El San Juanino

El Sanjuanino is a little neighborhoody restaurant across the street from Larry's apartment. It's a very down-home, simple kind of place. Their menu features empanadas (according to Larry's doorman, the best in South America), salads, beef, and other specialties like lentils (my favorite), locro (a typical dish made from hominy), and things like antelope. They also serve good wine. It's possible to have a meal of wine, empanadas and salad for next to nothing.

Last night we met there for our good-bye dinner for Anna and Mike. I had an empanada for starters, lentils and a mixed salad (onions, tomatoes and lettuce), and had flan for desert. It was a yummy meal which I enjoyed even though I was under the weather and it felt hot and very loud in the restaurant.

The salads are really good, and a mixed salad in a decent sized bowl runs about 2 dollars. The problem is that their salads, and those at most other places, often come with an extra - dirt. I take this as a sign that the lettuce is grown on farms in dirt, and not in some hydroponic facility with artificial sunlight, artificial dirt, etc. It comes from the earth like it should. So even though the dirt is a little bit annoying to chew, I don't really mind it terribly. But last night when we ordered our salads, Larry, who seems to be gaining confidence in his ability to make demands in Spanish, told our waiter that we wanted our salads without dirt. It got a good laugh out of the waiter and everyone around us. When Larry told the waiter that we had salads there two times with dirt in them, he asked if we told the waiter. To which Larry replied that he had. The waiter was very good-natured about the whole thing. I said I just eat the dirt, and Larry added that I am from the "country". The waiter enjoyed that too and that became the joke for the evening.

It was a fun night. El Sanjuanino has a very neighborhoody feel. There was a family seated across from us who witnessed the whole conversation about dirt in the salad and asked us where we were from. Turns out they had just returned from living in Virgina. They said our Spanish was very good - they were really talking about Larry because he was the one having the conversation about dirt in the salad.

There were two women seated behind Larry who kept looking at us. I don't know why, and I thought I was imagining it, but when we got up to leave they turned in the other direction and were looking at us through the window of the restaurant as we stood out on the street talking. I don't know what fascinated them so much about us, but they had big smiles on their faces, and I'm really glad we made their evening so enjoyable.

I had to rush home because I had my final exam today for level 6. I had to be at school at 8:30 a.m.

I woke up in the middle of the night coughing and wheezing and couldn't fall back to sleep, so I got up and made a cup of tea. Eventually I did fall asleep, but got up around 7 and after getting showered and dressed hopped in a taxi to go to school. I stopped at a restaurant near school first and had a coffee and croissants for breakfast before heading up to our classroom where we thought our exam would take place.

I walked into the classroom and Anna arrived a few minutes later. We sat there and at about 8:40, I thought it was strange that no one had come to give us our exam. Anna thought they were just running late. I went out to find Diego, the guy who seems to be in charge of things, and he wasn't in his little window. A few of the Chinese students arrived looking flustered, and they went up to the 4th floor. I went up to see what was going on and there were a bunch of students sitting there taking the test. Diego was there proctoring and he motioned for me to sit down. I went back and got Anna, and the two of us, now flustered over the confusion about where our exam was to take place, went up to the examination room.

We were given our exams and they made us sit apart from each other so we couldn't copy.

The exam was difficult for me. There was a reading about technology from the newspaper, and some comprehension questions. Then there was some grammar and finally we had to write an essay on one of the themes related to the reading. Finally, we had an oral exam which consisted of discussing some quotes from Borges and choosing a picture and talking about it.

I think I did ok, even though the whole thing was difficult. So it looks like I'm going to go to level 7 next month and it looks like I will have private lessons because there are no other students at my level (I don't know what is happening with Cynthia and Jonathan, but since they both work at CUI, where we're taking classes, and are getting their classes for free, I guess they are not able to go to level 7. The whole thing is kind of confusing, but I'm happy that I'll have 2 hours of private lessons instead of 3 hours of class every day.)

One thing I learned from the exam is that Borges, one of the most famous Argentine writers, was a facist. The three quotes we had to respond to were from him. One was about blacks in the US, saying they have nothing to complain about because they can live wherever they want and whites can live in black neighborhoods and therefore there are no racial problems. The 2nd quote was about how the poor complain that they are discriminated against, but actually life is more difficult for the rich. And the third quote said something about the conquistadors fighting hard to gain control of the desert, while the Indians also fought, they didn't have good enough reasons to want the land, and therefore lost it. It was some crazy shit and I couldn't believe that Borges, whose image seems to be everywhere here and is really a national icon, said those things.

The teacher who was testing us, who I never met before, said that it was because of his opinions on things like the military, violence, equality and justice, etc., that she does not like to read Borges. She said that even though he was an excellent writer, he was a horrible person and she can't separate the two. That's good, because I was feeling like I should buy one of his books and read him, but now I have an excuse not to. From his quotes, I'd say he would be similar to a Pat Buchanon or someone like that. Total nut job.

Rather than wait around for the results of my exam, which I'm sure I passed, I took the subte home, got the fixings for some soup, and am going to have some soup and get back in bed. The tightness in my chest seems to be clearing up, but I bought an expectorant just in case. I think I'll be back to normal by Monday, especially if I spend the weekend taking care of myself. I guess that's one of the drawbacks of coming here in their winter - winter colds and flus, and lots of people on subways, in classrooms, etc.

Marcelo's Tango Studio

I had my second tango lesson today. I am (hopefully) at the tail end of this cold or whatever it is I have. My throat was still sore this morning and I felt sort of out of it, but I went to my lesson anyway. I've posted a picture of Marcelo's studio. The picture really can't describe the full experience. It's a combination of the music, the view out the window of these grand old apartment buildings that are sorely in need of renovation (with rusty shutters covering the windows), the room, and of course, the dancing.

Today's lesson was similar to yesterday's. We started again with walking, which makes me feel like I am totally incompetent. You can't believe how difficult it is to walk with the intention of putting your leg out straight in front of you, toes pointed out, leg first and body following after, all keeping your balance. It's even harder to do backwards. Fortunately, these walking exercises seem to be warm-up exercises. We did a little walking, a little backwards walking, some forward and some back ochos, and then he grabbed my arms, not yet a full tango embrace, and we worked on the basic step a little. This is so good for me. Even though it is really fun to dance and feel like I'm in some Jane Austin romance, it's more important that I really get the fundamentals, and that is what he is focusing on without it being about only the fundamentals. The classes are a great mix of attention to form, posture, etc., but also with dancing and having fun.

Again Marcelo encouraged me to go to the milonga next Wednesday. He said he'd go with me and dance with me to show the guys that I could dance and then he'd leave me alone. It seems like such a big step. I think maybe after another week of lessons, I might be ready for it. He's also encouraging me to come to his class on Fridays at 6. I highly recommend him. If anyone is coming to Buenos Aires and looking for a good tango teacher, his e-mail is tangosur@argentina.com. He also does massage.

I like that his studio is in a part of town I don't know very well. I went to the Congresso on my first day whirlwind tour of the city with Larry, but it was a quick visit. We had gone to Plaza de Mayo and then took the subte to el Congresso, which was really beautiful at night. It's a very different feel from where I live and also from the other neighborhoods I frequent. It feels more like old Buenos Aires and is more in need of repair than the Recoleta and my neighborhood, Retiro.

I was thinking about time today. I was reading something before I left San Francisco, or listening to something, I can't remember. I believe it might have been Ken Wilber. And he was talking about at the level of pure consciousness, time does not exist. Past and present and to a certain extent, future, all exist at the same time. Kind of a mind-blowing concept.

Today on my way to school, after my tango lesson in this building that time forgot, a guy rode by me on a bicycle that seemed like he was out of a film from the 1940's. I have this feeling here that all time, past, present and future is happening simultaneously. It's hard to explain. But going to these old cafes where tangueros hung out and wrote music, hearing old tango music from the 1930s and 1940s, seeing people who look like they are still living in a past time, buildings that represent a faded past glory, all alongside modern fashions, new modern steel and glass buildings, gleaming shopping centers, etc. It is as if here the old equally coexists with the new. It's not something I'm aware of in the States. I think because there is so much that is old here, and it is still very much valued, or at least has never been replaced, it seems like several time periods are existing in the same moment. It's kind of a trip.

I found a new place to eat lunch. The place where we went to have mate the other day is a few blocks from school. I went yesterday and had a pretty decent lunch - chicken with potatoes in some sort of cream sauce. I went again today and the waiter recognized me and came up to my table and recommended one of today's specials - ribs baked in the oven with french fries. I went with it, even though I really need to get away from this meat and potatoes diet.

It's a really nice neighborhood place that has that mix of old and new that I love here. The waiters are so much friendlier than at the other place I was going for lunch, las Ciencias. Recently I was there with Anna and one of the waiters cracked a smile. It was something worthy of a front page headline. Those guys really took their job seriously. But at my new favorite place for lunch, Punta Cuore, the waiters seem to feel more at ease interacting with the customers.

I observed a couple at the next table who had the same thing I had for lunch plus a bottle of wine. Their tab was 45 pesos, which is about 15 dollars! Can you imagine lunch for two plus wine for 15 dollars!

Last night Hernan told me it is very difficult for Argentines to pay international prices. For example, his airfare to go to Quebec, which would be about $1,000 U.S., is 3,000 pesos. I think for Argentines, the value of the peso in terms of what it buys is still equivalent to what it was when it was pegged to the dollar. So for us, the prices are 1/3 cheaper - 45 pesos is 15 dollars, but for them 45 pesos is 45 pesos - I don't think that lunch was a bargain for that couple.

Tonight we're having dinner at the restaurant across from Larry's - El San Juanino, to say good-by to Mike and Anna who are leaving this weekend. Tomorrow I have my final exam, and if I pass will go to level 7. I don't know if I'll have classmates or will be in a class alone. I know I'll miss my classmates Mike and Anna, both of whom made me laugh a lot and were fun to have in class.

Time for a siesta.

First Tango in Buenos Aires

After the milonga last Wednesday, I never thought I'd dance any tango here, but I was wrong.

I spend a lot of time in front of the computer (obviously), checking websites and looking up different things. The internet really is an amazing thing.

