They don't call me a wet blanket for nothing...

Last night we went to Las Lilas, a restaurant famous for its incredible steaks. And I will say, I have never eaten a steak like that before. I had the medallion de lomo (tenderloin) and when they say "it was like butter" - it was like butter. It cut like butter at room temperature and chewing it was effortless (unlike the steaks Mom used to fry in the frying pan every Saturday night, which were more like the cardboard box that the butter came in). We were started off with these delicious cheese puffs, an antipasto spread and lots of bread. I had a steak and ordered broccoli because I wanted some vegetables (everyone else got a salad), and instead, I only got two piece of broccoli and my broccoli was passed around to everyone else. I also got some of Larry's mashed potatoes. I think the idea was that we were supposed to be more family style. I wished I had gotten some of someone else's salad, so that I would have eaten some greens.

But anyway, let's just say, for me this was extravagant (wow I had a hard time spelling that word correctly) - total tab when we split it, including wine, desert and coffee, plus 10% tip was $60 per person.

It got cold last night and it poured the whole time we were at the restaurant.

Now for my issues with the place.

Being one of the top 10 restaurants in the world that you should eat at, it seemed like everyone was there. It was obviously a tourist destination. When I invited Hernan to join us, he said, "it's expensive", so I don't think the average Argentine eats there. It meant we were sitting with lots of other Americans, and I noticed a big Brazilian contingent. There was even a busload of people that came in.

For me it lacked the sweetness and the atmosphere of other restaurants I've been to here. Even the place we went to the other night where we were the only ones eating while the staff had their dinner, had more atmosphere than this place. This was more like a fast food restaurant - several servers attended to us, and a guy in a black jacket took our order, but everything seemed rushed, chaotic, and impersonal.

To make things worse, the table next to ours emptied out. They were a nice, quiet group of 6 or 7 people, and another group came in. We could hear them coming. Maybe there were 6 people, let's say 8. Most of them were women, and there were two men. I think maybe the men were Argentine. The women were definitely American. Younger, but not young, go getter-types, probably single, career women, stylishly dressed, out for a night on the town, probably going out for drinks later, and LOUD!!! The woman who seemed to be the center of attention was talking so loud that you could hear her above the din and noise of this busy restaurant from any point in the room we were seated in. I'm familiar with this tone of loud conversation as it is my gripe about most, "chic" restaurants in San Francisco. This woman would have fit in perfectly in any restaurant in the Marina, the Mission, SOMA, well, anywhere, other than my favorite Tenderloin dives that don't get people like that.

She was obnoxious, not only because she was loud, but because she was in a country where people don't talk like that. Argentines are passionate, they talk a lot, but the one thing they are not is loud. I've never been to a restaurant where the people are talking at a volume beyond that of the normal level of conversation. This woman seemed like she had a megaphone installed in her throat.

I couldn't wait to get out of there. Hernan joined us for coffee and it was nice chatting with him. We all waited patiently for taxis, which the staff told us would arrive in 30 minutes. Larry wisely walked out to the street and caught his own. We waited, and finally decided it would be best to just catch our own too, but it wasn't that easy. It was cold and raining hard. Taxis were scarce. Eventually we got our taxi, made it home to our warm and dry apartments. With this weather, I am now appreciating my heated floors.

So, my review of Las Lilas? The steak was good, service left a lot to be desired, and the atmosphere was like eating in a high school cafeteria. I'm glad we went, but I would not rate it as highly as others have in the reviews I've read. Call me a wet blanket.

Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo

Today's class was really boring. I felt like I was coming down with a cold and didn't feel well to begin with. Then we had class with Fernanda, in our classroom with the echo, with her voice that is kind of grating and her accent that is difficult to understand, and her manner that is something like a feather in the wind, she will blow whatever way the wind takes her. I was irritated when I got there because I made an honest attempt to do the homework she assigned on Tuesday. It was an exercise that said, "change to the past" (in Spanish - al pasado) - well, what the hell is the past? If we're talking about indicative, there is the preterit and imperfect, and if it's subjunctive, there are more possibilities, so, first the directions didn't help me. Then I looked at the handouts she gave us on Tuesday to see if I could get any clues. Not helpful at all. I thought that learning doesn't have to involve detective work. It seems that there is the assumption that we can just do this stuff, which, if that is the case, why are we doing it? I called Mike and he said what he thought we were supposed to do, though he wasn't sure. I ended up doing what turned out to be a rote exercise and a total waste of my time.

So I got to class early hoping to talk to Fernanda about how I'm feeling in the class. Nobody came. I started reading my short story for Marcela's class tomorrow. When Fernanda came in we chatted a bit and she went off on something, then Anna arrived. The thing I'm finding hard is getting an opportunity to say what I really want to say. I didn't want to just jump right in and say, "listen Fernanda, I'm feeling like this class isn't really helping me with what I need", but instead had to make small talk, but small talk here is not small, it can go on forever. So once Anna got there, my opportunity was lost, and then Mike arrived, and then Cynthia and then the class started, well, something started, but I'm not sure it was a class.

