I greeted Julieta´s sister and Susana´s daughter, Maria de la Paz, who spent some time in the United States and was absolutely enchanted by our country. She is very eager to learn English, and to celebrate American holidays. Perhaps I´ll send her turkey this November, although I don´t know how that will work out, as we don´t eat turkey. Pumpkin pie, maybe. Anyway, she told me she had a huge American flag displayed in her place. I´m reminded of a British exchange student with whom I´ve interacted once, back in September at an 80´s party, who spent this last academic year at UVA. We had a model UN trip to Montreal at the end of January, and at least once every hour, he´d exclaim, ¨America, fuck yeah!¨ Paz is classier than that, I think. And mellower. Like a true American, she´s not a fan of fruits or vegetables, but loves most other things. It´s always fun talking to her.
I got ready for the night´s tango lessons with the sexiest attire and make-up I had on hand and met the group on the subte. The subte has a flat entrance rate, and the light goes red once it´s read your card and accepted it. If it´s green, it means no entrance, you need to swipe. I wonder if likewise, fire alarm sounds like elevator music. I finally miss the United States. Well, no. I´ve been on the underground in Chicago, Montreal and New York City. It´s Washington, D.C. that I miss. It took me a few swipes of my card to realize that I was good to go, and with each swipe, a certain amount was deducted. It´s a flat fee paid upon entrance. This is rather inferior to the DC metro system, in my humble opinion. To those of you who´ve never ridden the metro in DC, you pay upon exiting, not entering, and your card is simply scanned when you enter, so the number of stops you ride on can get properly calculated. That way you can´t get overcharged, and you don´t have to pay the same going one stop over as going ten stops over. Also, it´s a closed gate, and when you swipe your card, the gate opens. And the DC metro is far cleaner. And I realize that it´s in decline right now, but even so, it´s the best I´ve seen so far. I just wish the elitist snobs in the Tyson´s Corner area would stop filibustering the process of expanding the orange line so it will reach out to us Reston and Herndonites. Imagine, instead of parking at Herndon Monroe Park and Ride to take a bus to get to the metro station, that place could be my metro stop. Not that I´m bitter.
One interaction I´m sorry I had left me reminiscing about fourth grade in St. Luke´s elementary. One girl in my class was beautiful and stylish and rich, so she had all sorts of beautiful and stylish things too. And the American Girls collection of books, dolls and everything else was very much in vogue. (To this day, I´m a big fan of the books, which touch on all sorts of issues, like staying fair-minded in times of war, sexism, racism, class-ism, the works, although the merchandise, which is extortionately priced, not so much.) Well all I ever did was try to be friends with this girl, but even at the tender age of nine, she had learned how to ooze elitism. Suffice it to say, as far as she was concerned, I was her social inferior.
She was the kind of girl who´d demand all five American Girl dolls (in 1995, there was only Felicity, Kirsten, Addy, Samantha and Molly, and the Josefina got added, then Kit, then Kaya, and most recently, Julie. Right now, Kit´s movie is in theatres in the US, and it´s all about coping with the Great Depression, and it will probably hit home, and I hope it´s still playing when I get back.). She was the kind of girl who´d get them all, but then treat Addy like crap. Addy is the girl who grows up during the Civil War. Meet Addy is about Addy´s family´s escape from slavery in her cruel master´s plantation, going north to freedom. Yeah, Addy´s black. I don´t think fourth-grade-beauty-queen actually read any of the books in the collection, or if she did, I don´t think any of the stuff they touched on got through to her.
But let´s get back to happy thoughts, shall we?
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
Friday, 4 July
I had a proper shower with nice body lotion and fresh clothes for the first time this week. Julieta left before me and left a few pieces of toast and orange marmalade. I didn´t have much time, so I wolfed down two of the three pieces. I was locked inside for a good minute before I figured out that I need the key to let myself out as well as in.
At least something in Argentina makes me miss something about the USA. The prospect of never getting out terrifies me infinitely worse than that of any break-in. This is why most people´s flats in India make me uneasy. And the latrines are a downright nightmare, not because of the stench or the uncomfortable positioning, but because of the latch on the outside that anyone can use to lock you in. I did that once to my cousin as a prank. I´m pretty sure the punishment given to me is a repressed memory. This is why locks in the US are no longer made like that, not after one abusive husband imprisoned his wife that way. To be fair, he also disconnected the phone lines.
And I´m now looking forward to dressing up to learn the tango tonight. Yay. We´re now current.
At least something in Argentina makes me miss something about the USA. The prospect of never getting out terrifies me infinitely worse than that of any break-in. This is why most people´s flats in India make me uneasy. And the latrines are a downright nightmare, not because of the stench or the uncomfortable positioning, but because of the latch on the outside that anyone can use to lock you in. I did that once to my cousin as a prank. I´m pretty sure the punishment given to me is a repressed memory. This is why locks in the US are no longer made like that, not after one abusive husband imprisoned his wife that way. To be fair, he also disconnected the phone lines.