At some point in the past week, I came across a teacher who was recommended by someone on some website that I'd have to retrace my steps to find. They said he was very exacting and focused a lot on technique. He came highly recommended by whoever these guys were that created this website. The prices they quoted for classes were also cheaper than the quote I got from someone I had contacted from San Francisco. The guy I was trying to arrange classes with, Claudio, was asking $30 US per one hour class for a private lesson. I think that was even a deal based on the fact that I was going to be taking 2 months of lessons. Larry thought it was expensive, which is one reason I hesitated. The other is that I was dealing with Claudio's assistant and it was at the point where I had to make phone contact. I really don't like the telephone when I can use e-mail. And I especially don't like the phone when I have to do it in another language.

So anyway, I came across this other guy, Marcelo. His listed price was $30 per hour. But when I wrote to him he said that he would go as low as $20 if I agreed to several lessons per week. Since I was planning on taking two lessons with Claudio at $30 per hour ($60/week), I was willing to do three classes with Marcelo at $20 per hour, for the same final price.

We e-mailed back and forth several times, trying to set up some times for lessons, and finally agreed on 5 p.m. today. It gave me enough time to leave class and find his studio. I also had time for a few empanadas before my lesson.

I had no idea what to expect. We hadn't spoken, so I had no idea how old he was, what he looked like or even where I was going. But I forged ahead like the adventurer I am.

When I got to his building, it was in a part of town I am not familiar with called El Congresso. It was located about two blocks from the Congress, hence the name. It is not that far from where I'm studying Spanish, and I was able to walk there.

The neighborhood was definitely not the Recoleta. Buildings and streets seemed in need of repair. As I got to the corner closest to his building a man who was looking rather down and out pleaded with me to buy some socks that he was selling, and I think he said he needed money for a bottle (maybe I misunderstood). I was glad I told Marcelo I couldn't go there tomorrow night at 10 p.m. for a lesson. It didn't seem like the kind of neighborhood I wanted to be walking around in at night.

So I buzzed him and waited. A woman pushing a baby stroller was on her way down the stairs. A man came down behind her and helped her. I didn't know if it was Marcelo or not. I was kind of hoping my teacher would be the dark, handsome guy with sparkly shoes from the milonga last week, and hoping it wouldn't be the guy with the tail and the shoes with the silver stripes.

It was neither.

Marcelo was a youngish (younger than me) Italian/Argentine looking guy, not particularly striking, but not bad looking either. He is a little taller than me and has very short, thinning hair, glasses and was in need of a shave. He greeted me with a hug, but not a San Francisco, let's press our hearts together so we can feel them beating, kind of hug, but rather a quick hug and release kind of thing.

We rode this fantastic elevator up to the third floor. From the outside, the building was rather ordinary looking, nothing really spectacular about it. But from inside it was amazing. The elevator was a cage that ran up the middle of a winding marble staircase. The ceilings in the building were huge and all of the apartments had huge old wooden doors. It definitely was a classic building that had seen better days.

We entered his apartment which was also enormous. It looked like a flat that went way back with high ceilings and big doors. Immediately inside the apartment was a table with a funky tablecloth, a computer, and off to the side, towards the front of the building, a small room with french doors that he used as his tango studio.

The tango studio was small, but had nice wooden floors, walls that were painted blue with visible brush work, and one window looking out to the street. The only furniture was a table with a lamp on it and the stereo.

We started with the basics - walking. It is my least favorite part, but is so important. Fortunately, we didn't spend too much time on that, and moved on to some basic steps, and eventually to forward and back ochos. All of this we did with him demonstrating and me following behind.

Finally, he took me in a tango embrace and we started to dance.

I started dancing tango in January I think. I started as a leader and took classes for three or four months. I thought it would get easier, but instead it got harder. Finally in frustration, I took a month off.

When I returned, I decided I would try following. On my first day in level 1 as a follower, as I was leaving, my teacher Amy asked if I would stay for the level 2 class because they were short on followers. I didn't think I could do it, but Amy thought I could, and I did. By the end of my first month as a follower, I was able to dance with people and actually feel like I was dancing. It was so much fun.

After about 20 minutes of basics with Marcelo, he took me in a close tango embrace and we started to dance, and again, I felt like I was dancing, rather than a bumbling, two-left-footed, starting way too old to really learn, student. It was so much fun. And what was even better was that I was doing it in Buenos Aires, where it all began, in this old building, with scratchy old music playing in this little room that looked out on this dingy street that was now becoming dark as the sun went down and the man selling socks still approached strangers on the street so he could earn enough to buy a bottle.

It was all very heady, and after doing quite a lot of spinning, I was starting to get dizzy.

Admittedly, I was nervous. I didn't have a lot of faith in my ability as a dancer, and here I was dancing with this teacher with no place to hide. Every now and then I'd miss a step and panic, but Marcelo would just continue as if nothing had happened. From time to time he'd remind me that he was leading, if I got over anxious and started anticipating where we were going next. He'd subtly shake his hand to remind me to close my fingers around his.

It was really amazing and really fun. In one hour we had covered the basics, learned a basic pattern that he was able to adjust to make it feel like we were ready to hit the milonga, and he had introduced me to the three forms of tango - regular tango (old school), milonga (which is much faster and a more modern style), and vals (which is based on the waltz). I have to say, I liked vals a lot. The music and the tempo and the building all brought me back to a more romantic time of big ballrooms and beautiful gowns and live orchestras and princes and princesses and all of that glitter and romance and Jane Eyre and Emma Thompson, and you know...

Marcelo said I was a good student, which was really nice to hear. I thought he was a terrific teacher and a great leader. We set up a lesson for tomorrow and Saturday. I regret not having started sooner, but I still have four weeks and will be taking three lessons per week, so that's still pretty good. He also said I would be ready to dance at the milonga next Wednesday. I don't know if I am ready or if I want to go back there, but we'll see.

I guess I need to start looking for my tango shoes now because I think it is safe to say I'm hooked.

When I left it was rush hour, so I wasn't going to attempt taking the subway, which I've heard is packed at rush hour. I walked out of Marcelo's apartment and walked past the beautiful Congress building which stood there in the dark, pink sky behind it and traffic buzzing all around. I decided to walk home and take a different route. I walked through the center of the theater district, passed through the area where the courts are and eventually made it to my neighborhood. All the way home I was smiling, enjoying the sights, the warm evening air (we're having a mini-summer here in winter) and feeling the electricity of the city rushing to get home after a hard day of work.

I'm now waiting for Hernan who is coming over to cook me dinner to thank me for helping him with his resume. He had to send it to this Canadian playwrite who he wants to go to Quebec and work with. I told him I'd check it for him and it's a good thing I did. He might be a talented playwrite, but he had no idea how to make a resume. It was all over the place with crazy fonts, irregular formatting, lots of italics, mis-spellings, and Spanish mixed in with the English. I reformatted it for him and cleaned it up to make it presentable. It's sweet that he's going to cook for me to thank me.

The cold seems to have cleared up quite well. I felt very froggy throated today and sounded very sexy when I spoke, but now I just have a little tickle in my throat and feel pretty good. I think the tango dancing helped.

Reflections on living in a 2nd language

I wanted to take a little time today to reflect on my experiences here trying to live in a Spanish-speaking world, hoping that it might help people who are reading this, and myself, to understand what it is like for my students, who are trying to learn English in an environment that is often very hostile to people who speak other languages (all of those English-only laws, anti-immigrant legislation, etc..).

I've written about this in several places on this blog, but for me one of the more noticeable things is that I often seem to be in a state where I am not sure I understand all of what is being said to me. I'm pretty good about guessing from context and also am willing to take risks (if I have to) even though I might not understand fully. This has its disadvantages though. Like when I was at the video shop and the clerk was taking my information to create my account. Hernan was there, and I felt nervous speaking Spanish in front of him. She said something as we were almost finished, and I didn't understand, but I said yes. Don't ask me why I did that, but I just wanted to be finished. It turns out she had asked me if I wanted someone else's name on my account. Hernan clarified for me. If he hadn't been there, I'm sure it would have eventually gotten cleared up. It's almost like I only have half of my hearing (which actually I do), and am basing my reactions and responses to only half of what I heard. Fortunately, there haven't been any major misunderstandings, but it has also made me hesitant to just go out there and act the way I would in a country where my language is spoken. I look for opportunities to buy things without having to speak to people, rather than put myself in situations where I might get confused.

My experience at the pasta shop turned into a near nightmare for me. Here I was in this shop with two people speaking to me and I didn't understand anything. I didn't even know how to get myself out of that situation gracefully by saying something like, "I'll come back later" or something like that. This woman went through this long explanation about the different kinds of pasta she had and I didn't understand a word. Fortunately I got up the nerve to tell her I didn't understand, and fortunately they were willing to tell me again, but in whatever way they did it, modify their speech, and I understood. But it was a very uncomfortable experience for me and not one I look forward to repeating. If I had been able to go and just pick up a box of ravioli myself, I wouldn't have hesitated at all.

I always tell my students to create opportunities for them to use the language, but for me here, I look for opportunities where I don't have to.

I thought meeting Hernan would be a good thing for me because it would give me someone I could communicate with and get some help from. But his English is much better than my Spanish, and even though he makes mistakes, like using he instead of she, or calling his nephew his niece, I don't notice his mistakes, because I'm used to listening to English around people's mistakes. But when I try to speak Spanish with him, he corrects everything, laughs at my mistakes and says things like it's like trying to speak to a child (those weren't his exact words, but it was the essence of what he said). When I'm with him, I get to hear authentic Spanish if he has a conversation with a taxi driver, or calls his family, but he doesn't like to speak Spanish with me. I can only push it to a certain point because really my ability to communicate with him in Spanish is very limited. I think it's easier to speak to a stranger than to someone you're involved with.

