but seriously...

... back to the food at lunch. This stuff is incredible. Addicting. Guilt-inducing under any other circumstance. The empañadas were filled with the sweetest morsels of meat and egg and greasy sauce, surrounded by the flakiest, yet still somehow doughy, crust, grilled to perfection. And the pizza, oh sweet heavens. Thick buttery crust, rich cheese spilling over the sides, tomatoes that taste like my grandmother´s garden. The place was packed, and rightfully so. Oh hallelujah, I have found my pizza haven.

low high

Yesterday: The museum was closed. The streets were a mess of confusing dead ends. The guy at the library wouldn´t let me look out the windows at the beautiful view of the city because I didn´t have a library card. Not even after I gave him my most winning smile. Not even after I promised not to touch anything. It was rainy and windy. I hate wind. The keys on the keyboard at the internet cafe kept sticking. Especially the B, T and D. Spanish words refused to form on my lips, making me feel foolish. Dinner was late. I was hungry and exhausted. I spent thirty minutes dialing the numbers of five different phone cards trying to talk to Andy. I never got through. So I tried email. The computer froze. One o´clock in the morning, defeated, lonely, frustrated, I cried myself to sleep.

Today: The Spanish flowed easily. I went on a walking tour of the city and met some fantastic people, including two girls in my program, a well-traveled girl from California, and an elderly couple from Oregon. The sun came out. The tour guide was fantastic. He offered to be my friend. He gave me inside information on traveling, buses, tango shows and restaurants. He pointed me in the direction of the best pizza and empañadas in town. I ate lunch there, with the couple from Oregon. They are older than my parents, dorky, sweet. We ate some of the best food I´ve had yet - pizza oozing cheese all over the place - and talked about traveling. It was odd and funny but nice. I walked through a new part of the city, streets filled with bookstores. I stopped, read, dawdled, took notes, took a deep breath. My email inbox was filled with love, support, things that made me laugh out loud. Maybe tonight even my phone cards will cooperate...

teeth

The mouthwash here tastes funny.

sunday dinner

It´s 1am, and we just finished Sunday dinner. A glass of wine, two plates of pork and roasted vegetables, a slice of chocolate cake and one flute of champagne later, and I´m about ready for bed. Or maybe I´ll stay up watching a movie, or reading, or talking with the family in the kitchen, because it´s not even technically my Argentinian bedtime yet. Oh how different my life has become.

art fair

Every weekend, near the Recoleta Cementary in my neighborhood, there is an art fair with hundreds of booths filled with handmade arts, crafts, clothing and trinkets. I went today, and as I walked through the winding sidewalks lined with stalls, I made a list of everything that caught my eye. It looks like this:

- Dresses
* Tanks and tees with tango dancers and musical notes
* Thick leather bracelets with intricate metal inlay and snaps
* Hammered metal earrings
- Scarves
- Coasters
- Webbed metal earrings that look like bird nests
* Long necklace of gold beads with specks of color in them ($20 U.S.)
- Tango dancer mobiles
- Colored glass soap dishes
- Earrings with dangling turquoise pendants
* Reversible vests made with plaid, velvet, etc. ($95 pesos)
- Denim purses with colorful fabric sewed on
* Long strings of colorful beads, like in Venice
* Necklaces with pendants of colored circles of leather
* Peacock and feather earrings
* Knit scarves that look like bird feathers are woven into them (grey and green)

life

I have been here for five days. Last night we ate white rice, hot dogs, fried eggs and bread for dinner. Today the family dog peed on my bathroom floor. This afternoon I went for a run, and did 25 squats, 50 lunges and five push-ups on a park bench. I hate push-ups. Last night I stayed up until 4am, and it did not seem strange, except for the fact that I can rarely make it past midnight at home. I think I have found my favorite place to sit, drink coffee, and become lost in a book. It is two blocks from where I live, and is always filled with the chatter of friendship. It gets dark here at 6 o´clock. Today I didn´t wake up until after noon. Yesterday I ate empañadas for the first time. I had three of them, and one burned my tongue. I eased the burn with a glass of Fanta. I have yet to purchase any shoes or clothing. Each time I go to a cafe I try a new kind of coffee drink. My favorite so far is not so much a coffee drink, but is hot milk that comes with two sticks of chocolate that you melt in the milk and stir around. It is called a submarino. It is delicious.

street sense

The streets smell like a combination of cigarettes, fresh cut flowers, dog poop, bus exhaust, roasted nuts, and women´s purfume.

They sound like clicking high heels, whining engines, excited crowds, scuffling shoes, angry horns, laughter, hurried words.

