she had gotten into a bar fight the night before. I hate to admit it but the whole time I was kind of chuckling inside. Not at Maria and her misfortune, but at the terrible situation. There couldn't have been a worse day for something like that to have happened to her face. It wasn't funny but it was. And call me a cunt but every time I saw her ID card afterward, I giggled a little, sometimes aloud, sometimes on the inside.

But I wasn't laughing on Friday morning. I wasn't chuckling when I couldn't apply make-up or when I had to board the crowded subte filled with good-looking people who didn't have swollen faces. I didn't giggle when I had to take off the glasses for all five of my classes or the training I had to do later at night. It was especially not funny pretending to read/hide my face in a book while wearing oversized sunglasses at night on the D line through Palermo. More than ever, I missed the solitude of private transportation.

This is the third time I've had an allergic reaction, on my face, to mosquito bites. I hate mosquitoes with a mad passion and they obviously love me. The first incident was the most severe and aside from affecting my eyes and cheeks, my lips puffed up like pillows as well.

Of course this kind of thing never happens on a Sunday when I can hide in my room. It's like the little flying bastards know when I'm going to have a busy day and decide to keep me awake the night before and nip at my face.

As I traveled around Buenos Aires on Friday, grumpy from sleeplessness and shame, head down, trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone, it struck me that maybe I got what I deserved. I felt bad for laughing at poor Maria and her terrible luck.

So is it wrong that now that the swelling is gone, I still find Maria's situation hilarious and it makes me laugh as I write about it?

I guess I better stock up on bug repellent.

*Name changed to protect the person's identity and pride.

Felices Fiestas Patrias

2009-09-15T20:59:00.003-07:00

a todos mis amigos en Chile!

If I could, I would take a mini-vacation to Chile this week to partake in the festivities happening this week. On Friday I'll be sure to raise a glass in honor of the 18th, though it will probably be fernet instead of chicha or pisco.

Read about how I celebrated the 18th last year and attempted to dance Chile's favorite dance, cueca, at Matador Abroad.

Ahora suena: Los Redondos

2009-09-13T21:13:00.002-07:00

Are Patricio Rey y Sus Redonditos de Ricota the greatest band unheard of outside of Argentina's borders? Depends on who you ask. With roots in La Plata cerca the late 1970's, the band reached its peak in the 80's and 90's before going on a permanent hiatus in 2001. Los Redondos are best known for having esoteric lyrics, a DIY attitude, and a cult-like following among Argentines.

Also check out Masacre en el Puticlub.

My sentiments exactly

2009-09-13T08:36:00.011-07:00

(From LA Eastside)

I finally bought a ticket home to Los Angeles last week. In December I will be touching down on Californian soil for what will be the first time in 20 months. While I'm looking forward to seeing my family and friends the most, is it wrong that my mind has been mostly occupied with thoughts about what I'm going to eat when I get off the plane?

It's been way too long since my last fix of Mexican food and I'm starting to feel like a fiend. As much as I love empanadas, tartas, budin, facturas, humitas, and fresh pastas, I would trade them all right now for a pipin' hot dish of chiles rellenos with rice and beans.

I've tried to make Mexican food here, but sadly it's not the same. I've scoured markets large and small all over Santiago and Buenos Aires but I can never find the right ingredients. My concoctions are decent but come out tasting like food inspired by chilaquiles or tacos dorados.

Plus, as I've mentioned before, Argentines and Chileans do not do spicy. At all. Twice I've shared some Dentyne cinnamon gum with porteños and on separate occasions, both of them spit it out claiming, "Che, me pica la boca! Por que?" (It stings my mouth! Why?) I had to hold back laughter so they wouldn't think I was trying to play a trick on them as I explained that it was indeed just regular gum.

Which explains why I have trouble finding hot sauce or anything remotely picante.

Every time I visit a Mexican restaurant in the Southern Cone I feel a strange mix of sadness and frustration. It's like being so close yet so far to something I yearn for so desperately. As hard as they try, everything tastes like misinterpreted and watered-down versions of something that vaguely resembles Mexican cooking. It's not that the food is bad but for the price one has to pay for exotic food like enchiladas, you're better off sticking to the food that South Americans do best for a fraction of the price.