And then there is TV. I've been pretty busy running around so I really haven't had a lot of time to watch TV, but lately, since I've been resting, I have been watching more. Unfortunately, I have cable here, so I have an unlimited channel selection. Channel 2 is some sort of local news station. I always start there, and work my way to the higher numbers. As I go through, I will find programs in Spanish, American programs dubbed in Spanish, and then programs in English that have Spanish subtitles. I almost always end up watching a program in English with Spanish subtitles. If I lie down on my sofa to watch TV, it's usually because I'm exhausted and want to relax. To turn on something in Spanish where I have no idea of the context and have very little to help me understand it, is a lot of work. It's easier for me to watch reruns of Sex in the City, than to try to figure out what they are talking about on these news programs, or to join a soap opera in the middle of the season in the middle of a show.

So, all of the things that I tell my students to do to try to improve their English aren't working for me. Create opportunities, find a boyfriend, watch TV......

You'd think, after taking Spanish class for 3 hours every day, being immersed in a Spanish-speaking environment, dating someone who speaks Spanish, that I'd have a lot of opportunities to practice and my Spanish would improve rapidly. That isn't the case.

My Spanish is improving. It's been a while since I have last spoken Spanish, maybe one year. So I had to go into the attic, dust off those irregular verbs and reopen files with the subjunctives, conditionals, futures and two past tenses. I also had to learn a new way of pronouncing ll and y (they pronounce it like a j here), and learn a new way to say you (they use 'vos') with all of the verb conjugations that come along with that.

But what I have learned the most is how difficult it is for someone with the best intentions of learning a language to fight against the natural forces that seem to work against that process. I think it is natural for us to want to speak the language we know and understand already, which is why I automatically stop on a TV program that I've already seen before or would never watch at home. I think it is natural for us to not want to be embarrassed, especially in front of someone we like, which is why I don't like to speak Spanish in front of Hernan, and am not pushing the issue with him to speak Spanish with me. I think it is natural for us to want to avoid situations where we might not understand fully and don't want to admit it. Therefore, if I have to go into a shop and speak to a clerk, or go somewhere else where I can have a more autonomous shopping experience, I would choose the latter, even though I know, as a teacher, that the interaction is better for me.

I think as humans we look for comfort, and nothing can be more uncomfortable than being in a situation where you don't understand the language.

As a teacher, I need to think about ways that I might be able to help my students combat the natural forces that are working against them in their quest to become fluent, competent English speakers. But as a person who interacts every day with people who are speaking English as an additional language, I want to remember how difficult it is for them. I want to remember that they might be scared, nervous, embarrassed, that they might not understand fully what I am saying, that they might say yes even if they are not sure what they are saying yes to.

It is very different for me to be in this situation than in others I've been in, such as Korea last summer where I knew I understood nothing, and my efforts at communicating were very rudimentary, and success felt good. Here I am at an advanced level of Spanish. People who speak to me at first get the impression that I understand. Some of them might even be fooled into thinking that I am a native Spanish-speaker (my masseuse thought my parents were Spanish speakers). But in reality, there are very big gaps in my comprehension, and until I get more aggressive about having people slow down, repeat, and doing all of the things I need them to do for me to understand, they are just going to think I'm dumb.

My advice for my readers. Next time you speak to someone who is speaking English as an additional language, remember how difficult it is for them to do that, and be nice.

Recuperating

I'm spending the day in bed. I noticed over the weekend that I was starting to get a scratchy throat. Yesterday my eyes felt watery. And today when I woke up, I felt a tightness in my chest. I'd say it's official that I'm coming down with a cold. Larry thinks we caught it from a taxi driver. He said his is gone, that it moves quickly through your system. I hope so.

I dropped my clothes off at the laundry this morning and then went to the cafe next door to it and studied a little. It was there that I decided I wasn't going to school. I sent Anna a text so that she would know where I was and also advise Fernanda that I wouldn't be in because I was sick (I am a very responsible student). I just hope Anna told Fernanda - well, no big deal.

After the cafe I went to the Farmacity, the drugstore, to see if I could get some cold medicine. I was totally confused about what things were. While I sort of understood the labels, none of the medicines had all of the symptoms they treat, nor did they have directions on the label. I stood there wondering if I really felt bad enough to need medicine and decided to wait and see how I feel tomorrow.

Instead I went to my little video shop and rented "Volver" - they didn't seem to have many Argentine films, but mostly American films with Spanish titles. I figured at least I could watch something in Spanish, even if it was from Spain.

Then I went to the supermarket and got a package of vegetables cut up for soup. They sell these nifty packages that have a variety of vegetables cut up to make soup. I also got a package of Knorr minestrone. I boiled the vegetables a little, added the minestrone mix and it made a perfectly yummy vegetable soup that I'm sure is better for me than any of the cold medicines at Farmacity.

After eating my soup, I took a little nap and then watched Volver - three times.

I watched it once with no subtitles, and while I understood the story, more or less, I felt I was missing some important details. Mid-way through, I figured out how to add Spanish subtitles, which really helped (I saw that the Spanish subtitles were sometimes different from what was being said - what was written, I understood, what was said, I didn't - meaning I'm not that familiar with Spanish expressions from Spain).

At the end of the movie, which was quite subtle, I thought maybe I had missed something. So I watched it again from the beginning with Spanish subtitles. Ah, it was more clear the second time.

But still feeling like I might have missed something, I watched it a third time with English subtitles, but only from the middle.

Now I can probably act it out from memory.

So, after a full day caring for myself, I feel pretty good. I think Larry might be right that this cold moves quickly. Or else I caught it in time and nipped it in the bud. I have my first tango lesson tomorrow after school, so I want to be sure I'm feeling up to moving around for one hour. It should be intense because it will be in Spanish and it will just be me and the teacher. No slacking like I can get away with in San Francisco.

I'm in for the evening. Latin American Idol airs tonight at 10.

I have to say, even being sick, I like it here. It was more convenient for me to get groceries and a DVD here than it would have been in SF, where I would have had to get into my car, deal with traffic and parking and all that. Everything I need is within a one block radius here. The laundry is two blocks away. The maid comes every Thursday. Ah, this is the life!

I Look Like I'm From Here

One thing I really like about this place is that it's really easy to fit in. After 6 years in Japan with people pointing at me like I was an animal in the zoo and saying "look, a foreigner!", it's really nice to blend in with the locals. All I had to do was buy a scarf and learn how they wear it, and if I don't open my mouth, no one would ever know that I'm not a local.

Of course, this has its disadvantages, mostly for the people who have asked me for directions.

There was the guy on the crowded train who asked me if the door were going to open on the side we were standing on. I told him yes, because I really thought it did, but it turned out I was wrong, and he had to push his way through the crowd to get off at his stop. Woops!

Then there was the guy who works at the front desk who asked me if I knew a kiosk (a kiosk is a convenience store) where he could buy a pancho. I thought he was looking for a poncho, and might have directed him to the store that sells gaucho clothing.

And then there was the guy who saw me coming back from the chino the other day with my groceries. He asked me if there was a supermarket nearby, and I told him there was a chino about two blocks down the street. What I forgot was that the little supermarket a half a block away was also open. Woops again!

So, it's nice to fit in, but I really should begin telling people I don't know when they ask me for help. I think I'm doing more harm than good.

Mate

One thing I really like about our class is that we're able to talk our teachers into doing different things. On Friday we suggested to Marcela that we go to this newly renovated cafe near school - Cafe de los Angelitos. It was an old tango hangout and has been in the process of being renovated for like 15 years or something. They had their grand opening this past week. So instead of taking our break, we went to Cafe de los Angelitos and had our break and the rest of our class there.

Today we had already decided that we were going to a place to drink mate (pronounced ma-tey). Mate is actually the container that you drink it out of. The herb that goes inside is called yierba, and the whole thing is often called yerba mate. I'm not sure of the correct spelling of yierba/yerba, so I'll use both. I have a bag sitting less that 10 feet away from me, but I'm too lazy to get up and look.

Yerba mate is something the indigenous people drank before the Spaniards arrived and wiped them all out. It is supposed to be very healthy, anti-oxident, energizing (natural energy), etc. I guess it didn't help the indians though, since they're all but completely erased from Argentine soil.

In Buenos Aires mate is not as popular as in the countryside and supposedly in Uruguay, where you can see people on the streets with their mate gourd filled with yerba and carrying a thermos of hot water. I've occasionally seen people come into restaurants to get their thermos refilled with hot water.

Our plan for today was to go to a place where we could drink mate, but we also had to prepare presentations on two people - one from Argentina and one from our country.

It turned out to be a great thing to do. I'm happy to report I am no longer the worst student in the class. It's only because the other students were all pretty wiped out. Mike went to Iguazu, the gigantic waterfalls that are on the Brazilian/Argentine border, and his plane was delayed so that he didn't get into Buenos Aires until early this morning (like 3 a.m. or something like that). Anna went to visit some friends who live in a place called Rafaela, and returned by overnight bus last night, also arriving early this morning, and Cynthia was coming down with a cold. I also feel like I'm catching something, but at least I was here this weekend and did do a little preparation for today's class. I also got to class early and Marcela commented that I'm always early and therefore 'the best student' (she may not have said the best, but she did comment on me being a good student). So my reputation has been salvaged.

This is not a competition, but it was important for me to at least give the appearance that I am trying.

So anyway, we ordered our mate and some food. I got a little piece of ricotta cheesecake which was quite good. Cynthia got a full meal and Mike and Anna got snacks. I did my presentations first. I was really nervous, but it was better doing this in a cafe than in front of the class.

First I talked about Mercedes Sosa, who is an Argentine folk singer. I first heard her sing at a celebration for the 5th anniversary of the Nicaraguan revolution that overthrew the Somoza dictatorship, when I was there in 1984. She was incredible and I didn't realize at the time what a treat it was to see her perform live (though I don't remember seeing her, just hearing her, so we must have had really bad seats or there were a lot of people or I had drunk too much Nicaraguan rum).

For my "American" person, I chose Harvey Milk. I thought it would be interesting to talk about a gay person, and also I thought he was someone people didn't know much about. Marcela was really blown away by his story and the fact that Dan White, who killed him and Mayor Moscone got a 5 year probation as a sentence. It really is an incredible story - kill the mayor and a city supervisor and get 5 years probation. Totally sick.