We went from one topic to another until finally Fernanda gave us another article from a magazine about an organization that is working to help discontented youth return to school. It was an interesting article. She gave it to us and then the conversation continued. I can't even tell you what they were talking about. I wanted some structure, because I am not doing well with this "whatever way the wind blows" kind of conversation. So I tried to tune everyone out and began to read the article. It was interesting and I understood it, so I continued reading, and the rest of them continued talking about whatever.

Finally, when I finished, Fernanda asked me a question about it and when I began to answer, either she, or someone else in the class, cut me off and I fell into silence again. It is very frustrating.

She then gave us some time to begin reading, we read for about 3 minutes until Anna asked a question about something, and then Fernanda started again on a long explanation in response to Anna's question.

Finally, someone asked for a break.

We've learned that if we take our breaks before the other classes, we can get into the cafeteria without having to wait in a long line, and also find a place to sit.

Before the break, I asked Fernanda if we could go to the Plaza de Mayo because the mothers of the disappeared were having a demonstration, as they do every Thursday at 3:30. Since our class ends at 4, we'd have to leave early to catch them. She said it was ok.

After our break, I went up to the room early, hoping to get to talk to Fernanda again (Mike stayed in the cafeteria to give me some time to talk), but she wasn't in the room and when she returned, everyone else was there too.

But I said we wanted to go and see the Madres. Mike wasn't coming and Cynthia had an appointment at 4 and couldn't go, so it was me and Anna. Then Anna asked Fernanda if she wanted to go.

I'm going to cut to the chase instead of going on about how long it took us to get there (with me worried that we were going to miss it).

We arrived at the Plaza de Mayo around 3:50. Today was a cold day. The sky was gray and full of dark clouds, the wind blew in gusts and the plaza was filled with hundreds of pigeons that I hadn't noticed when we were there before. We could see the madres as we approached the plaza carrying a large blue banner and blue flags that were flapping in the wind. As we approached, with the dark sky and the cold wind blowing, the scene took on a surreal appearance. The mothers were old, grandmothers, small, frail, wearing white handkerchiefs on their heads. There were not many of them. They were joined by others marching behind them, who also held blue flags but were not wearing the white handkerchiefs. Some people held pictures of their loved ones who had disappeared. They walked in silence around the small obelisk that commemorates the first founding of Buenos Aires on May 25. People ran in front of the madres trying to get photos.

There was a somber, reverent feeling in the air. Every now and then the pigeons would soar overhead in a group, the wind would gust, but otherwise, there was total silence except for the sounds of the city buzzing around us.

A group of school children appeared by me and surrounded me. Their teacher explained to them what was happening. That these mothers came here every Thursday to protest and demand that the government take action to find out what happened to their loved ones who disappeared. "Look", the teacher said, "can you see them holding the photos?"

I wondered what would happen when the last of the madres was gone. Would someone else continue the call for justice that they have been making in silence for 30 years?

Fernanda and Anna had stopped at the entrance to the plaza and were talking, but I wanted to get in closer to the action, so I left them behind. I went to join them and Anna told me that Fernanda pointed out one man who was holding a photo of someone who had just disappeared this past September right before he was set to testify on what he knew about the disappearances under the military junta. The disappearances, the denial, continues. And the mothers continue to march.

I was glad we left class today to see them. I've posted some videos that I found. One is an interview of the madres from a long time ago (I don't know when it is from, but they are a lot younger than the ones I saw today). The other is a poem written in homage to them.

Today I want to dedicate my blog to the mothers in solidarity with their fight for justice.

Attack of the Killer Empanadas

It's true what they say. Buenos Aires is a very dangerous city. I was walking with Larry, Anna, and Larry's cousins who arrived today from Buffalo, and suddenly, I was accosted by a wolf pack of killer empanadas. It was horrible. I felt so violated afterwards. But as they say here in Argentina, "Some days you eat the empanada, some days the empanadas eat you".

Another very fun day. One thing I really like about the school is that we have excursions twice per week, minimum. My program, which is different from the school, also has excursions, but those trips are extra and also it means I'd be traveling with the kids and not speaking Spanish, so I am not interested in them. But the University of Buenos Aires program in which I'm enrolled, has these trips to different parts of the city. They divide us into groups based on our level and each group gets a guide.

Today we went to Palermo Chico, which is not Palermo Soho, Palermo Grande, Palermo Viejo, Palermo Hollywood, Alta Palermo, or just Palermo. Palermo Chico, is, as the name says, chico, or small. It is very different from other parts of BA because the streets here are not laid out in a grid, but rather in circular patterns. Apparently, this area was settled by some folks with lots of money, some French guy designed the neighborhood, down to the way the streets were laid out and what kinds of trees were going to be planted, people hired architects to design their palaces, they moved in, lived opulent lifestyles, and after 20 years the stock market crash of 1929 caused everyone to lose their money so that they couldn't afford the upkeep on their houses and they had to sell them. Fortunately, foreign governments were standing by, ready to buy the houses and they now house foreign embassies (like the other palaces near where I live and between my place and Larry's).