So I enjoy my tarta de calabaza and homemade pasta with gusto and try not to think about camarones al mojo de ajo. We'll be reunited soon enough.

SFL: Swearing in a foreign language

2009-09-10T18:56:00.010-07:00

I thought I had crossed the threshold of subconscious Spanish thought when I started dreaming in castellano and speaking it in my half-sleep. Turns out I was wrong. I learned today that my brain has not completely been transformed when it comes to cursing as a reaction to two emotions, fear and surprise.

I was leaving my house earlier this evening when my Argentine roommate surprised me on the other side of the door. I swung it open not knowing she was on the other side and upon almost running into her, let out a shout and cried, "Oh shit, you fucking scared me!", followed by laughter and apologies in Spanish.

A few hours later I was walking down Av. Santa Fe towards the Palermo subte when a very young boy hopped out from behind a newspaper kiosk and yelled, "Que pasa!?!?" Once again my visceral reaction was to let loose a very loud, "Fucking shit!", causing all the Argentines to turn around and look at the girl screaming English expletives on one of the busiest avenues in the city. It should have been embarrassing but I actually found it to be very funny.

Thinking about it on the train ride home I realized that that I still have a ways to go in terms of speaking castellano naturally. Swearing is one of my favorite things to do and studies have shown that it is indeed human nature and not necessarily a bad thing. It bothers me to think that it hasn't yet been ingrained into my Spanish subliminal thinking.

I've managed to conquer the language in many other ways but the moment I shout "conchetumadre!" or "hijodeputa!" when faced with fear or surprise is the day I'll feel I've finally succeeded in making Spanish completely mine. But how long will it take until my sailor's swearing translates itself into my second language? Do I need to start hanging out with more foul-mouthed South Americans? I thought I was already doing a good job with that.

Escape from Buenos Aires: A quick trip to Uruguay

2009-09-08T19:11:00.010-07:00

My 90th day in Buenos Aires meant my tourist visa was set to expire so today I set off to visit Argentina's often overlooked neighbor across the river, Uruguay. yay! (Crickets chirping.)

I just took the fast boat to Colonia de Sacramento, had lunch and walked around. I didn't have the time nor money to make it to Montevideo, which I would have preferred because Colonia was kind of what I had expected. A bit underwhelming.

I mean, it's a nice little place and I'm assuming it's probably more happening on weekends during the summer. I understand that a cold and drizzling weekday afternoon is not the most popular time to go. But I like being near the sea and breathing fresh air so I didn't mind the mini-trip.

I was only there for about 5 hours (I had to do some training stuff for a job at 19:30 back in Bs As), but here are some thoughts on what I saw:

- A lot of people ride motorcycles and scooters in Colonia but no one wears a helmet. One one think that helmets are illegal in that town. I saw men, women and kids on motos and not one person was wearing a casco.

- There were seemingly more tourists coming from Buenos Aires than Uruguayans who appeared to live or work there. I got the impression that Colonia receives a lot of "tourist spillover" from Argentina.

- Many people looked just as underwhelmed as I did. I saw a lot of tourists with cameras but not a lot of picture taking. We were all kind of wandering about aimlessly.

- Immigration and customs officials don't check for anything. On both sides. I've never gone through an aduana with so much ease. They put my large bag through an x-ray machine as I was leaving Buenos Aires, but did nothing of the sort as I was re-entering the country. Who knows what kind of contraband I could have been bringing into Argentina? And on a side note, why do they put the stamps in my passport on top on other stamps and not just next to each other where they belong?! As I was leaving Uruguay, the customs official put my exit stamp right on top of the first stamp I ever got from Mexico City in 2005. WTF? I may not remember everything that happens in certain countries but I least I have the stamps to prove I was there.

- Upon re-arrival in Buenos Aires, the contrast with Colonia was striking. From a sleepy, cobblestoned, seaside town with fresh breezes and sights like this:

(Ahhhh, that's nice.)
to a bustling, slightly-gritty, extremely noisy, pollution-filled, crowded port city that I'm seriously considering making my new home.