They look like Madrid was dropped into New York City, and their buildings took turns lining up. And then the Madrid-NYC mutt wondered if London might want to join in, and maybe Paris´cafes as well. But that wasn´t good enough, so they asked Minneapolis and Baltimore to work together to form a little neighborhood by the water, and they threw a dash of Sevilla in for good measure. And then they realized they´d almost forgotten Italy and found themselves stumbling over apologies to beg for its pastas, ice cream, mercados and colorful buildings of its northwestern coast.

They feel like fall without the crispness of October or the warmth of September. Like disorganization and sure-footedness, rumbling automobiles and fashion runways, friendship and lonliness.

They taste like chocolate melted in hot milk. Like steaming empanadas filled with meats and cheese. Like strong coffee, flaky croissants, fried potatoes and dulce de leche.

They fill up my senses, every day, with their stink, their chaos, their noise, their words, their steaming concoctions. And I love it.

flirtation

They stare at me from inside windows, on every block, down every street. Dressed in leather, I can smell their skin. Short, tall, brown, black, wearing everything from deep red to animal prints. They want me, I just know it. They want to be mine, to be close to my skin. I don´t think they´d mind if I walked all over them. I can barely stand it, their taunting, their flaunting, their new and intriguing foreign ways. How will I ever chose? I want them all. I´m not sure I can take this torture any longer. I can feel myself giving in to their seductive ways, broken down by the way they seem to follow me wherever I go. Maybe I can hold out a week or two more, but I know there´s no denying it - some day, very soon, I will bring one home with me. My very own, sexed-up, delicious pair of Argentinian boots.

not quite sufficient

For some reason, I am unsatisfied with my last post. Yes, it provides a lovely little summary of everything I´ve been doing, but what have I been thinking? feeling? questioning? sorting out? I´ve experienced a wide range of emotional states over the past few days - everything from exhilaration over walking down the street in a new city to crying over a heart that misses someone it loves - and to me, those states are as important, if not more important, than my nice, neat, little checklist of ¨look what I´ve done.¨

This is truly a time of self-learning and growth; of exploring my independence, dependence, comfort zones, fears, ego and expectations.

I mean, I quit my job and uprooted my life, and I´m here, so I sure as hell better make the most of it, right? But what if I don´t? What if I do it all wrong? What if I don´t learn enough, do enough, see enough, eat enough, laugh enough? What if I waste opportunities? What if I spend too much time missing my life in Minneapolis? What if I´m not present enough, aware enough, strong enough?

This is where my mind was this morning. So my journal and I had a little date, and I got it all out. Put my fears on the page and sat there looking at them, knowing that there were a lot of irrational thoughts staring back at me, but unsure I could put them all away. So I thought about what my advice-givers would say to me; what I´d want them to say.

That there´s no wrong way to do it. That it will be amazing. That it will pass by too quickly, so I shouldn´t wish the days away. That mistakes will be made, but I shouldn´t judge myself. That there is time to do a lot, but not everything needs doing. That this is my experience, and I can make what I want of it. That everyone would do it differently, but as long as I´m doing things that make me happy, that challenge myself, that take care of my soul and heart and body and mind, that I´m doing okay. That my love, our love, is strong enough to carry us through. That friends and family won´t go away. That I don´t need to figure out my life plan right now, but just enjoy each day as it presents itself to me, and allow room for opportunity and insight. That every little thing is going to be alright...

i´m happy

Arriving in a new place is always an interesting mix of emotional ups and downs (and this arrival has been no exception), but you know, right now, I´m pretty darn happy. I mean, today I woke up in Buenos Aires, without anyone expecting me to do anything. So what did I do?

- Went for a run-walk-jog along Avenida Santa Fe, through the Botanical Gardens, past the Zoo and the Japanese Gardens, along a different avenue, through a plaza, and back home again. The entire outing lasted an hour and a half, and I didn´t get lost, not even for a second.
- Enjoyed sunshine and a 50-something degree day. (That´s my kind of weather. I´m a big sweater, but here I don´t sweat so much.)
- Ate a late lunch at home after a hot shower, a warm cup of tea and a good journal writing session.
- Wandered back outside and to an internet cafe, where I started planning with my two lovely Ithacan roommates who will be visiting in six short weeks.
- Strolled over to a pizza place/cafe that had big cozy booths along one wall, and spent a good couple of hours sipping my cafe con crema, munching on the little chocolate stick-cookie that accompanied my mini-coffee, looking over a map of the city, plotting tomorrow´s activities and reading one of my favorite books.
- Entered my first supermercado to buy shampoo, mouthwash, granola and yogurt, and discovered some fantastic little gems, like 40s of Stella and Budweiser, large slabs of pre-packaged cheeses and meats at very reasonable prices, and endless shelves of wine, also exceptionally priced.
- Chatted in the kitchen with Lourdes about our boyfriends (aww) and families.
- Cozied up on the couch for some more reading.