We went to the Museum of Decorative Arts, which is housed in one of these grand palaces. It is really overdone, with contrasting marbles, woods, chandeliers, and tons of stuff, some from the family that lived there, and the rest from odd collections of random people. It was fun. We toured the neighborhood, then went to the museum where we met Larry's cousins from Buffalo who were on their first day of their 10 day Larry tour. Their eyes were glazed over, but they kept up with us like troopers. Afterwards we went out for dinner - steak and wine, grilled vegetables, provoleta (grilled provolone cheese) and of course, ice cream afterwards to get the taste of beef out of our mouths!

I had to face reality today when it became apparent to me that I am the worst student in our class. No excuses and no blaming the teacher. We had a short story we were supposed to read the first three chapters of. I read the first page about 5 times and couldn't get past it, mainly because I tried reading while eating lunch or doing other things. I just haven't had time to do any homework! Well, Anna read the first two chapters and Mike read the first three and understood it! Cynthia didn't read, but as we read it in class, she was good at faking it, and I think Jonathan also read, but maybe didn't finish. Still, I really felt like I was a lazy good-for-nothing. Now I understand the class clown syndrome. Especially with Marcela, because I like the way she laughs and she always laughs at my jokes, I sit in class, not understanding a whole lot, or not caring a whole lot about what is being discussed, and just look for my opening to make some funny remark or ask a question that has nothing to do with what we are talking about - such as "why do people eat gnocchi on the 29th of the month?"

Well, I am a bit more motivated now to study harder and try to do more work, but first my blog must be done. I can tell by the new counter I installed, that I have a following, and if I take time to read this short story, or do the homework on the subjunctive, all of you will be left in the dark and won't have any idea what is happening here. I do have my priorities!

Can you imagine one of my students telling me, "I didn't do my homework because I was writing my blog"?

Tomorrow we are going to Las Lilas, a restaurant that was named as one of the 10 places you should eat in the world. The guy raises the cattle on his own ranch. It's supposed to be superb and expensive even by BA standards. We're figuring we're going to end up spending $45-60 each, which we could easily spend at Chili's in the States, so no big deal.

Ok, I must do some homework...

Mothers, grandchildren and debt

Aside from the excitement of my first date yesterday, it was also an interesting day in terms of learning more about the sad recent history of Argentina.

It started when we read a column in class which was written by one of "the grandchildren". It is very interesting here that there are "las madres" - the mothers, "las abuelas" - the grandmothers and now "los nietos" the grandchildren.

During the dictatorship and dirty war, thousands of people were picked up on the streets, thrown into Ford Falcons and disappeared. Many were tortured before they were killed. Las madres (de los desaparecidos) the mothers of the disappeared, began a silent protest in the Plaza de Mayo, where they began standing in front of the presidential palace holding photographs of their children, or husbands, who had mysteriously disappeared. The government told them they could not stand there as it was a protest, so they began walking in a circle. To this day, they continue their protest, every Thursday at 3:30, to remind people of what happened, and to continue to push for those responsible for the atrocities to be brought to justice. But now, many of them are grandmothers, and there is the new generation of grandmothers- those who now know that they had grandchildren who were born while their mothers were detained.

It turns out that at least 500 women were kidnapped who were known to be pregnant. And it appears that the generals kept the pregnant women alive until they gave birth and then gave those babies to families (of friends, cronies?), sometimes it was known by these families where these babies came from, and sometimes it was not. These are the "grandchildren". Through DNA testing, these children are beginning to find out their true story.

To me the whole thing is so unbelievable. How could it be that a country such as this, which seems so modern and civilized, could descend into such a dark period? Could that happen to us in the US? Is it already happening with people of Middle Eastern descent being picked up randomly and thrown into Guantanomo, being tortured and disappeared, their families not having any idea where they are or if they will ever return?

And then there is the peso crash of 2001. Hernan told me that the banks simply told people their savings were not available. It was due partly to the governmental policy of falsely pegging the peso, one to one, to the dollar. The peso was inflated and after owing enormous debts to the World Bank that could not be repaid, the whole thing collapsed. While it seems like the country, and the economy has survived, in part by refusing to repay the loans, shunning international investors and producing everything locally, Hernan told me people were devastated and many people committed suicide. I wondered, out loud, if that could happen in the US - our national debt is in the trillions of dollars - how can it be that we can have such a huge debt and not have to worry about the consequences? When I get home, I'm taking my money out of the bank and putting it under my mattress.

This recent history of Argentina adds a new layer of interest to the experience of being here. People are alive who lived through those times. Tango is music which relates a kind of bittersweetness, a longing, defiance, strength and weakness all at the same time. In many ways it seems that it defines the spirit of Argentina and its people. It is the perfect background music to my trip and it is ever present.