(Agghhhhhhh, I think I just stepped in dog sh*t!!!)
Although I prefer one over the other, despite the dog messes, they both have their charms.

Right country, wrong time again!!!

2009-09-06T16:10:00.009-07:00

It's happening again. No matter what city I'm in, I can't seem to be in the same place as the person I want to be with. It's a dreadful feeling at times like this.

A year and a half ago I wrote about a handsome gentleman I met from Buenos Aires in Los Angeles. To make a long story short, while I was living in Santiago last April, he wrote me to see if we could meet up in Los Angeles. I wrote him back to tell him that I had moved to Chile and that during the exact dates he would be in California, I was going to be in Argentina. Damn. Bad timing.

His work finally brought him to Santiago last November for one night where we met up in Las Condes and had a magical evening. Due to the nature of our relationship, we've only emailed each other briefly a few times since. What more, I hadn't written him since I made the move across the Andes.

Fast forward to last Thursday night where I received an email from him telling me that he was going to be in Santiago for a few days this weekend and that he wanted to see me again. And that if I wasn't in Chile, if I could let him know where I was. After reading the email, I looked at his tour schedule and noticed that he would be in California again in October. Then I wanted to bang my head against the wall in frustration when I realized that he's not going to return to Argentina until November. Cuak!

So I responded and told him that I'm currently living in his hometown and he can contact me whenever he gets back. Now I just have to play the waiting game. It's already been 10 months, so I guess 2 more isn't going to matter that much. Hopefully, his work will actually bring him back to Argentina, but with my luck, he'll probably get sent to Spain or Central America or Miami.

Winter weather and wardrobe malfunctions

2009-09-03T17:45:00.007-07:00

Regularly scheduled weather is back in Buenos Aires and I'm about ready for Winter to end. It's not fun anymore. Actually, it never really was. Cold weather isn't enjoyable when it isn't coupled with Thanksgiving and Christmas and other holidays. Plus I'm getting tired of wearing jackets and layers of clothing all the time. It was a nice change at the beginning of Fall but now I'm yearning for days of shorts and sandals.

Yesterday and the day before it was rainy and cold. The good thing about this city is that there are drains in the streets so I wasn't getting splashed by cars every time I crossed the street. (Unlike other large Southern Cone capitals that shall remain nameless, ahem.) Instead I was worried about dirty rain water dripping on me through the leaky roofs in the subte. That and the random dogs running around inside the stations doing whatever they pleased.

So after two soggy days, this morning I woke up with a cold. Not fun nor attractive in a city that's still paranoid about H1N1. Luckily it wasn't raining but it was still cool and windy and I only had one class so I spent most of the day inside resting and making soup. After spending too much time lazing about I realized that I was going to be late to the only place I had to be. So I ran upstairs, changed into the first warm and non-wrinkled things I saw, thick black tights and a dress.

I was rushing down the steps of the subte when I realized I had made a mistake. As I felt the waistband starting to slip from its proper place at the waist down to my crotch area, I thought, oh crap. I had put on a pair of tights that are kind of stretched out and that had already been worn recently. I had already paid for the ride and was running behind so it was too late to turn around and change. I figured that if I was able to sit down the tights would stay in their proper place. Luckily, I was going against the rush hour commuters so I was able to sit in peace.

Things went well until I got off the C line at Plaza San Martin, in the Recoleta neighborhood, one of the most posh areas of the city. I was barely climbing up the stairs when I felt my tights slip and the trouble begin again. The crotch of the garment was dropping, dropping and I couldn't find anyplace where I could adjust them. Why do these kind of problems only happen when I'm in a hurry?

As I made the 8 block dash up Carlos Pelligrino, alongside Av. 9 de Julio, one of the busiest avenues in Buenos Aires, if not the busiest, I was paranoid that all of a sudden my tights would fall down to not only to my knees, but to my ankles. So I'm trying to walk slow enough not to expose myself to all of the passing businessmen and women, yet fast enough to be on time.

Finally I made it to my location without any embarrassing incidents and was able to properly adjust my sagging tights (sexy, I know) alone in the mirrored elevator. I'm praying that the elevators don't have security cameras.