The yerba mate is bitter. I bought a mate gourd at the Recoleta artisan fair a few weekends ago and got some mate when I went with Larry to Jumbo. I thought I'd be drinking that instead of green tea. But when I made it, it was very bitter and I thought I had done something wrong. What I wasn't doing was adding sugar. I hate to add sugar to things, but it really helped. We'll see if I become a mate drinker or not.

After class, I hung out a bit with Larry who is undergoing some extensive dental work and is not a happy camper, though he seems to be taking it all in stride. It is a lucky thing to be in a country which has decent, reliable medical care and need to have work done. It's costing him fractions of what it would cost in the States and his insurance will reimburse him. After saying good-bye to him, I made my way home.

I passed this little homemade ravioli place. I looked in the window and considered going in and then changed my mind. I walked a few steps and went back and went inside. There were two women working there and no customers.

I pointed to some ravioli in the case which were made with two colors of dough. I asked what they were, meaning what was inside, but I think she told me what the dough was. Then she pointed to orange ones and told me something about them, and then pointed to other round dumplings and told me they were sorrentini (I think). She also said they had gnocchi.

I then asked a question about the sorrentini, I think I asked what was inside. She told me they were filled with cheese and rattled off other fillings, then pointed to the black and white ravioli and told me what they were filled with and then the orange ravioli and told me what they were filled with as well as the other filling options.

I think even if this had been done in English, I would have been lost, but I was particularly lost because there were so many options and I had no idea what she had just told me. But I wanted to buy some.

So, I frankly said, "in reality, I don't think I understand." They asked me what language I spoke and I said English. One of the woman was prepared to translate for me, but I said, "I speak Spanish, but I don't understand all of the fillings."

It was amazing. I don't know what they did differently, but she patiently took her time and explained once again and I understood that the black and white ravioli were filled with smoked salmon, the orange ones were filled with asparagus, and then she opened the freezer and showed me some of the other options. I opted for the black and white ravioli with smoked salmon inside because they were really pretty.

I was really exhausted and came home and put them in the freezer. I think I'll cook them the next time Hernan comes over. I heated up some lentils, ate them and watched a little TV until I started to fall asleep. I turned off the TV and got in bed to take a nap. I ended up sleeping for about 2 hours and woke up so groggy I went out to take a walk to wake up a bit.

My throat is feeling a bit scratchy and I'm sneezing, so I am definitely coming down with a cold. I brought some tea tree oil with echinachea with me and I am spraying my throat periodically, so hopefully I won't get too sick. I'm not sure why I'm getting sick. I spent the whole weekend relaxing. I guess it's one of the hazards of winter.

It's hot in here and I have the window open. I can hear someone singing and playing the guitar and smell some incredible cooking that is making me very hungry. I might have to forage in the refrigerator to see what goodies I can eat.

Not so lazy Sunday

The plan for today was to relax and eventually get to my homework for tomorrow. It all started off well. After breakfast and cleaning up a bit, I spent some time on the computer (I think I blogged already today). Then I showered, and went to the chino, which I found out is called "Hong Kong". I got some potatoes and carrots and chocolate pudding. I came home and made a pot of lentils. I wasn't really ready to eat yet, but they smelled so good, I had a small bowl.

Then, I was ready for a nap (after sleeping for 11 hours last night, I was exhausted). I was in the process of trying to find the remote for the TV when Larry called. He said he was bored after spending the entire weekend inside and was on his way over.

In the meantime, I took a horizontal position on the sofa and found a hidden camera program called "La Vendetta" - it was great. It was your usual hidden camera show, except these were Argentines, and it was great to see their reactions when these tricks were pulled on them. You can really see the Italian influence here in the gestures they use.

Anyway, the program finished and Larry was not here yet, so I got a chance to take a nice nap.
When Larry arrived I gave him a bowl of lentils and then we decided we needed to go to Freddo to get the taste of lentils out of his mouth.

We put on our coats, walked out into the hallway and closed the door. As we walked to the elevator I realized I didn't remember putting my keys in my pocket. I checked all of my pockets and sure enough, they weren't there. I had left them inside the apartment, and the door locks when you close it.

Mierda!

So, we went downstairs. Luckily I had entered the phone numbers for Ralf and Tomas, from the agency where I rented my apartment, into my cell phone, and I had my cell phone with me. We walked outside because my cell doesn't work from inside this building (I think it must be reinforced in case of nuclear war - the building that is, not my phone). First I tried Tomas and got a recorded message from a woman saying she regretted that I was unsuccessful but I should try again later. I tried Ralf and got nothing. I tried both again several times and had no luck.

So then we went back inside the building to see if the doorman, or security guard, whatever the guy who sits at the little desk is, had extra keys.

For some reason he thought I was on the 9th floor. I don't know what made him think that, but once we cleared up my apartment number and floor he went into the garage in the back of the building and disappeared. After several minutes, he returned with a set of keys that had "7-34" on them - my floor and apartment number. Perfect! This wasn't going to turn into a blog topic after all.

So I came up while Larry stayed downstairs and chatted with this guy, who was young and cute and very nice.

I put the key into the lock, turned it and the door didn't open. I tried again several times. The key looked different. It was older, and also cut on a diagonal. I'll have to post a picture of the keys here because they are the strangest things. Anyway, after trying several more times, I went downstairs. Larry was interviewing the guy on how much he makes. Maybe Larry is considering a job as a security guard in the Recoleta.

I told them the door didn't open. So the security guard went back into the garage and came back with some key rings that had what looked like a hundred keys on it. I wish I had taken a picture of that, but my camera was locked inside my apartment.

He asked me to identify the key to my apartment, and I showed him keys that were around the same size, but I noticed that they were all cut differently. Finally, he came upstairs with us and tried the keys that were the same size, one by one, by one, by one, by one, by one..... you get the idea. None of them worked.

Finally, I told him it was ok, and I would try to call the guys I am renting from.

We went outside again and I tried and got the same message regretting that I was unsuccessful. Finally as we walked towards Freddo, Larry tried on his cell phone and got Ralf. He passed the phone to me and I explained to Ralf what happened. He said he could meet me here at 7 p.m. It was about 5:30.

That gave us enough time to make it to Gallerias Pacifico and have an ice cream and come back. But as we started walking I realized how hungry I was, so I told Larry I was going to eat first. When we got to the food court in the mall, I chose a place that served steak. I got a steak, fries and a water with gas for $6.00. The steak was good. I can't imagine ordering a steak at a food court in the US. Larry got a salad, but after tasting my fries, ordered some for himself. When we finished we made it over to Freddo and got ice cream.

They asked me if I had a Freddo card (I don't think they asked Larry). I said yes. He asked for the number and rather than say my long passport number, I showed him my student ID which has the passport number on it. He entered it and told me it wasn't the correct number.

I was now very confused. I think he entered the number wrong, but didn't want to cause a scene as there were a lot of people behind me. I just asked if the card were going to arrive in the mail and he told me no. He then said something about 3 pesos, that I didn't understand. He continued to explain and I pretended I understood because really I just wanted my ice cream and to get back inside my apartment and I prefer Volta anyway, so if I don't have a Freddo card, it will not be a big loss for me.

We got our ice creams and made our way back to my building. The new security guard who just started his shift buzzed us in. The other guy who helped us try to get the door unlocked was just leaving. I told him they were coming with a key. The other guy who was just starting his shift was the guy who helped me with my oven yesterday. Both of these guys are very sweet and much nicer than the guys who are there during the day who kind of scare me (but I'm sure they are very nice too).

Finally Ralf arrived. He came in and said, "Who is Rick!", kind of gruffly, but then greeted me with a big smile. I apologized for interrupting his weekend but he said it was ok as we rode the elevator together.

I was afraid the keys he had also didn't work, but as he put the key in the lock, it clicked and the door opened!

Now, I'm inside and have nothing to do but my homework for tomorrow.

It was an adventure that turned out ok, but I don't want to repeat it. I'm going to have to figure out a way to put my keys in a place where I will always see them before I leave the apartment.

Lazy Saturday

I really like the lazy weekends here. Traffic is reduced at least by 50% and even my apartment building gets quiet (I think there are some businesses in my building and the building next door that only are open Monday - Friday).

After getting back from Hernan's yesterday morning, I lazed around, took a shower, etc., and then decided to go out and get something to eat. I went to a little cafe about a block from here and got a hamburger and a salad. Both were fair, not great, but I liked the cafe as a place to go get coffee some day. It is located on the corner of Santa Fe, which is a pretty busy street, but is right across from Plaza San Martin, which is filled with big old green trees (for some reason these trees still have green leaves on them in winter).

After that I walked around the Microcentro (micro center) a little. Again, this is very near to where I am living, but I don't usually go there during the week. The small streets get choked up with traffic and buses spewing putrid black smoke and people blowing their horns as they sit there for hours trying to make it through the streets. It's horrible to walk alongside of this and I avoid it. But on the weekend, it is a different scene. The buses still drive through and still spew their black smoke, but there is less traffic and less horn honking.

I enjoyed looking at all of the different shops and buildings in this area. I think there are a lot of hotels and a lot of these shops are geared towards tourists. They have a lot of gaucho shops with ponchos and blankets, hats, riding crops, etc., which I really like. I like the patterns on the fabrics of the blankets and shawls and things and if I buy anything, it might be one of those. I could see walking around with a big cowboy hat a poncho and a riding crop and getting away with that in San Francisco - holding my mate gourd and drinking mate, on my way to tango class.

I walked down Florida street which is a pedestrian street also filled with lots of shops. I don't know that there are any bargains there, as this also seems geared towards tourists. Usually, if there are people dancing tango in the street, you can guess that you're in a touristy area. Florida street also has some street musicians, an old Chinese guy playing some sort of Chinese harp stands outside of the old closed-up Harrods (yes of London fame).

Finally, I came back to my apartment. The young guy who sits at the desk on the weekend (doorman) had asked me when I went out if I knew of a kiosk where he could buy a pancho. I thought he was talking about a poncho that you wear, and I knew there was a shop that sold gaucho paraphenalia not too far from here, but I didn't think that was what he was talking about. So, I asked him what a pancho was. He said bread. I told him I didn't know because I was not from here.

