More To Come

We are currently traveling. Hopefully, we will have some great pictures for when we return. I´ll just say, we went to my favorite place yet.

Flower Power

We went to a free Earth Day concert a few weeks back. I took a few pictures of this giant flower sculpture that was in the park where the concert was held. I thought it looked cool. I wasn't sure at the time, but I could have sworn that the flower had been more open earlier in the day and started to close. I found out later from my Top 10 Buenos Aires book that it is actually quite a famous sculpture. It is called the Floralis Generica and was made by an Argentine sculptor, Eduardo Catalano. The flower actually blooms at 8 AM and closes at dusk. I was relieved to learn that I was not completely insane.

Uruguay

Last weekend we took a trip across the Rio Plata to Uruguay. Many expats who live here make this trip every three months or so to renew their 90-day tourist visas. We didn't need to renew our visas (because of our jaunt into Chile), but we had a couple friends who needed to, so we figured we'd tag along.

We left Friday morning on the 11:30AM Buquebus ferry for Colonia. One of our friends, Flora, took the slow boat (much cheaper) at 9:30, and our other friend, Chris, was on our ferry. Because Holly and I bought our tickets late, we rode 1st Class for the way there. After going through Argentine exit procedures in Puerto Madero, we boarded the ferry along with about fifty Americans wearing nametags and shorts.* Chris had a tourist class ticket so, while we were waiting to board the ferry, we were joking about what he would be subjected to while we were sipping our champagne in 1st class. After we boarded, and showed our tickets to gain access to the 1st class area, we were actually greeted with flutes of champagne and our choice of either an Argentine or Uruguayan newspaper. Other than that, there was very little difference between 1st class and tourist.

Colonia was a quiet, quiet town. Our ferry boat probably doubled the town's population. The entire old town section of Colonia is a UNESCO World heritage site. As you can see in the following photos, there are many well preserved older buildings and cobblestone streets. There was also a small collection of old cars parked in one of the squares. A group of Argentines with old timey cars was doing a tour across South America and happened to be in Colonia the same weekend we were there.

The weather was really nice that weekend. Its just turning autumn down here, so the air had the crisp feeling of fall, the leaves were falling off the trees, and you could smell the woodburning fireplaces. After checking into our hostel and walking around for a bit, we ate lunch outside. The weather was perfect for outdoor dining. The air was cool, but the sun made everything warm and bright. I don't remember the name of what I ate, but it was french fries, scrambled eggs, ham, cheese, onions and peas all mixed together. It was delicious and filling. After popping round to various cafes, we went down to the waterfront to watch the sunset.


Supposedly the sunsets in Colonia are glorious. Its also rare that you are able to watch the sunset over the water on the East coast of South America, but because Colonia is out on a peninsula, you can look back over the water to watch it. The sunset lived up to its billing.

After it got dark, we sought shelter indoors at a resto bar offering "hot Jazz en vivo". We sat near a roaring fire, had some whiskey and wine, ate a couple steaks, and listened to a jazz trio. Afterwards, we went out in search of another bar where we could drink some cheap local whiskey and maybe play some games. A kind hippie with terrible breath informed us of a nice place to go where we "wouldn't get punched in the face," called the Kayman Bar. We saw it had a pool table, so we decided to go inside. Holly and I played a couple of games of pool against some Uruguayans and Brazilians. Although their rules were slightly different, we emerged victorious in both games thanks to Holly's hustling. After the girls went home, Chris and I hit up a late night food cart, where we proceeded to spend all our remaining Uruguayan pesos on hot dogs, empanadas, and milanesa sandwiches.

The next morning we woke up rather groggy and made our way to Montevideo.

*Editor's Note: The photo of the swine flu protections was taken here in Puerto Madero.

A La Moda

I decided to start doing some posts on the fashion of Buenos Aires in honor of one of my favorite blogs, Project Rungay (out of Philly). I am starting with the most pervasive trend that surprised me the most: the drop-crotch pant (harem pants). The crotch on these pants may stop at any point varying from mid-thigh to ankles. I knew this trend had been seen on the runways and on a few actresses in the US, but I had only recently seen it in more mainstream stores there.

I don't want to hear anything about people in New York wearing them. They were not like this. They are everywhere in Buenos Aires. They have been around long enough for my Argentine friend to say that she used to wear them a while back, but doesn't anymore. I have seen every length crotch pant imaginable. I have seen them in almost any material, including leather. It will be only a matter of time before I see them in corduroy as the weather cools off.

It was difficult to snag some photos without being too obvious, but I did my best.

One of the lowest varieties. Not my cup of tea but it doesn't look like a load in your pants like some of the others.

Animal print!

This was taken in Uruguay but it's close enough to B.A. These are half leggings / half harem.

These just look like she is wearing a saggy diaper.