My First Date

Ok, well, it is not really my first date ever, but it sure feels like it. The last date I had was...feels like never, but it was almost two years ago in October. That is if I don't count the horrible experience with the guy I met on some website for gay men over 40 that I was so excited about and it turned out to be a non-date because when he got to my place he told me he had a stomachache and just stayed long enough to let me see that I was glad that he wasn't interested in me and left. Oh, there was another internet disaster date about a year or so ago. When was that...? Again not worth counting.

But this casual encounter I had today was by far beyond better than anything closely resembling a date I ever had.

For those who are not current, I met a guy named Hernan on Sunday when I was sitting alone in a cafe. We chatted briefly and I found out he is a playwrite. Turns out that is true. So we had this date for today after I got out of school.

I got a text message from him around 2 p.m. It said - "I will wait you after 4 - don't you? Besos, Hernan"

It was very sweet. So I called him after I got out of school and asked him for his address again. Good thing I checked because the address I wrote down last night was 705 Cabrera, but today I noticed he was saying a 4 - turned out it was 4705, and he gave me the cross street, which turned out to come in handy with the taxi driver.

I went to his place, which is in Palermo, a new, up and coming trendy neighborhood. There is Palermo Viejo (old Palermo), Palermo Soho, Palermo Hollywood and just Palermo. We were in Palermo Soho, which I thought was Palermo Viejo and I have no idea what Palermo in general is. It's kind of like that here, all of these neighborhoods have names and then there are places which have no names or those that have two - all depending on who you are asking. Kind of confusing.

So I went to his apartment, which was a very cute little two-bedroom apartment. Spacious, but small, very nicely painted in different colors with cool, modern furniture and a computer with a huge screen. Turns out one of his hobbies (or addictions) is DJ-ing. So, as soon as I got there, he was in front of his computer mixing different music for me - kind of techno, but he actually said it is not techno, so I called it post-techno. It was nice - some of it kind of avant-gardy, some of it very relaxing, some with lyrics and some ambient. He kept popping up and clicking on his screen and putting music in his cue.

So we sat and had coffee at his place and chatted before going out for a walk. He took me to some neighborhood joint that had exposed brick walls, big couches and chairs and some wooden tables set up. Very trendy, modern and chic, but really comfortable with the lighting and the music. He ordered two glasses of wine and an appetizer tray that had pate, polenta, olives, fried potatoes and mozzarella di buffalo. The server poured our wine out of a white pitcher that looked like a big coffee creamer and was shaped like a penguin. Hernan said those kinds of things remind people of their childhood and are becoming more common in these kinds of places nowadays. It added a nice whimsical touch. The wine was delicious.

It was so much fun. I felt like I was where I should be. I asked him about things like 'conchetta' and why people eat gnocchi on the 29th of each month. He asked me about my childhood and past relationships. I felt like I was in therapy. I've heard that therapy is big here, and this could explain what it is that people are talking about in cafes when they look at each other so intently. No matter what we talked about, the conversation was easy and effortless, and I enjoyed talking to and listening to him. We hung out there before returning to his place where he tried to help me with my homework for tomorrow, I helped him with a letter he is writing to get a visa to go to Canada for two months, and then we split - he off to a dinner, me off to head home.

It was the perfect date.

So, now here is my question. Why is it that as soon as I step onto foreign soil I feel like I am desirable, but when I am in San Francisco, home to a gazillion available gay men, I feel invisible and am more comfortable in my apartment with a bowl of popcorn - the highlight of my week being "Bill Moyers Journal"?

Here is this guy, who is 33, considerably younger than me, an accomplished playwrite, intelligent, easy to talk to, funny, attractive, financially independent with a very bright future, living in a very interesting place, who spots me in a sidewalk cafe and has the nerve to come up and initiate a conversation with me and then arrange a date. Now, I'm not going to say that would never happen in San Francisco, but I think my chances of being kidnapped by terrorists and sold into white slavery are greater.

Tonight was a really beautiful evening outside. The leaves here are still in the process of dying, like late fall, so there are yellow and brown leaves on the trees and still lots of leaves in the streets. The air was thick and damp tonight as the worst fog they've experienced in 25 years still hangs around. It was really magical walking around Palermo (Viejo, Soho, general, wherever we were) - the streets were empty, Hernan thought because of the weather - but stores were open and lit up, some with little twinkling lights in their windows, and the fog wet the dying leaves and moistened the streets and the buildings, the smell of wet leaves and pavement, the feel of the fog, the visual richness created by the fog dancing around the street lights and twinkling lights in the stores, all creating a very magical and romantic mood for my date.

I told Hernan how much I am enjoying the magic of these first few weeks when everything is new and before I start to get tired of the smoke and fumes from traffic, the spotty service in restaurants and the difficulty in getting things done that are so simple back home, but for now, it is magic, and it is within this magical time that I had this date tonight. Perfect!