Same story on the way back except this time I couldn't find a seat on the crowded subte. I spent the ride home with my hand underneath my peacoat, gripping the slipping band of my tights, trying not to move too much. Half an hour later I was home safe thinking that I can't wait until bare-leg season is back. I think me and my tights are both ready for winter to be over.

Hot fun in the wintertime

2009-08-31T06:50:00.009-07:00

Winter took last weekend off and I was more than pleased that summer stepped in to cover for her. On Sunday the temperature in Buenos Aires hit 34ºC/93ºF and the humidity made it feel even hotter. Today it's normal winter weather again, cold and rainy, but the events of the last two days got me all hot and bothered about what this city has to offer in the coming months.

On Saturday I joined my new roommates, Sol and Ale, and their friends and walked down to Estadio Ricardo Etcheverry to watch Caballito's hometeam Ferro against neighboring Floresta's All Boys. I don't know anything about futbol, but got caught up in the excitement anyways cause I was standing in the middle of this:

This was my first futbol game in South America and this may be obvious, but these people love their futbol. During the whole game, which ended anti-climatically with a score of 0-0, the crowd around me continuously shouted, danced, fought and chanted the teams' songs over and over. I swear, my roommate and his friends were singing the loudest of all. I could not get the songs out of my head for hours afterward. I felt a little deaf and sweaty but it was super awesome to be in the middle of all the emotion.

Fast forward a few hours, a few liters of Quilmes, dinner and a nap, I found myself heading to Belgrano around 2:00AM for a rooftop party a friend from NYC had invited me to. A 50/50 mix of foreigners and Porteños, I called my roommates and told them to bring their friends to partake in the incredible view and the ample and gratis amounts of premium and imported booze served by a friendly and efficient bar staff. They arrived around 3:30AM just in time to witness the fireworks that went off about 10 blocks away. I don't think anyone could have planned it better.

As we left the party at a quarter to six, my roommates suggested we head down to the river. Tipsy off of copious amounts of Maker's Mark, their friend and I cabbed it to the waterfront and Sol and Ale followed us on their scooter. The four of us sat on a makeshift bench sharing smokes and some juice concoction Ale created. I can't remember much of what we were talking about but I'll never forget that moment as I watched the sun rise over the body of water that separates Argentina from Uruguay. The quiet laps of the tiny waves, the sight of a few people fishing in water they probably shouldn't be fishing in, the red, orange and yellow of the sky, and the smell of the sea and the city mixing together on an early Sunday morning. We sat around enjoying the view for a little longer until the tiny mosquitoes nipping at our legs became intolerable.

I stumbled into bed around 9AM and when I awoke around 3PM, the heat of the day was warming up the house like an oven. We decided to stroll down to Parque Rivadavia, a place I'd never been, and I was extremely and pleasantly surprised by what we found. Acres of green space, stalls with books, music, videos, etc, people playing chess and cards, and snack food. I thought we were just going to a little place with trees and benches and instead it resembled a mini-festival. We even sat and watched two bands play in different locations. It was the place to be on a warm winter's day.

As I was walking home down Av. Acoyte I realized that what I loved most about the park was the vibe. Everyone was relaxed and out to enjoy, minding their own business. Young people, old people, and families with little kids alike. While I was watching the first band, an old man stood off to the side watching with rapt curiosity and a little baby danced in front by the PA. (A little too close in my opinion but I think his dad was in the band.) People were drinking and smoking marijuana out in the open but nothing got out of control. Even though everyone may not have approved, it didn't seem like a big deal.

By the time I got home on Sunday night, I realized I hadn't done anything on my weekend to-do list. Oh, well. It was too hot to get anything done anyway. For now all I keep thinking is that I had a little taste of Spring and Summer in Buenos Aires and please, sir, I want some more.

26/08/1914- 12/07/1984

2009-08-26T09:49:00.003-07:00

"Only by living absurdly is it possible to break out of this infinite absurdity."

Haven't caught the tango train yet

2009-08-25T21:00:00.008-07:00

Sometimes I think I'm the only foreigner in Buenos Aires who didn't come to this city with Tango fever. Maybe my doctor gave me the vaccination when I wasn't looking. I almost never admit it to people because I don't want to have to try to come up with an explanation as to why I'm not interested in taking lessons, going to a milonga or watching a show. I'm running out of polite ways to say no.