I couldn't resist adding in a little swine flu fashion.

More Buenos Aires fashion to come!

March Madness

Protests are a pastime in Buenos Aires and, at times, a job. I would not be surprised if some houses had a special pan in the house just for marches or blank placards in the closet available for the next grievance. This is not to make light of some of the serious problems that they are protesting. It's just that some of the impact of a protest is lost when they are an everyday occurence.

Walking through the city, it is not uncommon to stumble upon a protest. At first, we were intrigued and we would try to figure out the issue, but now our main concern is whether we can get past the protestors or if we have to take a detour. Although these are generally peaceful marches, I still find the sight of a cop in full riot gear a little disconcerting. I feel it is best to walk in the opposite direction of the police.

Our Spanish classes are at the Universidad de Buenos Aires, near many bank offices. It is prime protesting ground. On our walk to class, we often see that a march has already come and gone, evidenced by thousands of fliers littering the streets. I wonder how this could have already happened and be over, it's as if they spontaneously start and end just as quickly.

Friday, May 1 was a labor day holiday in Argentina. The day before, we had class and transit was a mess. Protests were blocking the streets. My teacher explained that many people protest on Thursday and then relax on the actual holiday. One of the guys in my class asked if there was a day that there wasn't protests in Buenos Aires. My teacher cocked her head to the side, thoughtfully paused and said, "Monday. Usually, they don't march on Monday. "

The other day a larger and more disruptive than usual manifestation was held. They were setting off fireworks, leaflet bombs, and smoke flares. Class continued as loud crackles and bangs came from outside. After class, we saw workers trying to clean spray paint off bank buildings. This was clearly not par for the course as we saw businessmen standing around in the streets surprised by the grafitti.


A march does not necessarily mean those people are passionate about their cause and took to the streets. My teacher also told our class that it is a profession for some. Political parties or businesses can pay picketers to make it appear that an issue or candidate has support.

Special Delivery

For the past month or so, most days have been sunny and in the 70's. Today was the first cold, rainy day of autumn. Holly and I were in a cafe studying when a waiter walked by outside the window carrying a tray. He needed a plastic lid to cover his tray because it was drizzling and windy. Seeing him walk by the window with one small coffee reminded us how ridiculous Buenos Aires' open delivery policy sometimes seems.

For our New York City readers, it probably wouldn't seem strange to see a McDonald's or Burger King delivery guy walking down the street in his uniform. Buenos Aires has plenty of those, along with an army of pizza delivery guys on bikes and mopeds. However, one of the stranger delivery sights is the morning or afternoon coffee delivery. Apparently, it is not uncommon here to call down to your local cafe and order one small, espresso-sized coffee for delivery to your home or office. Maybe there is a dearth of coffeemakers here, but we still can't understand the idea of a waiter taking the time out of his busy day to leave his restaurant and walk all the way to someone's office with one small ceramic cup of coffee on a tray. To me, it would make more sense if they were carrying cardboard trays with styrofoam cups, but these waiters just look out of place walking down the street. We also considered today for the first time the question of whether the waiter then has to return to the house or office to pick up the empty cup he just dropped off.

Other deliveries don't seem to make much sense either. We were thinking of renting a movie the other night, so we asked our roommate if he went to a particular movie store in the neighborhood. He told us which one he goes to, but told us just to call them and they would bring the movie to us. We asked him how we would know what movies they had, and he just said that we could ask them. We are always indecisive when it comes down to picking a movie to rent, so we could only imagine the clerk listing out all the new releases over the phone.

All the supermarkets are also heavy on home delivery. In our neighborhood in particular, there are always kids from the Disco or Coto supermarkets whizzing around with their wheelie bins full of grocery bags. People go to the grocery and buy carts full of food, pay for it, and leave it all there to be delivered. Our roommate routinely has two bottles of beer delivered to the apartment from the deli down the street. Its almost like a modern-day milkman, where you leave your empty bottles of Stella Artois on the doorstep, and the beerman comes around and takes your empty bottles, and leaves you two full ones.

We haven't come up with anything yet, but would would invite reader's suggestions for small, inexpensive items that we could try to get delivered to our apartment before we leave.

Buddy Bears

Here's another cultural experience for everyone.

Buddy Bears is an international peace project and an artist from each country in the United Nations decorated a bear. The bears now travel to cities around the world. Well, the bears don't travel, their shipped around the world. Recently, the bears were in Buenos Aires for a couple of months. We went to Plaza San Martin several times to look at them. Some countries it is easy to identify their bear and others are more difficult. It was fun to try and guess where each one is from. Sorry, I don't have the countries for all of them.

Ireland and Iraq (Guess which one is which.)

El Salvador

Azerbaijan (Burka Bear! I thought it was a funny touch especially with the unibrow.)