So, on my way back I thought that since this guy was nice and friendlier than the other doormen who sit at that desk, maybe he could help me light my oven. I bought some frozen pizzas at the supermarket but was not able to light the oven.

So, when I came back, first I asked him if he found his pancho, and he said yes, there was a kiosk down the street. Then I asked him if a pancho was a sandwhich, and he said no, lunchmeat. This is all in Spanish of course, and this is my translation of what I understood. But in reality, I don't understand. I think maybe he wanted a sandwich on french bread with lunch meat as opposed to a sandwich on white bread with some other filling. I'll have to ask Hernan and see if he can clarify.

After that exchange, I felt comfortable telling him about the problem with my oven. He looked at me blankly and then I said, maybe I need to call the service that rented me the apartment. To which he replied, if you want I can take a look.

So he came up to my apartment, and played with it a little, then he did something and I could hear the gas coming out in the oven and he lit it and voila! it worked.

Turns out you have to turn the dial and then push it, which I was not doing.

So I thanked him and he left. I made a pizza and a salad for dinner and made myself comfortable on my uncomfortable sofa to see what was on TV. I surfed the channels a little looking for something interesting in Spanish and being drawn to stupid English movies like Back to the Future 3 (or whatever it is called) until finally I came across Latin American Idol.

Ok, now I was in for the evening.

I saw this last week. They are at the beginning stages, recruiting people to go to Buenos Aires for the competition. They started in Mexico City and then went to Venezuela last week when I saw it. Last night I don't know where they were orginally, I think maybe Colombia, but I'm not sure, and then the 2nd hour they were in Buenos Aires.

The judges are great. Two women and one man. One of the guys, Gustavo, who I think is the "Simon" of the bunch (but looks more like Randy), says things like "that was dreadful" in Spanish, but is infinitely less bitchy than Simon, and actually complements people when they are good, gets up and dances and has a good time. The woman, Mimi, is a little less comatose than Paula, and has a really fun personality. She has a great time and also is a very good judge. The other judge is Jon Secada, and he is very nice, but also can't help crack up when people are horrendous. But he is a little kinder in his criticism than Gustavo. They had a few guest judges in the four programs I saw.

It's the same thing as our American Idol. Lots of bad singers and some very good ones, and some in the middle. But the good singers are really good, especially the guys. You can even see it on the judges' faces. When someone is really good, I get goosebumps and my eyes water. The judges sit there speechless, motionless, and they say things like "I was enchanted", "I fell in love", etc. Now I think I'm going to have to stay in every Saturday night to watch Latin American Idol. Hopefully they will continue with two programs every night instead of one, so that I'll get closer to the finale before I leave.

I went to bed at 10:30 and got up at 9:30 this morning. Boy, was I tired! I have nothing planned for today, but finding a nice cafe and doing my homework for tomorrow sounds like a good idea.

Has it been 3 weeks already?

Well, I don't know if it feels like less than three weeks or more. School helps me keep track of what day it is. Otherwise, time feels very different here. I wake up late, I go to bed late. I eat at different times (or all the time). It's the weekend again, already.

Yesterday after class I hung out a bit with Larry, but I was so tired. We went and had a snack in a nice little restaurant he knows, and then we went to Volta, which has better ice cream than Freddo. They have these really comfortable chairs and we sat there, ate our ice cream and I actually fell asleep. It was one of those sleeps where the body was asleep but I was still conscious. I could hear the noise of the people in the cafe at the ice cream shop, but I was out. I wanted to go home and take a nap, but Larry wanted to go to see a tango orchestra. I knew I would fall asleep if I did that, but he was pressuring me. Finally we figured out that this orchestra was playing in a cafe out near where Hernan lives, so I texted Hernan and he called me back. He wanted me to go over there. So, my choices were to go hang out with this cute, funny guy, or go listen to a tango orchestra and maybe fall asleep. I'm sure you can guess which one I chose.

The orchestra was actually very good.

No, just kidding. I had a great time again with Hernan. We drank wine, listened to music and when we got hungry, at midnight, he ordered empanadas to be delivered. These empanadas were not as good as the ones in El San Juanino, the restaurant across the street from Larry. They were more like donuts - I think they were fried, and they were really kind of heavy. But I wasn't all that hungry, so I ate a few. They also delivered a bottle of wine. Can you imagine having a pizza delivered along with a bottle of wine? Crazy.

Because Hernan had taken a 2 hour siesta, he was still raring to go, but I was exhausted after the wine, the empanadas, the heat in his apartment, the music, and his sofa, which is so comfortable that once you sit down, you can't get up. So I gradually slipped into a coma, while he continued playing with his computer. We watched some videos on You Tube, starting with Mina, an Italian singer that he likes, then we moved on to old Michael Jackson videos, and eventually, we went to bed.

I really don't like sleeping with people, but he is so easy to sleep with. I slept really well, and finally woke up at 10:30 this morning and made my way home to take a shower, and chill a bit. Hernan has some things he needs to take care of with an apartment he has in San Telmo that he rents out. I don't know what I'm going to do today. It's a beautiful day. It's Saturday and there will be less traffic, so it is a perfect day to take a walk and explore more of the city. But who knows. I may end up back in bed.

Correction

I was talking to Larry yesterday about what happened to me when I went to Freddo. I have this new Freddo card that entitles me to a free ice cream after I purchase a certain amount. When I went to Freddo the other night, the cashier asked me if I had a card, and when I showed it to him, he asked me "what is the number of the document". I thought he was talking about the number on the card, but he was asking for my passport number.

Anyway, on this little piece of paper I have that turns out not to be my Freddo card (I now think they are going to mail it to me), there is a number at the bottom. This is the number I gave him -
0810 33. And that was it. When he said, "and what else?" - I said FREDDO - because that is what is written on the card.

Turns out it is the phone number for Freddo - 0810 33 FREDDO - Larry and I had a good laugh over that one. It would be like someone asking for your driver's license number and you telling them 1-800-rainbow or something like that.

Sometimes it's good to be able to laugh at yourself.

When is a Chino not a person from China?

I found a Chino in my neighborhood yesterday. A "Chino" is a Chinese-run supermarket. The other day when I was walking home from the disco with my two bags of groceries, a guy on a bicycle stopped and asked me if there was a chino nearby. Fortunately, Marcela had clued us in on the different kinds of supermarkets in Buenos Aires, or I would have been really confused. He also asked me if there was a "Koreano" - they are Korean-run. According to our sources, they are good places to buy anything but milk products. Rumor has it that their costs are low and therefore their prices are low, because at night they unplug all of the refrigerators (and therefore anything that is refrigerated would be a risky purchase).

To be honest, I wasn't looking for a Chino. I was on my way to Gallerias Pacifico, a shopping center that is not too far from here that has a Freddo ice cream place. I had a nice dinner of a salad and a provoleta that I made myself and was delicious. Provoleta is one of my favorite things here. They take a hunk of provolone cheese and throw it on the grill. Then they put olive oil, oregano and whatever you order - sundried tomatoes, basil, etc. The cheese gets crispy on the outside and gooey inside. It's really great. I had this provolone cheese that I bought but didn't like eating it just all cold and hard, so I decided to try to make a provoleta and threw a piece in a frying pan. To my surprise, when I flipped it, rather than being melted, the outside was brown and crispy. I was out of olive oil and didn't have anything else to put on it, so I ate it plain, but it was still good.

Anyway, after dinner, I needed some ice cream to get the taste of salad out of my mouth and walked to Gallerias Pacifico to get some Freddo. I thought I'd also walk around and window shop. This was about 9:00 last night. When I was walking down Suipacha, I noticed this supermarket that I thought was a Chino. I was going to go in but didn't want to have to carry groceries to Freddo. So I went to Freddo first.

The last time I was at Freddo the guy at the cashier who has twice asked me where I'm from, asked me if I had a Freddo card. I told him I didn't, but I wanted to get one. I think I get points each time I buy something and then get a free ice cream. Hey, I'm going to be here two months, those Freddos are going to add up!

So I filled out this form and he gave me a little card that I put in my wallet. It tells me that I get two for one on Mondays.

So yesterday, he was not there. The other cashier didn't ask me where I was from, but did ask me if I have a Freddo card. I told him I did and showed it to him. He asked me for the number of my document. I didn't think that this was a very formal way to ask me for the number on the card that I showed him, but went ahead and read the number to him. I read the numbers and he wanted more - so I said freddo - because that was what was written after the number.

Turned out he wanted my passport number!

They use passport numbers here to verify everything. It's even on my student ID. Anytime you pay with a credit card, there are two lines, one for your signature and one for your passport number. This is for everyone, not just tourists.

So anyway, after much explanation, I finally got what he was asking for. Giving my passport number is really giving me a lot of practice with numbers in Spanish! I'm also sure I will have this new passport number memorized by the time I leave here.

I walked around the mall a little, but the stores were closed. So, I decided to head back to the Chino and see if I could get olive oil and maybe some sundried tomatoes for my other piece of provolone in the refrigerator. Just as I got there, they were pulling down the metal gate. I'll have to do the Chino another day.

So, when is a Chino not a person from China?
When it's a supermarket.

Yesterday's class was better with Fernanda. Mike didn't come to school. He texted me and told me it was a beautiful day so he was going to MALBA - the Museum of Latin American Art. Anna called me and told me she was going to be late, but she didn't show up. So it was just me, Jonathan and Cynthia.

Fernanda was still a little bit of a feather in the wind, but she also wrote some sentences on the board while we were discussing whatever topic arose. It turned out those sentences were her plan for the day. They were more ways to say, "even though ...." I can see now as a student, that teaching students 10 different ways to say the same thing is really difficult, and it ends up confusing the mind. I think it is impossible for a normal brain to absorb all of that. Even though she put all of these sentences on the board and it was a bit confusing, I tried to focus on just a few of them, and we actually discussed just a few. I felt like I learned something.

After our break, she brought in a comic strip called "Mafalda". I had seen Mafalda in the bookstores and on things like notebooks, etc., but I didn't know anything about her. I liked the comic and it was a really great way to see some new vocabulary in context. One of the words was "papelon" - Hernan taught me this word. A papelon is a person who embarrases us. He told me that the woman at Las Lilas who was speaking so loud in English that the whole room could hear her was a papelon for us. So it was great to see this word, recognize it, and be able to see it in a different context.