And I´m now looking forward to dressing up to learn the tango tonight. Yay. We´re now current.
Friday, 3 July part 2
The elevators were just like lifts in flats in India. You pull doors open and shut yourself. I reunited with Susana and met one of her seven daughters (there are two sons and thirty-something grandkids between the nine kids), Maria la Paz, or Paz for short. I unpacked my suitcase and found a lot of stuff sopping wet, but at least it was all there. I finally met Julieta, and she´s every bit as nice as her mom. She also has a dog named Canela, for her cinnamon colored fur. She´s a guard dog. Her first action was to growl and bark at me. Terrified, I kept saying her name, which was what Susana had told me to do when I saw her. Susana then added that I need to say it lovingly, not panicked, so I tried to inject as much affection as I could into it. The dog was still hyper active, but her tail was wagging. What she really wants was hugs and whatnot. She sidled up to me like a drunken coed at a frat party, and I was the frat boy.
The four of us ate a dinner of gnocchi and soy milanesa together while Canela tried to get past Julieta to partake in it. Afterward, we broke out the Ghiradelli chocolate I´d brought with me in that suitcase.
I watched some TV with Julieta, mostly Argentine equivalents of American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, etc. Then we watched the last bit of Cinderella III. Back in America at one point this summer, Cinderella 3 was a Toon Disney Big Movie Show one evening, and my cousin Manali and I began to watch it over ice cream. Unfortunately, Mom came home and demanded to know why I was watching kid´s shows. I had bitten back the urge to answer that it was because she wouldn´t let me watch adult shows.
Fast forward to Thursday night. Cinderella III was dubbed in Spanish and her name was now Cenicienta. Part III has been updated from the original Cinderella to suit the feminist sensibilities of girls like me. Cinderella/Cenicienta kicked some ass and Anastasia, one of the two ugly stepsisters, was a sympathetic character. I understood the dialogue way better than La belle et la bete, or Harry Potter et le prisonnier dÁzkaban.
The four of us ate a dinner of gnocchi and soy milanesa together while Canela tried to get past Julieta to partake in it. Afterward, we broke out the Ghiradelli chocolate I´d brought with me in that suitcase.
I watched some TV with Julieta, mostly Argentine equivalents of American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, etc. Then we watched the last bit of Cinderella III. Back in America at one point this summer, Cinderella 3 was a Toon Disney Big Movie Show one evening, and my cousin Manali and I began to watch it over ice cream. Unfortunately, Mom came home and demanded to know why I was watching kid´s shows. I had bitten back the urge to answer that it was because she wouldn´t let me watch adult shows.
Fast forward to Thursday night. Cinderella III was dubbed in Spanish and her name was now Cenicienta. Part III has been updated from the original Cinderella to suit the feminist sensibilities of girls like me. Cinderella/Cenicienta kicked some ass and Anastasia, one of the two ugly stepsisters, was a sympathetic character. I understood the dialogue way better than La belle et la bete, or Harry Potter et le prisonnier dÁzkaban.
Thursday, 3 July 2008
The hotel gave us breakfast for two, not three. Fortunately, Sara is not much of a breakfast eater, and the front desk was ready to send up extra orange juice. My suitcase was due to arrive at the hotel, but I would doubtless be gone by then. ¨Queda tranquila¨ was a phrase I heard many times that day, meaning stay calm. I was dropped off at a nice apartment building where I met the mother of my host mom. She was a very affectionate old lady, and after seafeplacing the stuff I had been carrying around with much trepidation for the last three days (I don´t trust the hotel safe), Susana came with me to a placed called Cafe Van Gogh, and the ambiance was very hipster. Would that more such places existed where I live, and less expensive ones. I washed down half a veggie omelette soaking in cream sauce with a mate cocido and complimentary alfajorcitos, or mini alfajores, or shortbread cookies with dulce de leche. I had to bounce then, as I needed to be at UB for the grand tour, and I left after paying and having Susana agree to take home my leftovers.
My - i.e., Sara´s, pants swept the streets that I walked, and I was devoutly thankful for the absence of dog shit. UB is on a street named Zabala, and it´s something like Embassy Row in Dupont Circle. It´s right across from the Australian Embassy, and close to the Turkish one.
Alejandro, our Venezuelan guide of sorts, came with me via subte - short for subterraneano or something, meaning underground - back to the hotel. I was mildly amused by his admonition not to put my card through the slot but to touch it to the surface - I´ve been using a SmarTrip card for years. It turned out to be a moot point anyway, as the guards let everyone through the gates. Alejandro explained that this always happens during rush hour. I too would want to get that many tired, disgruntled yuppies out of my sight, wouldn´t you?