Argentina, Algeria

United Kingdom, Qatar

Tanzania(center), Thailand (stamp)Poland, Peru, Paraguay (It's covered in astro-turf), Panama



Nicaragua, Namibia, Myanmar

Indonesia (I like his outfit)

Estados Unidos (I thought it was a good showing from the U.S.)

Cuba (note the cigar)

Democratic Republic of Congo, Columbia, Cyprus

Blow Out

Before I left the U.S., I made sure to get a haircut. Its hard enough to find a good stylist, then express to them what you want in English. Let alone attempting this in Spanish. Despite the preventative cut before I left, my bangs grew at an abnormal rate, and had became quite voluminous. I was tired of trying to pin and straighten them, so I decided it was time for a trim.

James had a haircut about a month ago. I went with him and did my best to explain what he wanted. I also tried to leave something up to the stylist because he wanted it to fit in more with the styles here. I asked the guy to leave his hair long but give it some style. He asked me if James wanted classic and I said, "no, something different." This was how the guy interpreted "long":

James' cut made me more afraid after I had been unable to get my point across. However, last night, I finally summoned the courage to go for a trim. I had asked my friend what the words were for "bangs" and "to thin out." I had them written down in my little Simpsons notebook and I was ready to go.

One of my salon options was the Isaac Mizrahi salon near our old apartment. It has pink marbled wall paper with gold accents. I know Isaac has been branching out recently (Liz Claiborne, his line at Target, and now his new show on Bravo), but I'm pretty sure this place was in no way affiliated with the real Isaac Mizrahi. As enticing as it was, I opted for another salon.

Luckily, there were no problems with the trim, and the bangs look fairly normal again. I'm not sure if my experience was standard or not. I had splurged and also went for the wash and blow dry. I was looking forward to a little time alone and a little pampering. An older woman brought me over to the sink to wash my hair. She shampooed it three times. I didn't know if she thought it was especially dirty or if that was supposed to be a treat. Normally, that is my favorite part of a haircut because you usually get a head massage as you are shampooed. Instead, I was having flashbacks of being tossed around in the tub with my sisters while getting a good scrub down. She old lady was pulling my head around and vigorously rubbing the shampoo into my scalp. She let my hair fall all over in my face and made no efforts to avoid getting soap and water on my face. I wanted to laugh out loud, but then I remembered that I was paying for that.

And now, for your listening pleasure ....

"International Love" by Fidel Nidal was such a big hit amongst the readers, that I thought I would share some other popular songs with everyone. Calle 13 is from Puerto Rico and they recently played a show in Buenos Aires but unfornately we missed it. This song is played all the time here.



"Electro Movimiento" (Give it a chance, the chorus is in English. )

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypWO8KdjWMk

A Centavo Saved is a Centavo Earned

One of the most unique day-to-day experiences we have in Buenos Aires involves the art of managing our peso and centavo coins. The ATMs dispense almost exclusively 100 peso bills. There are also 50, 20, 10, 5, and 2 peso bills. The coins (monedas) come in 1-peso, 50, 25, 10, and 5 centavos. Since we have arrived, the official exchange rate between the US dollar and the Argentine peso has has increased from 3.35:1 in late January to 3.73:1 on April 6. The conversions have been pretty easy to do in our heads, but the most frustrating part about paying for things is the inevitable awkwardness that awaits us when it comes time to giving us our change.

As we have talked about before, the bus system here is extensive. People take the bus everywhere, and it is generally a very well-run, efficient machine. The only drawback is that you can only pay with coins. Because of this, the entire city guards their coins, which are worth less than a US quarter, like they are gold bullion. Anytime our purchase requires a merchant to give us anything less than 2 pesos in change, it is usually accompanied by a well-choreographed act of patting pockets, searching for coins, then begrudgingly handing us our change. It isn't just at small street corner kiosks or fruit stands either. When you check out at the large chain grocery stores, an icon pops up asking if you would like to donate the change from your purchase so that they don't have to give you any coins. Every corner shop or internet cafe in town has a sign explaining that they do not have coins. "No Hay Monedas". Don't even think about coming in here to ask for change.

Luckily, we now have the choice of either taking the bus or taking the subway to class. In the Subte, you can buy tickets or passes with bills. In our old apartment, we had no choice but to take the bus to class everyday, thus we were far more obsessed with making sure we had enough monedas. We would often have to go out and buy things we didn't want or need, in order to get coins for the bus. We knew which shops had friendly checkout clerks. We would frequent those stores, even if it meant paying more for a soda, just so we could get to class. If a kiosk was selling hot dogs for 2 pesos, and the kiosk next door was selling them for 2.50 pesos, I would buy from the guy selling them for 2.50 in order to get monedas. He may whine and complain when I hand him two 2 peso bills, but what is he really going to do with the hotdog in his hand when its already got my ketchup, mustard, and fried potato sticks all over it?