The context was that Mafalda's little brother Guille, went to the park with his mother. A woman was sitting on a bench and said, "oh nino, would you like a cookie?" - she took a cookie out of the pack she had. Guille took the cookie and his mother said, "what do you say to the lady?" -his response, "stingy!"

When they got home, his mother said he was a papelon for her, but Mafalda said, "if she had a whole box of cookies and only gave him one it was like asking a vampire in front of a fat person to drink as if he were a mosquito"

The whole thing was very cute, and it was a really good way to practice our grammatical structures (which were otherwise boring).

So that was my day yesterday. Nothing terribly interesting, but it was still a fun day. The weather was beautiful, the sky was blue and the air seemed fresh after the rains on Wednesday.

Today is raining again, but that's ok, it looks like it will be a nice weekend.

Last Tango in Buenos Aires?

I went to a milonga last night with Larry and his cousins. Mike met us there.

Hernan told me he used to take tango lessons at this place, which has a name but we just call it by it's address (because we don't know the name) it's 444 Maipu (pronounced my poo).

He told me he didn't like the space, which is why he didn't want to go. I think there is another reason. I really wish he had come and danced with me though. I'm going to see if I can get him to dance tango with me, because that is really something I want to do while I'm here. After last night though, I am feeling like I'm not going to get the tango practice I thought I would.

The space was nice in my opnion, not spectacular, but it was a fairly large dance floor with round tables set up around it. Tables had white table cloths and every other table had a black or red tablecloth on top of the white one.

When they started the lesson, the first thing we did was learn how to walk. It was good, but the floor was too crowded and I kept stepping on Mike, who was beind me, when we were walking backwards.

It was very different from my beginning tango classes in San Francisco, and he didn't teach us the tango basic step that they use, and I think is very helpful. Instead, we did a lot of walking back and forth, then we did some other steps like forward and back ochos - an ocho is a figure eight, that usually the follower does. It involved putting one foot in front across your body, stepping with the other foot at a diagonal and turning. It's hard to explain, but it is a challenging thing for a first timer to do.

Anyway, after a lot of walking back and forth and ochoing back and forth, he separated the beginners from those who had taken classes before. I went over with the more advanced group and I missed the instruction, but he simply told us to dance, while he worked with the beginners. Everyone paired up and I was left with two women. One asked me if I lead or follow and I told her I prefer to follow, she said she did as well. Then another woman came up and asked if we dance. We told her we were both followers. She said she was a leader. I let the two of them dance and went over to the beginners group.

The teacher had put a line of chairs dividing the floor into sections. The section for the beginners was smaller than that for the more advanced students. It reminded me of a swimming pool with a baby pool - proportionately, it was about the same. We had a very small space. He had us take a partner and just walk in circles. I ended up dancing with Mike.

It wasn't fun for me. After going in circles for a while, I finally told Mike I'd had enough and sat down. The teacher was dividing his time between the beginners and the more advanced group, but the more advanced group was more demanding, so he gave them more attention.

Anyway, after about an hour, the class was over. They dimmed the lights and dancing began.

It was great to see people really dancing tango, and not the show style stuff, but dancing like normal people. Some people were a little more showy, but I prefer the more understated, passionate kind of dancing that is really in touch with the music and about the connection between partners and not about fancy moves.

I didn't see how it would be possible for me to get practice there. Everyone seemed to know each other, and it didn't seem like it was set up for people who were new to be able to meet other people and dance. So, we sat there and commented on people's shoes. I also told Mike that I had noticed that a lot of the hairstyles we thought were dead and buried seemed to be alive and well in Buenos Aires. There was one guy who had a very long ponytail, only it wasn't a full ponytail, it was this long thin braided, ratty piece of hair. I think it was very popular in the 80's. I've noticed lots of shags, and of course, the mullet seems to be popular here. Well, last night I didn't see shags or mullets, just this one guy with a tail that I really wanted to cut off.

He was a good dancer, but unfortunately his tail and his shoes with silver stripes that didn't match what he was wearing, made him look kind of ridiculous. We also noticed a guy who had a little pouch clipped to his belt with some pens in it - kind of like the pocket protectors people used to wear (or still do?). Why would someone wear that to a milonga, we wondered.

They opened up some chocolates and put them on a big plate and a woman who seemed to be somewhat in charge of things, or at least assisting, came around and offered us chocolates, which I found to be not very good. These were to celebrate the first day of winter (Is that today? Is it December?)

After a few hours of dancing they had a raffle. They called the first number - 6 - which was my number! I never win anything, but at gay dances, I seem to be lucky (at least at winning things). So I got up and went over the the MC who was a teacher that yelled at Larry when he took the class several years ago, and we all decided he was an evil queen... Larry pointed him out when he first walked through the red velvet curtains at the entrance. I noticed that he parted the curtains like he was walking onto a stage. He was wearing one of those suits with a jacket that came down past the hips, and he kind of sauntered about, kissing everyone, like he had made his grand entrance. Later he took off his jacket and underneath had on this short-sleeved polo kind of shirt which had these big wings on the back and in sparkly letters said "Big Buddha Experience" - I didn't like the fact that he yelled at Larry when Larry took the class before - I don't think that was a big Buddha experience, or at all Buddhist. So, as I walked over towards him, he asked in Spanish, "are you Latin?" - I really didn't know how to answer that, because being Italian, I am Latin, and since so many Argentines are of Italian descent, the only thing that makes me "non-Latin" here is that Spanish is not my native language, but, rather than get into a philosophical discussion of what Latin means, because I knew this guy was an evil queen and wouldn't take to it very well, I simply said, "no". He then asked, "where are you from?" and I said "the US". He handed me a small bag and said "un regalo para ti" - the woman standing next to him, who seemed to want to be an equal participant in this whole thing, but evil queen wasn't having any of that, said to me in English "a present for you" - evil queen shot her a glance that seemed to chide her and that was it - no "welcome to Buenos Aires", "congratulations" no kisses or anything. So I took my bag and made my way to my seat. They called the next number - 22 - it was Mike's number. Now evil queen seemed really irritated that the Americans were winning all of the fabulous prizes and he said something like "oh, another estadounidense" , which I found bordering on, perhaps actually being, condescending. Mike got up, got his little bag and came back to his seat. Evil queen then said he was going to pick a higher number so a "Latino" would win, and finally an Argentine won. He seemed happy about that.

So I opened my bag and there were two bottles. One, some sort of body spray that was very fruity, and the other a small bottle of some sort of hand lotion with flowers on the label, which I didn't smell, but imagined to be also very strongly scented. Were these prizes for 80 year-old women, or what? There was also a piece of paper in the bag which I think entitles me to a free facial.

I gave my prize to Larry's cousin Diane (minus the free facial because she's leaving today), who seemed to appreciate it more than me. I hope Mike doesn't come to class today smelling like melon and gardenias.

I had written to someone about tango classes and got an e-mail back telling me I should come to the class at this milonga and then we could discuss finding a teacher. There were two links in the e-mail. Turns out one of them is for evil queen. I'm not sure what his name is, but the name of the place is La Marshall - I sure hope he doesn't call himself La Marshall! If you want to see pictures of him being fabulous, you can check his website.

Finally, about 2 a.m., I decided to call it quits. Mike stayed and the rest of us left.

I was close enough to walk home, but walked with Larry and the cousins to 9 de Julio, which was about 5 blocks from where we were.

There had been a big soccer match and the Boca Juniors won. Boca Juniors are the team from La Boca, the area where they paint their houses with bright colors. Boca has a reputation for being fanatic about their soccer team. This is where Maradona comes from. The police were all lined up around the obelisk when we went to the milonga, preparing for this victory. To be honest, I was a little apprehensive about running into happy fans from La Boca.

Larry walked really fast and I couldn't keep up with him (and I think I walk fast), so I said good-by to his cousin Dave and headed down Suipacha, which brings me right to my apartment, so that I could avoid the scene at the Obelisk. On the way home, I passed lots of guys urinating on the sidewalks, people waving yellow and blue flags, and a busload of fans singing and stopping their feet. I was very glad to finally make it home and get to bed.

I went to the disco and bought groceries

Q: When is a disco not a disco?
A: When it's a supermarket.

Disco is a supermarket chain here. Marcela said it's one of the better supermarkets, and since I don't seem to have one in my neighborhood, when I was walking through the Recoleta on my way home from school I stopped by and thought I'd check it out. I found two wines that Hernan recommended and otherwise bought things that I don't need, like salami, black pepper and olives. I then had to wait in the slowest supermarket line I've ever been in, but it gave me an opportunity to observe people, mostly women, rushing to buy their groceries. I saw one woman who had two very nice loaves of bread, fold them in half and stuff them in her bag. I still don't get why no one has change here. My tab for my groceries was 59 pesos and some change. I gave the guy 100 pesos, which is a little over 30 dollars, and I think it's the biggest bill they have, but it's what you get if you change money or withdraw from an ATM. The cashier had to call someone to get change. Maybe I'm missing something, but it seems to me that a supermarket in a nice neighborhood, which is one of the best chains and seems to be at peak business, should have change.

The other odd thing was that my bill (now I remember) was 59.40. The cashier asked me for 40 centavos, which I didn't have, so he held up one finger, I guessed to mean one peso, which I did have. So I gave him 101 pesos. I don't get how that was easier for him to make change with.

Ok, so I've only been here a little over two weeks, I guess there are still some mysteries in store for me. I can feel the beginnings of things not being so cute, but rather a little irritating.

But maybe it's the weather.

Once we got into class it started to pour. It rained for almost the whole three hours that we were in class. There was thunder and lightening too, which is kind of strange for winter, no?