Yes, a good day indeed. And though I´m not complaining about having all of this free time, I´m also looking forward to beginning teaching and getting into some resemblence of a routine... my teaching start-date is still up in the air (I´m writing that off to South American style), but I have been told it should be ´soon.´So, until then, I shall wander, sip, write, run, sleep, practice Spanish, and enjoy having the freedom to spend my days as I please.

my first taste

I wake from a groggy sleep to see an airplane breakfast on a tray in front of me and the expanse of Buenos Aires´lights below. The sun is on its way, turning the horizon pink and orange. It´s just after 7am Argentina time, which makes it 5am on my clock.


A driver is waiting to take me to my homestay; the 40 degree morning feels colder than I thought it would. We speed towards the city as he chain smokes and I learn that lanes are merely suggestions of where to drive. Someone has given him the wrong address, and he asks me, with my vague idea of where my home is located, to look at a map for him while he´s stopped on a small patch of asphalt between the freeway and an off-ramp. Two hours - and many wrong turns - later, I arrive at my new home.

I am welcomed into a beautiful old building by Lourdes, my family´s live-in maid. She´s sweet and talkative, and helps me load the old-fashioned elevator with my suitcases. When we reach the 4th floor I am greeted by Carmen, my host mom, who gives me a big hug and immediately launches into a high-speed Spanish that my tired brain has trouble processing.

Lourdes and Carmen show me around the house; it´s beautiful, complete with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and formal and informal dining and living rooms. I meet Ian (one of the two sons who lives at home), as well as the grandmother and their dog. After settling in (and discovering that there is a computer with internet access in the house) I have some pan tostada and tea, while Carmen grills a seasoned steak for the dog. (Those guide books weren´t lying - steak really is king here. Or maybe it´s the dogs who are the kings... hmm...)

Later, Lourdes gives me a good talking to about staying safe in B.A., Ian and I chat about things that 20-somethings who can communicate on a basic level chat about, and the grandmother instructs me to enjoy being young and able-bodied with an entire life ahead of me. (And yes, all of the above conversations were Spanish-only.)

All this, and it´s only lunchtime. I think I´ll wander out to see what I can find.

and i'm off

You could say it's my instinct

Yes I still have one

No time to second guess it

And yes there are things that I'm still so afraid of

But my courage is roaring like the sound of the sun

my host family

During my time in Buenos Aires, I'm going to be staying with a host family. Up until last week, the only knowledge I had about them was that they lived in B.A., and that they would be hosting me. A little scary, considering I'll be living with them in their home for five months. 

But now I have more details, and it is both relieving and exciting. My host parents names are Carmen and Carlos, and they live in the Recoleta neighborhood (barrio) of B.A. They are an older couple with grown children, one of which still lives at home with them - their 29-year-old son, Juan (living at home until you're married is a very common Argentinian standard, so this does not strike me as odd).

Recoleta is supposedly a very beautiful, posh part of the city... and I think I'm okay with that. It has a lot of cafes and parks, and is close to Palermo, another barrio that has a host of ethnic restaurants, shopping and green space to explore. I'm sure I'll have hundreds of details to share once I'm there....

... but for now I'm just excited to meet my family and see what my home will be like... at this time next week I'll be en route!

porteñacita

Porteño (feminine: porteña) in Spanish is used to refer to a person who is from or lives in a port city, but it can also be used as an adjective for anything related to those port cities. It is usually applied to the port city of Buenos Aires, Argentina, and since the end of the 19th century Porteños has come to be the name of the people from that city.

yes, please

I remembered reading a post on one of my favorite design blogs earlier this year that featured a fantastic home in Buenos Aires. However, I couldn't remember which blog it was... though I could picture the incredible old courtyard dining room of the featured home. After some digging around, I finally managed to locate the post... and the place was as fabulous as I remembered. If for some reason I decide I can't leave Argentina, I plan to convince the man to move down and find a place like this for our very own. (Doubtful, I know, but I can always dream...)

so much

With the count down to twenty (!) days, I am overwhelmed with my long list of pre-departure to-dos...

- Purchase international health insurance
- Locate Argentinian outlet adapters and international calling cards
- Make sure my iPod playlists are up-to-snuff
- Replace the battery in my watch, hem some pants, oil some shoes
- Brush up on the subjunctive
- Create a binder of my Argentina research
- Eat at all of my favorite restaurants
- Figure out which studio offers the best tango lessons in Buenos Aires
- Break in new running shoes
- Travel to Baltimore to see one of my favorite bands
- Find a new yoga studio to call home
- Maximize face time with the man and the fam
- Get together with various friends
- Finish the best show on television
- Cross off a daunting to-do list at work
- Pack

Yikes.