Another thing I really liked about Hernan, and which I've noticed about others here (in particular the teachers) is that he really loves his country. When I said I like the wine, he said, "Oh, I love the wine here!!", when I asked him about tango, he didn't hesitate to enthusiastically tell me his version of the beginnings of tango (seems everyone has a version). He was very excited about talking about things here, and it was really fun asking him questions about his country. The same kind of attitude would seem strange in the US I think. I don't know if I can explain this well. I think in SF we might be able to get excited about certain parts of the city or about different foods, or even the politics of the city, but I don't sense the same love of place there that I do here.

I went to Cinema Cafe after saying good-bye to Hernan. I have noticed that when we go to Cinema Cafe, we are the only ones who get this shiny blue table runner on our table and either a basket of stale rolls or a tray with potato chips, peanuts and fried chinese noodles. This is what is called a "cubierto" or cover, and we get a cover charge added to our bill - in this case maybe 3 pesos or one dollar. But my question is why it is only we who get this "special service". Today I looked at the waiter when he was laying it out to see if there was any indication that I might refuse this royal treatment. Tomorrow I will ask Marcela.

Today we had Fernanda as our teacher. This was the 2nd time we had her. The class was better than last week. We did some different things, but still spent a lot of time just talking about whatever came up. It felt like we were wasting time and for me in particular was frustrating because the more vocal students like Cynthia and Mike, easily dominate the discussion. I think I am going to suggest to Marcela that they try to find ways to pair us so that we get more opportunities to practice.

I just got a text from Hernan - I sent him one thanking him for the evening - his response "Besos la pase muy bien, dulce suenos, y manana hablamos" - rough translation - 'kisses - it was fun, sweet dreams, we'll talk tomorrow"

Sweet - everything about this place is really sweet.

On Being a Student Again

The experience of being a student again has been an interesting one. I've been taking classes off and on over the years, but this is the first time that I feel like I am a student in the way that my students are. I'm in a program, I go to class every day and I'm living in the culture where I'm trying to learn the language.

The first day it seemed like I was going to be the oldest student in the program and while I never expected that situation to make me feel as out of place as it did, it seemed that we really had nothing in common. Fortunately, it turned out that there were more students at the school than those in my "program", and I have Mike and Anna in my class, who are both closer to my age, and the Chinese students, who although they are younger, are easier to talk to than the American kids.

I also have been wondering since the first day if I am misplaced and should be in a lower level. These doubts resurface from time to time, and there are times when I feel like I fit in perfectly. Marcela, one of our teachers, makes me feel very comfortable, but the activities we do, often make me aware that I am the lowest in terms of ability in our group, at least academically. Yesterday for example, we watched a video on the history of the Obelisk, which stands in the center of the Avenida 9 de Julio. I tried writing things down as we watched, and the only thing I got was 1936, which was apparently the date it was built. After that I didn't understand anything in terms of the content of the show. Mike seemed to understand everything and Anna understood enough to understand what she didn't understand - she was able to hear expressions that she could ask the meaning of.

Next Marcela did an activity where she gave us each a little picture of a painting and told us we were owners of art galleries and we had to convince her to buy our painting. Again, I noticed that my sales pitch was the shortest of the four of us.

So, I'm in an odd position. Level 5 is definitely not the level for me because they are still studying the imperfect and preterit (the two forms of the past that used to confuse the hell out of me). I would be too advanced for that level. But since level 6 is the most advanced level, students are very advanced and I'm feeling like I am not high enough for the level.

I was thinking about what I could do as a teacher for a student like me and I am stumped. I want situations where I can improve my fluency while being supported by being given different structures, vocabulary, etc., that I can use to develop my fluency, but I don't want to study grammar. Cynthia, the Chinese student in our class, is very talkative, and when we have an open forum, she dominates the class, doing most of the talking, while the rest of us sit and try to understand what is going on (that's the other thing I'm noticing, when other students in class speak to the teacher, I understand very little of what they are saying, but when they speak to me, I understand them).

Last week, we had an assignment to write a description of a movie - not just what happened, but a little bit of analysis of it. I wrote about "West Side Story" because I use it in my class, and know a little bit of how it was made and some trivia relating to it (i.e., Natalie Wood was such a terrible singer they had to dub her singing). So, I spent a lot of time typing up this assignment and then had to go to an internet cafe to print it out, and the printer was bad, so I went to another internet cafe and printed it out again. When my teacher returned my paper, all I saw was that I made a ton of mistakes. She had numbered the mistakes on my paper and written corrections on a separate piece of paper. I felt defeated, like I had worked so hard on this thing and I made so many mistakes. I completely forgot my constant mantra to my students - mistakes are your friends, learn from your mistakes, etc... I put my assignment and the corrections in my bag and they stayed there the entire weekend.

Yesterday in class, Marcela asked us if we understood her corrections. I was honest and told her I didn't look at them. It was then that she told me she had written a question to me. I thought she just corrected the mistakes and didn't write any comments or any praise or anything. I looked at the little piece of paper and saw that she had also commented on the content of what I wrote and did indeed write a question for me. Still, I could see that from the perspective of a student, her method of correcting my paper was ineffective and time consuming (for her and me). I still haven't looked at her corrections, though I think I will try to make time to go over them and see if I can understand my mistakes.