It was stuffy there, despite the chill outside. I got my suitcase into a taxi and rode back to my homestay for 8 pesos, and Alejandro saw me off.
My - i.e., Sara´s, pants swept the streets that I walked, and I was devoutly thankful for the absence of dog shit. UB is on a street named Zabala, and it´s something like Embassy Row in Dupont Circle. It´s right across from the Australian Embassy, and close to the Turkish one.
Alejandro, our Venezuelan guide of sorts, came with me via subte - short for subterraneano or something, meaning underground - back to the hotel. I was mildly amused by his admonition not to put my card through the slot but to touch it to the surface - I´ve been using a SmarTrip card for years. It turned out to be a moot point anyway, as the guards let everyone through the gates. Alejandro explained that this always happens during rush hour. I too would want to get that many tired, disgruntled yuppies out of my sight, wouldn´t you?
It was stuffy there, despite the chill outside. I got my suitcase into a taxi and rode back to my homestay for 8 pesos, and Alejandro saw me off.
Wednesday, 2 July, 2008, part 3
Back at the hotel, I signed up for a breakfast for three people (another girl, Sara, had arrived on the 2nd because her flight got massively delayed, and she was placed with Brenda and me) at 8 a.m. I slept in only underwear for another night, but the next morning, at least I´d have Sara´s velour sweatpants to replace my now filthy, probably laden with dog excrement, cargoes. I slept marginally better, surprisingly free of the digestive issues I invariably get after eating Mexican dinners in the States. My meal had been very spicy indeed (nothing a true Indian can´t handle), but it wasn´t refried or reeking of cheese. That was probably it.
Wednesday, 2 July, 2008, continued
The group then took a tour of the cemetery in Recoleta, searching desperately for Evita´s grave. We gave up the search due to the cold and the fact that we were scheduled to spend the whole day there in a few days time. We warmed up with warm, sweet peanuts from the street vendor. I believe it´s the only think, besides chestnuts, that you should buy on the street. Oh, that and kettle corn.
Our final destination was the Universidad de Belgrano (from here on out, UB), where we went over the rules.
1. Stay dry at GMU events.
2. Don´t be reason number 328 that the rest of the world hates the USA.
Dinner afterward was not a GMU event even though Profesora Julia came with a bunch of us to a new Mexican restaurant named Frida Kahlo, whose namesake graced every square inch of the place. And so I could finally have alcohol. I split a bottle of Argentine red wine with two other people, and the bottle cost around 30 pesos. The wine was fantastic. After paying my tab, it dawned on me that just because luxury in Argentina is inexpensive in relative terms, it doesn´t mean it´s inexpensive in absolute terms. I was already down upwards of 50 pesos, not including the 300 I spent at Give Me Many Kisses, and it hadn´t been two days.
Our final destination was the Universidad de Belgrano (from here on out, UB), where we went over the rules.
1. Stay dry at GMU events.
2. Don´t be reason number 328 that the rest of the world hates the USA.
Dinner afterward was not a GMU event even though Profesora Julia came with a bunch of us to a new Mexican restaurant named Frida Kahlo, whose namesake graced every square inch of the place. And so I could finally have alcohol. I split a bottle of Argentine red wine with two other people, and the bottle cost around 30 pesos. The wine was fantastic. After paying my tab, it dawned on me that just because luxury in Argentina is inexpensive in relative terms, it doesn´t mean it´s inexpensive in absolute terms. I was already down upwards of 50 pesos, not including the 300 I spent at Give Me Many Kisses, and it hadn´t been two days.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
finally!
At noon yesterday, we left for Dulles airport. I checked in, exchanged some dollars for pesos for free with my ISIC (after sticking to my guns that the card entitles you to free currency exchange), kicking myself for not doing it last month when the dollar was relatively strong, went through security, the works.
I think I know now why the three-legged flight was the cheapest - the original itinerary was from Dulles to Raleigh by United, Raleigh to Miami by American and Miami to Buenos Aires by LAN Argentina. Well the Raleigh flight went to shit. After several delays, we got on, then got told it´s deboarding. I panicked, and went to the United counter to see what my options were, as there was not a snowball´s chance in hell that I could catch the Miami to Buenos Aires leg.
United told me it´s down to LAN. LAN Argentina was useless, they told me they can´t do a thing. Meanwhile, Mom called United and got me a flight for the night of the 1st, which was the best I could hope for. I then went for my bag, which never showed up, and then Mom called me once more to tell me she had gotten me reissued for a non-stop the night of the 30th, and now here I am. Until I got that last phone call, I was dejectedly standing in line, vowing to make myself a stiff drink when I got home, but at least things worked out. And the parents and brother came once more to the airport to see me off, and Mom broached the subject of appreciating one´s luck.
me: Yeah, every time God closes a door, he opens a window.
mom: In your case, He closed a window and opened a door.
me: It´s like losing a knut and finding a galleon!
bro: I´d rather lose a galleon than a nut.