I felt frustrated in class because again I felt like I didn't have an opportunity to say much, and when I did, I made mistakes because I was nervous about not being able to complete my thought before someone cut me off. It is frustrating because I know I really need the practice and I'm not getting it. My conversation partner didn't work out, Hernan likes to speak English, and in class, we are competing for the little time the students actually get to talk. Even though I really like Marcela's class, I still feel she talks too much and could structure the class so that we all had optimal talk time. For example, today we discussed this short story we had to read. The one that was so difficult for me to get started, but once I got past the first 3 chapters, turned out to be very enjoyable to read. It was a mystery, and in the end, I understood it perfectly.

So after our break, we set out to discuss it. I said, "poor Lazaro" and Marcela asked me why "poor Lazaro", and thus began the discussion. (Lazaro was murdered because he knew who killed Ricardo). Marcela asked a question and Mike told pretty much the whole story and what he didn't tell, Jonathan finished, and that was pretty much it. Anna asked a question, and I did get to say a little in response to her confusion, but basically, we read this short story which took me quite a while to finish, and in less than 20 minutes, we had finished discussing it. It seemed kind of like a wasted opportunity to me.

Tonight I'm supposed to meet Larry and his cousins and we're going to go to a queer tango milonga. There is a lesson first and then practice. I don't know how much I'll stay for the practice, but I do want to check out the class and see if I can find a teacher. But the truth is, I'm really tired after staying up late last night, sleeping with Hernan (I don't sleep well with other people) and walking home from the disco with my groceries in the rain in rush hour.

Maybe I'll take a little nap and see how I feel.

El Subte

The subway here is pretty easy to figure out. There are 5 lines and they all so far have been able to take me close to wherever I want to go. They all cross near the Obelisk and I can change lines there, or if I'm lucky, one line will take me where I want to go. When el subte doesn't work, I take a taxi or walk. Buses are beyond my level of ability at this point.

Today I took the subte because even though I got up early, 8:30, I fiddled around with my computer, then had to take some clothes to the laundry, and decided I was going to sit in a cafe for breakfast (cafe con leche and medialunas or croissants) and do my homework for Fernanda (even though I wasn't sure what it was). I knew we had to write something, but I forgot, now that I remember I'm going to write it here - we have to write something about the firm hand of the law - mano dura - why, I don't know... It was reassigned because none of us did it. I said I couldn't do it because I didn't have electricity. For some people here, that could have been a valid excuse this weekend.

Anyway, when I sat down in the cafe, the waiter put an English language newspaper on my table. Now, how do they know simply by hearing me say, "cafe con leche y dos medialunas" that I am an English speaker! I remember when I was in Nicaragua 25 years ago a woman thought I was from Cuba, and I hardly spoke any Spanish then! Now I had the choice of doing this exercise on the conditional that I had dog-eared and thought was for Marcela tomorrow, or read about how Hillary Clinton is surging ahead in the polls (I prefer Barak Obama). I thought maybe I could find something in the newspaper about the gas shortage, so I opted for reading in English.

Well, there was nothing in the paper of interest, and it seemed that a lot of the news was about things happening outside of the country. Do people who speak English not care about what is happening in Buenos Aires or Argentina? I want the same news that Argentines get but only in English. Well, actually I don't want English news, but the waiter put it in front of me. Next time if he does that, I'll have to tell him I prefer Spanish. That is, if I go back to that cafe, which I might because I liked it. Actually, I like all of the cafes and all of the restaurants I've been to. So many of them have a very 50's/60's feel to them - kind of like diners, but often with waiters insted of waitresses with teased hair and a cigarette hanging out of their mouths who call you "hon", these waiters are like professional waiters that you might find in a restaurant in Little Italy or something like that. Boy, I am so off track here it's not even funny.

So, because I took my time getting my butt in gear this morning, I ended up having to take the subte to school. I like to walk to school in the morning because it's good exercise and gives me permission to have a steak and ice cream later in the day. But this morning, if I wanted to have time to eat lunch before class, I had to take the subte.

I walked to San Martin station, which is about 4 blocks from here. I walked past Palacio San Martin, which I have posted a picture of - it is a huge palace. Then I crossed through Plaza San Martin, avoided the dog poop, and boarded the train.

Hernan is here ... to be continued...

Well, it's 11:06 next day. Hernan just left. We had a great time last night. We went to my local video shop and rented a DVD called "The long night of Mr. Lazarescu" or something like that. It was a very odd Hungarian film. It seemed like it went on forever. Basically it was a "comedy" about a guy who was an alcoholic but also had some kind of cancer and was throwing up blood. I think it was maybe a "funny" look at socialized medicine or something. When it was finally over, I collapsed in bed. I don't think I've ever been as tired as I was last night.

Hernan came over and we went to the video shop and chose a film. I just had to give them my name and address and pay and then they were going to deliver the film to ensure that my address was what I gave them. In the meantime we made dinner and opened a bottle of wine. The dinner looked great, spinach pasta with a sauce with tomato, basil, garlic and mushrooms, and a salad with red peppers and mushrooms. As soon as we sat down Hernan said, "when we begin eating they are going to deliver the film". Sure enough, I sat down, put my fork in my pasta and the doorbell rang. But we finished eating and then put the film in. In a lot of ways it was the most fun I've had so far. I love to cook and it was really fun cooking in this apartment for Hernan. It felt like we were playing house.

Now, back to the subte, because I have to get ready to go to school...

I took the train from Plaza San Martin and then had to change lines at Carlos Pelligrini. From there, I walked underground through the transfer point to another line - even though there are only 5 - A, B, C, D and E, I don't know which one I was on and which one I transferred to. As I got to the transfer line, there was a band playing music in the station and a small crowd had gathered. I thought of staying and watching them a little because they were very good, but decided to keep moving.

Just as I went down the stairs to my train, a rush of people came flowing up the stairs. I had just missed a train it seemed. So I stood on the platform with a few people and waited. And waited. And waited. And more and more people came. The platform started to fill up. And we waited. It was now becoming so full that people had to tap each other on the shoulder to be able to get by. I was glad I had positioned myself back against the wall. People were walking in front of me to get by. An entire medical emergency team arrived, and more and more people stood on the platform. It was really hot. I started thinking that maybe I was going to faint because I was so warm but because it was so crowded I couldn't take off my jacket. At least there was a medical emergency team there, I thought.

Finally, the train arrived. People patiently got on. To my surprise, everyone fit. It was crowded, but not like what I used to have to deal with in Tokyo. No one was pushing, no one was sleeping on my shoulder or trying to cop a feel. It was a very civilized experience. As we pulled up to Callao station, a man next to me asked me which side the doors were going to open. I said I thought the side we were on. I was wrong. He had to push his way to the other doors to get out on time. Woops! I told a woman standing there with a baby that I was not from here.

I was hoping that I remembered correctly that at Pasteur station, where I was going to get off, the doors were going to open on the side I was on. I was wrong. The platform appeared on the other side of the train. I began to nudge my way towards the opposite door. As the train stopped and the doors opened people began to get off and I decidedly made my way out of the door, not pushing, but walking firmly. Phew!

As I walked on the platform towards the exit, I thought how different this was from Japan where people pushed often it seemed, for no reason, especially the old ladies, who I began to fear every time I saw them. But here, everyone was very respectful, even though it was crowded. If they needed to get by, they would gently touch someone on the back and move them, rather than push.

Then, suddenly I felt someone pushing me from behind as I neared the escalator. The pushing had this frantic feel to it. I thought maybe someone was having a panic attack. I moved out of the way and an older woman pushed her arm through the crowd and tapped this younger guy on the shoulder. "Hey you! Why did you push me?!!!", she shouted. "I didn't push you.", "Yes, back there, you pushed me".

I ended up on the escalator next to this guy. I remembered him from 9 de Julio station. He was standing in front of me before the crowds filled the platform.

I turned to him and said, "Well, she just pushed me.", thinking how ironic it was that she yelled at him for pushing her, when she had to push her way through the crowd to tell him off.

It felt so good to get up on the street and breath fresh cool air. The scene I had just witnessed kept me smiling for at least the next hour.

Ah, La Argentina!

Telephone Cards

I have this cute little cell phone that I got from my program. All I had to do was leave a $50 deposit, and then buy telephone cards and add credits to my account. Each card costs me 20 pesos (about 7 dollars) and I get an extra 8 pesos, for a total value of 28 pesos. This lasts me about a week or so.

Yesterday I bought an international calling card for 10 pesos (a little more than 3 dollars) and called my parents. I spoke to my mom for about 5 minutes then called back again later and spoke to my dad for about 5 minutes. I still have over an hour worth of credit on that card.

This is all very convenient, but there are problems too.

Anna called me this evening from her cell phone. She was on Corrientes, what I call 'mid-town' the theater district. It's crazy full of people in that part of town. She sounded a bit stressed. She wanted to know if I wanted to do something. Then we got cut off. My phone does not get good reception in my apartment, so I think this was the problem. I sent her a text, but didn't hear back from her. Finally, I decided to go out for a walk, maybe to meet up with her, possibly to get dinner, but also to see if my phone would work from outside. As soon as I stepped outside, Anna called. She was now at home and had a pizza she was going to eat for dinner.

I had been waiting for Hernan to call me. He texted me earlier and then we spoke and I thought we were going to check out a movie. He was going to check to see if there were any good films in English playing. He doesn't like Argentine cinema. I got tired of waiting for him to call and had finished my reading for class, so I went out. In the middle of dinner, he texted me. He said there were no good English films playing. I was a little pissed. I was expecting us to do something today because I had the day off and other than playing with his music, I don't know what he has to do during the day. Now it was after 9:30 and he was finally getting back to me saying there were no films in English. So I didn't respond.

After I finished eating, I was walking down Santa Fe and I saw that there is a film about Edith Piaf in French called "la vie en rose". I had wanted to see it. So I texted him - "there is a french film" - he called me immediately and said there was a Japanese film (or maybe Chinese) playing in Belgrano (I don't know where that is) at 10:50. I said I thought that was too late (and I knew it was too far -the French film was right where I was). That was it. He told me to call him.

Then I got a text from him saying he was sorry but he didn't have many credits. This is why he couldn't talk long.