This is a great experience for me because I am really getting to see what it feels like to be in a class not as a beginner, but as a more advanced student. But I am stumped as to what a teacher can do to meet the needs of a student like myself. Maybe it isn't up to the teacher, maybe it's up to me as a student to figure out how to get my needs met.

Some Random Thoughts

I have to write this somewhere. As I mentioned before, everyone kisses everyone here, but it is very striking when you see two men give each other a little peck on the cheek. Well, on Saturday, I was in San Juanino, the little restaurant across from Larry's apartment, and there was a police officer in there waiting for his order to go. Another officer went up, put his hand on his back, and leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I'm telling you, I've seen lots of greetings worldwide, from the Thai "wai" to the Japanese bow, but this little kiss on the cheek beats them all, especially to see two policemen kiss!

The ice cream here is terrific and I'm addicted. Today after a nice steak and salad for dinner, I had the craving for something sweet. As I knew there was a Freddo ice cream parlor in the direction that Larry and Anna were going to walk, I decided to go with them. Larry taught me a little joke that he got from a friend who was here, "I need some ice cream to get rid of the taste of beef in my mouth." It has become like that. One thing after another to get rid of the taste of the last thing I ate. I love that I can eat salad anywhere and anytime and I love that I can eat ice cream (or rather gelato) in the dead of winter.

I have a date tomorrow to meet Hernan after school. I love the way he speaks English (I have to confess I am cheating and speaking English with him instead of Spanish). His accent sounds more Italian than Spanish. In English, I'll be able to find out what kind of plays he writes, if that is the case.

It is really a trip to talk to the Chinese students at my school in Spanish. There are two in particular who are very cute. One young woman, whose Spanish name is Yolanda (but she pronounces it the Argentine way - Jolanda), and a young guy who's Spanish name is Octavio (and his English name is Kevin). They are both from Lanzhou, which is in Central China. They've been here since February and are both in level 5, so their Spanish is pretty good. Octavio said he's going to stay here and go to university because Spanish is a very important language in China now. I love running into them in the cafeteria at school and hearing them say things like "que tal?", "como te va?", etc. Too cute.

I found out I am paying way too much for my classes because I registered through this agency when I could have registered directly with the University of Buenos Aires program. Oh well, live and learn. If I wanted to, I could also study Italian, Chinese or a whole host of other languages for next to nothing (I think it's about $100 US for 4 months of class). I love having to go to school because it gives me a reason to get out of the house and away from things like blogging or watching American Inventor.

Nobody seems to have change here. It doesn't matter what you buy or where you are (except in restaurants), but no matter what bill you give someone, they always ask if you have something smaller.

Some service in some restaurants is very slow and they don't write anything down, so mistakes seem common.

Waiters always seem to give you one less menu than the number of people at your table (except when we went to an expensive restaurant in Puerto Madero). If there are two people, they give you one menu, if there are three people, they give you two. What's up with that?

The airport is still fogged in and flights are canceled or delayed, and they are predicting a cold front coming in July. Actually, they are predicting on on June 20, one in July and one in October! How can they know that? I've been hot since I've been here. There is heat indoors every where we go (I sleep with my windows open and my heated floors). Outside the weather has been very pleasant with the coldest day being last Thursday because of the fog. I'm looking forward to some colder weather so I can wear some of the clothes I brought (and use it as an excuse to buy more).

Lazy Weekend

After a first week of thrilling adventures, meeting new people, doing and seeing something new each and every day, my body told me to take a break. I spent the rest of Saturday afternoon in my apartment, ordered pizza delivery and watched movies. Sunday, I did the same and only went out in the evening because Larry found someone who gave massages that were very reasonable (80 pesos, about 27 dollars).

So, I spent Sunday lounging around, took a nice nap and eventually showered and went out for my massage around 5 p.m. As I got closer to the guy's address, I had time to kill, so I sat down at an outdoor cafe and ordered a salad and bottle of water with gas (what is that in English? Carbonated water just doesn't have the same feeling to me).

As I was sitting there watching the folks stroll by, a younger guy walked by and made intense eye contact with me. This has happened before, sitting with Larry at that exact same spot. Turned out the guys were "working". So, I didn't think much of it and went on eating my salad. But I noticed this guy had walked up to the corner and was looking back at me. Next thing I knew, he was standing directly in my line of vision, talking on his cell phone. And next thing I knew he was walking up to me.

In Spanish, he said to me, "Where do I know you from? You look very familiar". To which I replied, "I don't think you know me, I'm not from here." We chatted a bit and he asked if he could join me for coffee, I said sure.

I was thinking earlier of how much fun I've been having with Larry, Anna and Mike, but that I haven't really met any Argentines yet. There is nothing like seeing a country through the eyes of locals, even though Larry is almost a local (he probably knows more fun places than a lot of people who live here).