*Editor's note: There is an very well written article posted on Slate.com entitled, "Yes, We Have No Monedas!" about the coin/change phenomenon here in Buenos Aires. I recommend checking it out.

Midnight Express

Santiago. That's German for whale's ... oh wait, I'm sorry, I was thinking of San Diego. After another visit to Mendoza, we went on to Santiago, Chile. This was our first time out of the country since we arrived in Argentina. It was an overnight bus ride into Chile and at some point in the middle of the night we had to go through the border control. You would think with such an enormous border between Argentina and Chile and large numbers of people passing through it every day, this process would be streamlined.

First everyone was asked to step off the bus and get in a line outside in the chilly Chilean night air. Then, we were led inside and had to wait to let a woman behind one of the windows stamp our passport for leaving Argentina. She also stamped some of the paperwork we had been told to fill out on the bus. Then, we had to wait in line to get a stamp to go into Chile and more stamps on the paperwork. The bus company had told us that, because we were from the United States, we would have to pay about $130 USD to enter into Chile. James' parents paid the fee when they flew into the airport. This is an expensive fee that I think reflects the attitude of many people here that all North Americans are rich. We are often told that a store or restaurant is expensive and then the person will pause and say, "Well, not for you."

I was told by the bus company that the fee was retribution for all the difficulties that Chileans have to go through to enter the U.S. Another common complaint we have heard. Other foreigners all complain of the hassles of flying into the United States. Most of them said they tried to avoid layovers in the U.S. I was unaware prior to this trip that foreigners have to request permission online to enter into the country and then wait for a response, including for layovers.

Either there was a mistake or the American entrance fee into Chile does not apply when you enter on a bus. I was relieved that we did have to pay it.

After all the passport stamping, we were loaded back on the bus. The bus drove about thirty feet, and we were unloaded again, this time with any carry-on baggage. All the passengers were herded into a room and lined-up with narrow metal tables in front of us. We stood behind the tables as every piece of luggage from underneath the bus was removed and x-rayed. Then they called forward the people who had suspicious items in their bags. It felt like any moment you could be called out of line and end up in a Chilean prison like in that movie with Claire Danes. As we stood behind the tables, the bus porter came around with a cup and insisted that we put a tip in it for the baggage handlers. As if we had requested to have all of our things removed from the bus and x-rayed.

After all our hand luggage was also x-rayed we were allowed to board the bus and continue on our way. The moral of the story is: Don't try to smuggle produce or meat products into Chile, they take their border control seriously.

Hasta la vista, baby

For some reason I neglected to mention this little tidbit from when my parents were visiting, but figured it was worth revisiting:


My Dad wanted to buy an Argentina soccer jersey. We were heading to dinner downtown, and were walking down one of the main pedestrian-only shopping streets near the Microcentro. We saw a few jerseys in the window of one of the stores, so we went in to check out prices and sizes. When my Dad settled on a jersey he liked, he wanted to try it on. Holly and I translated between my Dad and the salesman. The salesman then took my Dad towards the back of the store to try on the jersey. However, something must have been lost in translation because, when the two of them got to the back of the store, my Dad realized that there was no changing room.

So with my Dad speaking only English, and the salesman speaking only Spanish, my Dad decides to whip off his shirt and try on the jersey right in the middle of the store. No one realizes what is happening until it is too late to stop him. As soon as my Dad has his shirt off, the salesman takes a step back, feigns shock, and loudly exclaims, "Arnold Schwarzenegger!"

Flattery is an effective sales technique in any language, and now my Dad has a lovely new soccer jersey from Argentina.

Palais de Glace

I read in one of the magazines here that the Palais de Glace, a cultural center in Recoleta was having a textile exhibition. I was not sure what to expect but the picture showed a quirky dress on display so I thought it might be interesting. The exposition included works submitted by artists from around the world. I didn't understand all the works but for $2 pesos, it was worth the visit. These are some are the pieces:

This picture shows off the structure of the cultural center and one of the larger pieces hanging from the center of the ceiling. It also shows on the right hand side, where James enjoyed most of his visit.
This is a work from Mexico. I am ashamed to say that I didn't write down all the artists and where they are from.

These were in a scene and every few minutes they moved up and down and the arms moved. They freaked me out but this was James' favorite.






Above was the type of piece I was hoping to see when I went to the exhibit. It may be difficult to see but those are hundreds of spikes. I don't think it is suitable for swimming.



The neon hanging from the ceiling is one of the pieces I didn't necessarily understand but it was colorful and interesting.



On the front of each one of these jumpers was a derogatory term for homosexual men.



















I liked these two because they actually looked like dresses. I think the one on the left looks completely wearable.




The work on the left was one of my favorites. It is difficult to tell from the picture but it is a three-dimensional weaving.