Archive for August, 2009

Again, drumming/dancing on Sunday:

You should check out the short video, too.

We have fake little dialogues in Spanish class (currently myself, a young Chicagoan named Kelly, and a rotating roster of teachers) now, in which we talk about our everyday lives and how we’re getting by. One of our topics was what we’ve been finding to eat, and on that I expounded in practically flawless Spanglish that with the running, I am used to eating huge amounts of calories everyday, maybe 3 or 4 thousand, and mostly in the form of condiments added to beans and rice. To that point, I’d been able to find arroz, but not frijoles and asked my teacher que tal? It seems that they don’t exist in Argentina as they’re considered a meat substitute, and we have plenty of carne to go around. So she suggested lentils (lentijas) and that I may be able to purchase them in a health food store.

I actually found them at a supermercado, Leader Price.

In other news, something that has been at the forefront of my mind these last 10 days but I’ve been reluctant to write about, because, well, it’s been done, is that women here are absolutely gorgeous. Young women, middle aged women, little old ladies, the women that work behind the counter at fancy hotels in Recoleta and the girls selling handicrafts on the street. They’re some kind of beautiful mix of European and Latin American heritage. And somehow even the turistas are prettier for it. It’s overwelming. And, frankly, wonderful.

And that’s the last I’ll speak of it. At least for a little while.

Spanish class, aside from the occasional gastronomic letdown, is progressing well. The teacher that Kelly and I have had for the last couple of days has been a little mystified by our occasional elefante-sized gaps in our knowledge, but we’ve all managed to keep cool heads and are ending these somewhat intense 4 hour sessions as, for the most part, amigos. I’m learning some Spanish, and am proud and frustrated and hopeful for my skills. And I signed up for another week.

Kai moved in, and he is cool. And not Australian, but Austrian. He’s a good guy to have here, because he seems to be a doer, and as such likes to engage in activites that I may otherwise not think to do, like go to a Bocas Junior game. And we went out for medialunes this morning. Which are, BTW, a huge thing in Buenos Aires.

To sum up, for martes, el vienticinco de agosto:

No beans.
Beautiful women.
Spanish class.
Kai is good. And Austrian.

Topics to be dealt with on another occasion:

Free time stretching before me.
Out of books.
Need to find a place to live after 9/12.
Amazing drumming on Sunday.
Huge city, a mil varied barrios. Perspective changing every day.
Could easily find job, live here. Or anywhere.

Here’s a street in my neighborhood from last night. Most of them were much more crowded:

So I finally start Spanish school tomorrow. I’m excited for that. I have a feeling that I’m going to be the dumbest one there, which won’t be too fun, but at least I’ll be able to start saying things that mean sense. And maybe I can learn how to say “speak more slowly, please.” In Spanish, I mean.

I went running just now, and it didn’t feel too bad. I took it pretty easy, and the only slightly miserable part was that I had various fluids running down my face most of the time. Tears, oddly, were the biggest culprit. I’ve had watery eyes since I got here, and the catarro (thanks dad) hasn’t helped much. Jeez, I complain a lot. I was actually happy to run and it helped clear me up a bit. Good for the old morale, too, although I really need to get healthy and start running in earnest if I’m actually going to do this marathon.

Last night I was walking around my neighborhood (which is, in fact, great, and, quaint, and dirty, and a little touristy), and another crazy Latin drum band came through. They make their way down these tiny little streets and the sounds they make are, well, pretty fantastic. Do you ever hear African drum music on the Putumayo (WASP alert) sampler and think, “Damn, this is what music is really supposed to be like, just rhythm”? Well, let me tell you. The Portenos have the entire continent of Africa beat. So to speak.

And Maribel told me that you don’t say buenos noches in Buenos Aires after dark, you have to wait a bit later, at least until after 8. That’s when nighttime really begins. And I’m usually going home. Waaht-waaa.