So anyway, this guy Hernan, told me he was trying to overcome his shyness. I told him I thought that was great, since I was not (trying to overcome my shyness and would therefore never approach a stranger). He was a very nice guy, but I still was not sure if he was working, so I asked him what he does. I think he told me he writes plays. Now I don't remember how I got that. I know he told me "writer" in Spanish, but I am not sure how I got that he writes plays because I am not sure if I know how to say that in English. But anyway, that is what I think he does, and I hope that isn't some code for "hustler". We exchanged phone numbers and I hope to be able to meet up with him and have coffee and learn more about his plays.

After my massage, which was great, by the way, I hooked up with the gang. Anna went home to make some phone calls and Larry, Mike and I went to the Cine Cafe, which has nothing to do with movies, except that the names of their dishes are named after movies or movie stars - for example, Basic Instinct, or Chicken Breast Pamela Anderson. We all had Larry's favorite, "Hamburguesa Sola", which is just a hamburger on a bun with fries for under $3.00.

I'm feeling a little worn out from my adventures with my thumb and meniere's, but I think I'll be ok going to school, and maybe being out will energize me.

Vertigo

This is not the Hitchcock movie. Last night I had an attack of vertigo. I know, I know, my life is so interesting. How many other people can say they went to Buenos Aires and had a vertigo attack?

Yesterday I met Mike, Larry and Anna at the Recoleta Cemetery (how odd to use a cemetery as a meeting point). Before we met, I went to the restaurant across from Larry's apartment because I wanted more lentils. Unfortunately, they were out of lentils, so I ate locro, which is made from hominy (corn that is used to make grits), and different kinds of meat and chorizo. It was very salty, but a lot of the food we've been eating has been salty.

My thumb swelled up in the morning when I went to change money, so I came back, soaked it, squeezed out some pus and then took a cab to the restaurant across from Larry's. Larry met me at the restaurant and had a salad with me.

After lunch, we walked to meet Anna and Mike at the cemetery, and by the time we got there, my thumb had started to swell again. We walked through the Plaza de las Artenesias because we had to show Mike and Anna the "gran concheta" we found last week. Yesterday, she was dressed a little more conservatively, rather than a full-on fur and matching hat, she had a coat with a fur collar and had her hair down. I don't think she really is a concheta, but I wonder why she has a picture of herself next to Karl Lagerfeld (who is looking pretty "cheto" himself waving a black oriental fan in front of his face). I noticed that this woman had very large and masculine hands, though there was nothing else about her that would suggest that she might have not been born female. I pointed it out to Larry and told him if she was Italian, it might not be unusual because Italian women have big hands for making pasta (he joked that it was from roadwork). So, now the question is whether or not our "concheta" may in fact be a "concheto".

After walking around a bit, we decided to get some coffee and I ordered a cup of hot water for my thumb (and ended up having to pay for a tea).

It didn't seem to help and I felt pretty miserable, so I came home, while the rest of the gang went on one of Larry's fabulous tours.

I ordered a pizza with Roquefort cheese and hearts of palm (the cheese was also salty) and watched some dumb movie and then a few episodes of American Inventor (pretty dumb show). I'm here to learn Spanish, but cable TV usually has so much TV that I don't get to see it's hard to resist. It is really difficult for me to get as hooked on Spanish TV as I can be by some stupid marathon of American Inventor or America's Next Top Model, or something like that.

I soaked my thumb periodically and eventually went to bed.

In the wee hours of the morning, I woke up, turned over and felt something shift in my head which made me think I was going to have a meniere's attack. I suffer from constant tinnitus and my hearing in my left ear is about 50% of that in my right. But occasionally, I also get sudden attacks of vertigo.

Those who know me, know I get these from time to time. If you're interested in knowing more about meniere's, you can learn more on Web MD.

I got up and took a pill that I always have on hand just in case, and tried to sit up without moving my head (movement at this point makes it worse), but I could feel the race between the effects of the pill and the oncoming attack.

As I sat on the sofa watching the pattern of the wood on the floor begin to move, I realized it was going to be a close call. My body suddenly became very hot, my mouth started watering and soon I was up and in the bathroom retching. Fortunately, I didn't have anything in my stomach, and I think just the small amount of water I drank to take the pill came up. The effects of the anti-vertigo medicine started to take effect and the spinning slowed down enough for me to be able to go to bed and go back to sleep. It was a very close call (the medicine took effect before the vertigo got so severe that I was immobile) and fortunately it didn't happen to me when I was out walking (which I've been doing without taking my medicine with me since it's been since last October that I had an attack).

Now I know that I need to watch my salt intake here. No more locro for me, and I need to start doing things that will help me stay relaxed - massages, meditation and maybe some tai chi. I have so many stories to tell and it's only been a week that I've been here. What's in store for me next?

The Thumb

Well today was just one more adventure in Buenos Aires.

Before I left, I was biting my nails (I guess I was nervous about the trip) and I bit one of those little pieces of skin that hangs off the nail on my thumb. It felt sore afterwards, and I got worried, so I put a band-aid with anti-biotic on it.