Anyway, went through security once more and was assured that I needn´t worry about my checked in bag. I met with the about half my GMU group, lucky me. We boarded, the flight was all right except for a few delays and some turbulence. But it just wouldn´t end, I do believe it´s the longest flight I´ve ever sat through. I had a fitful night of uncomfortable sleep, and finally we landed. And I found out my bag is in Raleigh. Luckily, it should arrive tomorrow morning. All My pajamas were in my suitcase though, I guess I´ll sleep pantless tonight. Anyway, our group leader, Alejandro, is nice. He assured us we can address him as familiarly as we wish, as long as it´s not a bad word.
I felt like a proper Argentine, though I really shouldn´t, when I ordered a mate in the Ezeiza airport cafe. It was a bit like yuppies in the US trying to be authentically Indian, ordering the chai lattes in Starbucks. Even so.
It´s colder than I thought here, my hoodie was barely enough, but I was still amused by the site of Argentines all bundled up with hats and scarves and mittens. The hot cocoa I ordered at the airport immediatley following the mate, as I needed to keep warm, was interesting. They gave me this bar of chocolate and a cup of foaming plain milk. I was to stick the chocolate in the milk myself. It was tasty, and I talked to the barrista and this other lady working there in my broken, but relatively unaccented, Spanish. They don´t call it español, they call it castellano, and they pronounce that ¨casteshano¨.
The drive to the hotel reminded me irresistably of the streets of India. And that has a charm of its own, except I had repeatedly told the parents and other members of the Indian community here that Buenos Aires is comparable to any European or North American wealthy city. Oops. I took a few pictures of things, and I´ll post them once I´m home.
So now, I wait for my bag. This is still nothing compared to Neha´s experiences in India.
Adios, mundo.
I think I know now why the three-legged flight was the cheapest - the original itinerary was from Dulles to Raleigh by United, Raleigh to Miami by American and Miami to Buenos Aires by LAN Argentina. Well the Raleigh flight went to shit. After several delays, we got on, then got told it´s deboarding. I panicked, and went to the United counter to see what my options were, as there was not a snowball´s chance in hell that I could catch the Miami to Buenos Aires leg.
United told me it´s down to LAN. LAN Argentina was useless, they told me they can´t do a thing. Meanwhile, Mom called United and got me a flight for the night of the 1st, which was the best I could hope for. I then went for my bag, which never showed up, and then Mom called me once more to tell me she had gotten me reissued for a non-stop the night of the 30th, and now here I am. Until I got that last phone call, I was dejectedly standing in line, vowing to make myself a stiff drink when I got home, but at least things worked out. And the parents and brother came once more to the airport to see me off, and Mom broached the subject of appreciating one´s luck.
me: Yeah, every time God closes a door, he opens a window.
mom: In your case, He closed a window and opened a door.
me: It´s like losing a knut and finding a galleon!
bro: I´d rather lose a galleon than a nut.
Anyway, went through security once more and was assured that I needn´t worry about my checked in bag. I met with the about half my GMU group, lucky me. We boarded, the flight was all right except for a few delays and some turbulence. But it just wouldn´t end, I do believe it´s the longest flight I´ve ever sat through. I had a fitful night of uncomfortable sleep, and finally we landed. And I found out my bag is in Raleigh. Luckily, it should arrive tomorrow morning. All My pajamas were in my suitcase though, I guess I´ll sleep pantless tonight. Anyway, our group leader, Alejandro, is nice. He assured us we can address him as familiarly as we wish, as long as it´s not a bad word.
I felt like a proper Argentine, though I really shouldn´t, when I ordered a mate in the Ezeiza airport cafe. It was a bit like yuppies in the US trying to be authentically Indian, ordering the chai lattes in Starbucks. Even so.
It´s colder than I thought here, my hoodie was barely enough, but I was still amused by the site of Argentines all bundled up with hats and scarves and mittens. The hot cocoa I ordered at the airport immediatley following the mate, as I needed to keep warm, was interesting. They gave me this bar of chocolate and a cup of foaming plain milk. I was to stick the chocolate in the milk myself. It was tasty, and I talked to the barrista and this other lady working there in my broken, but relatively unaccented, Spanish. They don´t call it español, they call it castellano, and they pronounce that ¨casteshano¨.
The drive to the hotel reminded me irresistably of the streets of India. And that has a charm of its own, except I had repeatedly told the parents and other members of the Indian community here that Buenos Aires is comparable to any European or North American wealthy city. Oops. I took a few pictures of things, and I´ll post them once I´m home.
So now, I wait for my bag. This is still nothing compared to Neha´s experiences in India.
Adios, mundo.
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