So, this convenience thing with cell phones and calling cards and all of this stuff is really not that convenient. Cell phones can be expensive because unlike the US, each minute costs something. It's great if you are like I am in the states and don't use a lot of minutes, but it is not great if you want to have a conversation with someone and discuss what movie you'd like to see. I don't know if Hernan has a land line. But I solved the problem (perhaps) by sending him an e-mail about the French film. We'll see if that happens or not.

Anyway, today was a good day. I walked a lot. I did find a nice cafe, it is a bookstore on Santa Fe called Ateneo that Larry introduced me to on my 2nd day here. It used to be an opera house and the inside is magnificent. There is a cafe where the stage was. I posted a picture from the web. After I had coffee and a sandwich there, I walked for quite a while, eventually making my way over to Patio Bullrich, a shopping center not too far from where I live that used to be where people traded livestock (you can see a pic on my photo blog). I then walked towards home and found another cafe and sat outside under 9 de Julio (yep, under the street) and had another coffee and an alfajor (cookie with dulce de leche in it). I think I freaked one waitress out when she thought I didn't speak Spanish and another one came out to serve me. She asked me if I spoke English, but then we proceeded to have a conversation in Spanish. She was very nice.

The good news is I finished this short story I was supposed to read. It turned out to be quite a pleasurable experience. The beginning was difficult because there were all of these characters and the story hadn't developed yet, but once I got into it, it became easier. It was a mystery with two murders (I hate violence). It felt good to be able to read it and understand what happened and "who dun it" and how and why...

Ok, time for bed.

Lazy Sunday

Yesterday was a lazy day and I loved it. After two weeks of being constantly on the go, it was nice to have a day that was a little more low-key (kind of what I'm used to), but still not totally.

I got up early and decided I wanted to go out and take some photos while the sun was hitting buildings from a different direction. I found a building that is really amazing and faces east, so I figured the sun would be lighting it up in the morning. It's on my photo blog. It's an apartment building, but I love the style with these towers on top it looks very whimsical to me. I wonder what people thought of it when it was first built.

So I walked around and took some photos, came home and put some on my blog and then got in touch with Hernan. I went to his place by subway. We hung out a little in his apartment, which is so relaxing. He is constantly playing with his music - he sits in front of his computer, opens files, drags them into some music player thing, adjusts the queue, adjusts the sound levels, and then looks for another track. We were ready to go out and I asked him a question about this doll he has on his bookshelf. I'll put her on the photo blog - her name is Esperanza. Anyway, he then decided to show me some photos on his computer. But before he did that, he had to put on some music. Even though we had our coats on and were ready to go out the door. This happened several times. It's pretty funny, but if he were my boyfriend, I know I'd have a hard time dealing with it.

We walked through Palermo Soho where he lives. It was a beautiful fall-like day. People here think it is cold, but for me the weather is perfect. It's sunny, cool, but there is no wind, and the leaves are still hanging on some of the trees. It reminds me of late October in NJ. On a warm day, it can go up to 60, but it does fall to the high 30's after the sun goes down.

Anyway, we walked a few blocks and he found a place he likes that has a terrace, or roof deck. We went in. It was like an old house. Downstairs there was nothing. We went up this spiral staircase to the 2nd floor where there was a small restaurant and a bar. A young guy was working there and there was a young couple at the bar with a baby. The girl must have been in her early 20s and the baby was so small and so cute. The guy she was with had this big afro - it was huge! Hernan knew her from some show they did together, so they talked a bit and I stood there hoping no one would ask me a question because I still have problems understanding people who speak at normal speed (I can understand my teachers because they adjust their speech for us). Finally, after what seemed like forever, we went up to the roof deck.

It was great. There was some really kitchy furniture, plastic lacy tablecloths and funky knick-knacks. The sun was lighting the terrace and there was a plastic cover protecting us from the wind. There were two other tables with people engaged in animated conversations.

We sat down and the waitress brought our menus. For as funky and hip as this place was, I was impressed by the service. The waitress was also very young and hip, but she was very attentive. We ordered tapas, well, Hernan ordered, I became mute. He ordered quesadillas, pate and ceviche. They were all good, but we thought the pate was a bit strong - it was made with port and some other very strong flavor.

Hernan started joking with me, which was funny, but also embarrassing. We had this bread that was very good. It had chorizo in it. He told me it was "casera", which I've seen on menus and in shops and know it means homemade, but I was wondering what it really means, so I asked him. He said they make it in house, and I told him we say "home-made". So I asked if they make it in this restaurant, or get it at a bakery. He said, "I don't know, you can ask the waitress". So when she came back, he said, "He has a question for you". I was very embarrassed, but I don't know why. I know I could have asked her, but I just sat there blushing, and finally he asked her. It turns out they make the bread in the restaurant every day. She said they make two kinds - one just white, and another where they put something with some coloring - the chorizo was red and gave the bread a pink hue.

After that, every time we discussed something about the food and a question came up, like, "what is that flavor in the pate?" Hernan would make like he was motioning for the waitress and say, "he has a question". I'd hit him and we'd laugh.

I don't know what was going on with me. When I'm with my friends speaking bad Spanish, I have no problem talking to people. But with Hernan, I think because he speaks English and we don't speak in Spanish, suddenly I feel very shy about using my Spanish. It's not good. I try speaking to him in Spanish, but I think he likes speaking English. For him I suppose it's like taking on a different identity, and probably better than listening to my mistakes (I think his mistakes are cute - and I am used to hearing mistakes).

Anyway, we went back to his place and listened to more music and then he was going to see a play. He invited me, but I was feeling awkward and feared having to talk to his friends, so I told him I had to come home and call my dad. That was true.

I called to wish him a Happy Father's Day and spoke to my mom. She said he was in bed and she didn't know what was wrong with him. He hadn't been feeling well, and she thought he might have pneumonia again. He really hasn't been doing well for ... well, a long time... But lately, he had gout, and before that was hospitalized with pneumonia. Before I came here, I was thinking that I might have to leave suddenly and fly to New Jersey for an emergency. So, I got really worried and the whole time I was with Hernan was thinking that I had to call to see what was happening. My mom had called the doctor and my brother and his wife were heading up from Maryland. It all sounded so serious.

So, Hernan and I got in a taxi. The play he was going to see was near my apartment. The taxi was not a radio taxi, so I was worried (these were the guys we had been warned about). We got in and he drove a few blocks to head down Santa Fe to where we were going. The road, which is about 6 lanes, was full of cars. Hernan commented to me that because of the gas shortage, people didn't leave town for the long weekend like they normally would. He then said to the driver, "Buenos Aires is full tonight" - the driver gruffly responded, "si". He then went on to say that it was because of the gas shortage.

So here is where I am totally confused, even though this was explained to me several times in both English and Spanish. But I'll try to relate what I understand.

Because of the cold temperatures that have hit the country, people are using more gas for heating. So the government has restricted gas use by industries, and in particular taxis. Apparently, taxis have their own service stations, and these service stations have no gas. On Friday night when we tried to go to the show, we ran into a protest on 9 de Julio where parts of the street were closed off and it was because the taxi drivers were protesting at the Obelisk. It created a mess.

Anyway, some taxis are able to use something they call NAFTA, which is another kind of gas. This might be diesel. I don't really get the subtleties here. All I know is that there is a problem.

So, this taxi driver began telling Hernan what was going on, and Hernan encouraged him by asking him questions, such as how much it costs for gas for him per shift, whether he owns his taxi etc. It was a great exchange and I wish I had been able to record it. The great thing about being with Hernan is that he has real conversations with people (unlike when I'm with my friends and people don't talk like they normally do because they don't think we'll understand). So, this taxi driver was talking like a real taxi driver. He seemed drunk to me because he was talking slow, kind of slurring his words (it seemed) and not driving exactly in the white lines on the road. I was holding my breath the whole time, even though he wasn't driving crazy or anything, but he seemed to be swerving back and forth and because he was getting excited talking about the gas crisis, he started using his hands to talk, which meant they were not on the wheel.

Fortunately, traffic lightened up a bit once we passed a shopping area and we proceeded down Santa Fe without having to stop at many lights and finally reached the theater where Hernan was getting out and I decided I could walk from since it was only 3 blocks from my apartment. Whew!

So, I came home and called New Jersey and there was no answer. "Oh, no," I thought, "they're at the hospital and I'm going to have to call the airlines to see if I can get a flight back".

I called my parents' cell phone. It rang several times and then the ringing stopped. I could hear my brother saying "Don't just look at it, you have to speak" - so I knew that wherever they were, my brother was with my mom (mom still is having problems with cell phone technology). Finally, she said, "hello?" I said, "hello", she said, "hello?", I said, "hello!", she said "hello?" and I said, "hello...." and then finally heard me. I don't know what was going on.

I was imagining that they were all in the waiting room at the hospital and she was going to give me the update on Dad's condition.

Instead, she told me, "everything is fine, we're at a party in Cherry Hill". They went to a surprise birthday party for this woman that my brother is friends with. My dad was not only out of bed, he was at a party!

Mom put him on the phone and we spoke a little. He asked me how things were here. The usualy question, "how's the weather there?" led to this exchange.

"It's a little cold here, it's winter". "It's winter?" "Yeah, it's the opposite to us, because we're at the other end of the world." "Is it the same month there? Is it June?" - I guess he thought that the months had to correspond to the seasons and therefore it had to be December. Boy, that would be confusing.

So, now I could relax. Even though he didn't sound great, he was up and about.

I spent the rest of the evening watching TV. I wish I could say that I was watching TV in Spanish because I'm a good student. But, they have cable TV here, and as I was flipping through the channels, came across something called "Johnson Family Reunion", which was this stupid movie about a family reunion with Cedric the Entertainer, Vanessa Williams and some other people I didn't know. It was dumb, but funny. Then I watched this movie with Meryl Streep and Uma Thurmon, where Uma is dating Meryl's son and Meryl is Uma's shrink and they don't know all of this in the beginning and the whole thing becomes very complicated. I'm glad Meryl is still able to get roles. She is such an amazing actress.

And that was my day.

Now that I think of it, I guess it wasn't as relaxing and as laid back as I thought.

Today is Flag Day and there is no school. My plan is to find a nice cafe, bring my school books and do my homework. I'm going to read the story we've been reading from the beginning and see if I can finish it.