I was talking to my friend Armen, and when I told her I was coming to Argentina, she told me a story of someone who had an ingrown toenail and went to have it operated on and the anesthesiologist messed up and the guy went into a coma and died - or something like that. I actually know of someone my brother went to school with and is the daughter of someone I used to work with who had the same thing happen to her and she has been in a coma for almost 30 years!

So here I was with this thumb that was a little sore where I bit off the extra piece of skin, but I didn't think much of it.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, when I got up, I noticed that the thumb had started to swell. I stopped off at a pharmacy on the way to school and the pharmacist gave me something called "Agua D'Alibour", which I mixed with water as instructed and soaked my thumb during our boring class. I don't think it helped.

Last night after dinner, my thumb was throbbing and I came home and soaked it again, this time in warm water. It felt better after soaking, and I went to bed.

This morning I woke up and it was swollen but not throbbing. I looked on Web MD and found a description of an "infected hangnail" which seemed to describe what I had. They said if the swelling moves to the pad of the finger, go directly to the hospital. My finger pad was swollen to the point that I thought it was going to burst. After several rounds of, "I don't think it's that swollen...oh, it's really swollen...I don't think it's that bad...oh, it's really bad...etc..." I finally decided to take a chance and go to the hospital.

At my orientation on Monday, they recommended the German Hospital, so I hopped in cab and went to the Hospital Aleman.

I went up to a cashier and told her I wanted to see a doctor. After a little discussion and showing her my thumb, she decided a general practitioner would be sufficient. I paid 59 pesos (about 20 dollars) and went and had a seat (this was the non-insurance fee). I waited about 40 minutes before I was called in to see the doctor. She was a young, beautiful doctor, who looked like she belonged on Grey's Anatomy or General Hospital. She said I thought correctly, when I told her I thought I had an infection. She wrote me a prescription for Cipro and sent me downstairs to Traumatology to have my thumb lanced and the absess drained. Again, I went to another window and paid another 59 pesos (another 20 dollars) and waited to be called. Several young doctors walked by, every one of them looking like they should be on a soap opera.

I got called in and a young handsome person (don't know if he was a doctor) asked me what was going on. I showed him my thumb, answered some of his questions and sat on a table while he lanced it. The whole time of course, I was thinking about Armen's story of the guy who died from such a procedure and wondered if I would end up in a coma in Buenos Aires for the rest of my life. But, he gave me no anesthetic and just did a quick lance, put a very big bandage on my thumb and sent me on my way.

I returned to the pharmacy I had passed on the way to Traumatology department and it took me a while to figure out the system. Do I pay first, do I stand in line? Oh, I take a number. But there were two places to take a number - a red line and a yellow line. First I took a ticket from the yellow side, but then noticed that it was for people who had regular prescriptions. I moved to the red line and took a different number and waited my turn, only to be told that they couldn't fill my prescription because I wasn't a member of the hospital. I was sent to the pharmacy outside. My prescription cost me 69 pesos, a little over 20 dollars (about 23). My entire visit to the hospital cost be about 60 dollars - to see 2 doctors and get a prescription filled. If I had insurance, it would have been much less. With my insurance in the US, it would have cost me about the same. Why can a supposedly economically-challenged country provide such complete healthcare, even to tourists, when our "developed" country, can barely provide care to those who have insurance?

I went to school and afterwards we went on a trip to La Boca, an old, working-class neighborhood, settled by Italian immigrants and famous for corrugated tin houses painted bright colors (apparently a Genoese custom of using paint that was left over after painting their boats). It was an interesting trip and when we arrived the place was closing up because it was getting dark. We stayed long enough for me to get some good photos and then left. The neighborhood has a reputation for being a little rough around the edges.

On the way back to school, Larry noted that we were near Puerto Madero (a fairly new waterfront development), so Larry, Mike, Anna and I jumped off of our bus and went to Puerto Madero to explore and have dinner.

Larry and Anna had heard of this restaurant called Las Lilas, which was in Puerto Madero, that according to a NY Times article, was one of the 10 best places in the world to eat. We walked and looked for it and couldn't find it. So, Larry sent Anna into several places to ask for directions. No one seemed to know where it was. Finally, he sent her into a restaurant called Donata, and they told her it was too far to walk, and that we'd have to take a cab. They called her in to see their restaurant. They told her they'd give us a glass of free champagne and a 10% discount. After some discussion we decided to go for it. We had to kill some time but went back and had an amazing meal. We shared an antipasto, and each one of us had a steak - three of us had sirloin steaks and Mike had a filet mignon, we had two bottles of wine and mineral water and it ended up being $20 per person including tax and tip. Amazing!

In our taxi on our way home we passed Las Lilas. Of course, it was not that far, but we decided we will make a plan to go back and get dressed for the ocassion.

I am now home, ready to soak my thumb, take another dose of Cipro and put my feet up and relax.