Tango is inescapable in this city. I can't avoid it no matter where I go. A Columbian friend of mine lives in an apartment with a built in studio and a British friend lives with an instructor. Every time I go to one of their houses, it's dancing all up in my face, taunting me with melancholy melodies and fancy footsteps. It seems like every week someone is inviting me to watch a show or visit a milonga. Walking around the city, I'm reminded of the Tango Festival that's happening right now full of free workshops, films and discussions that I won't be signing up for. (I do love the Subte ads though.)

I guess basically it's because I'm not a dancer and never will be. I was born with two left feet and have trouble not tripping when I'm getting off the escalator on the Subte. I may have Latino blood but I have absolutely no rhythm. When I was a kid my mom tried to get me to do Baile Folklorico and even then I was like "Hells no!"

Upon arriving to Buenos Aires, I realized that I'm in the minority. I have friends here who came here with a purpose and burning desire to learn tango who can't understand my disinterest. I can't believe they came to this city not knowing who Cortázar was nor want to read any of his works.

Not to say that I can't appreciate it as part of the culture and as a form of art and expression. I like the music and I think the dancing is really cool. I even enjoy reading an ex-pat blog that focuses on tango but I don't necessarily feel the need to be dancing in the streets and in milongas myself.

So as blasphemous as this may sound, thank you, Argentina, but I'll pass not only on the beef (gasp!) but the tango as well. You can however, pour me another glass of Malbec.

Getting good at being uncomfortable

2009-08-18T18:14:00.003-07:00

So I've been in Buenos Aires a little over two months now and I feel like I'm beginning to step into the rhythm of the city. Finally. It hasn't been easy and even though sometimes I've wanted to take the first bus back to Santiago or the next plane to L.A., I'm really enjoying life here.

Last week I was walking to work down Avenida Santa Fe towards Humboldt listening to Fiona Apple when I heard:

I still only travel by foot and by foot, it's a slow climb,
But I'm good at being uncomfortable, so
I can't stop changing all the time

I thought about all the difficulties I had gone through (and in a lot of ways still am going through) adjusting to life in South America. So much confusion and so many awkward moments. And I realized that I'm getting a lot better at handling unfamiliar and uncomfortable situations.

Moving again made me remember all the little things about being in a new country and adapting to a new way of life. In some ways moving to Buenos Aires was more stressful than the move to Santiago because there I had a set job, a steady paycheck and basically a built in support group. But I think the actual adjustment to a new place has been easier here. Maybe it's because my Spanish is better or maybe because over the past 18 months I've been forced to become more independent, resilient and adaptable, but either way I don't feel as terribly gawky or painfully shy as I used to be.

I mean, I still find myself in strange situations where I'm not sure what to do or how to act but now I've stopped caring so much about standing out or doing things differently than the natives. Yes, I speak with an accent and may have to ask someone to repeat what they've just said. So what? I may call things by their wrong names but eventually I'll figure it out and get what I need or want. And sometimes I don't feel like waiting to eat dinner at 22:00 so I'm going to eat at 19:00 by myself and enjoy it. I'm done trying to be nice and sensitive to the demands of my uptight, cunty Porteña roommate so I've realized that it's her, not me, brushed it off and found a new place to live. I've encountered a lot of uncomfortable stuff but now I'm just trying to make the best of it and keep moving. I'm not the same as everyone else but it's O.K.

When I think back over everything I've accomplished it makes me realize that life in Southern California is going to be so much easier now, aside from the whole flailing economy thing. I remember situations in Los Angeles where I felt awkward, unsure of myself, or completely lost which now seem like nothing. After months of trying to imitate the actions and behaviors of those around me and literally and figuratively not speaking the same language as everyone else including friends, boyfriends, co-workers, and bosses, I've changed a lot. Most importantly I've learned how to accept and embrace the fact that life is about throwing oneself into the unknown and the unfamiliar becoming a better person through these kind of experiences. At least the life I've chosen.