Hello everyone!
My current location: the very tiny inner courtyard of my
hostel in the Recoleta barrio of Buenos Aires. The hostel is dingy, but you
can’t beat the price, and this little courtyard is very charming: a little
bench, a wall of Spanish-style patterned tiles, a stone Buddha on a ledge, a
stand for burning incense (recently lit, by the sandalwood smell of it), and
giant tropical plants everywhere. To my left, in the next room, the guy working
the front desk has the radio blasting; straight above, the sky has a lovely
twilight glow. All the benefits of being outside and inside.
Even though this is a brand new city/country/continent for
me, and going to such new places for the first time usually feels like a rush
where everything is rich and full and new, I actually don’t feel like much has
happened since my last blog post a few days ago. It’s not that I haven’t seen
lots of things since, none of which I had seen before, but more that since
arriving in Argentina I’ve been puzzled by a perpetual déjà vu. It’s not
because of the dozens of Argentine films I’ve watched over the years (which
actually gave me a different sense of the place than how it really feels here).
I don’t really know what it’s from. Maybe it’s that Buenos Aires really is so
European. I know, that’s what everyone says—the “Paris of South America!” It
definitely wouldn’t be anywhere in France (I say, having never been outside of
Anteibes), but I could see it fitting in to the rest of that continent just
fine. And I’ve never been elsewhere in Latin America, so I don’t know what
might be considered more typical elements of a Latin American city, but I’m
just operating on the idea that: 1) I’ve been to Europe; 2) I’ve never been to
a “typical” Latin American place; 3) Therefore if something is distinctly
non-European, Latin-American-homegrown, it should stick out to me as new and
different. But so far nothing has stuck out to me in that way.
Or maybe I’m missing what makes Buenos Aires a unique fusion
of Europe/Latin America and not just a European city elsewhere; I’m just
reading it as European, and therefore familiar, simply because my brain is so
wired to always be connecting and relating new information back to things I
already know (which is the same part of my brain that I can’t turn off when it
comes to foreign languages). So maybe anything that reminds me of Madrid, of
Barcelona, even sometimes of Athens or New Orleans, is just spat out by this
impulse of my brain’s. I don’t know. I do know I have an unshakeable sense of
already being accustomed to this place. Maybe it’ll go away once culture shock
sets in, and everything will suddenly feel very strange. We’ll see.
[Interjection: turns out the “incense burner” is actually a
decorative ashtray. (Still smells like sandalwood, though!) Just figured that
out when the guy running the front desk just came by to have a smoke…I never
thought about it, but yeah, inner courtyards must be a smoker’s dream,
design-wise.]
Surprisingly, the area in which I’m able to most notice the
Latin American elements of this city is in the fashion. It’s definitely more
European-skewed than North American, but you also see lots of things you just
wouldn’t find in Europe. For one thing, Argentines actually dress like I want
to when it’s 70 degrees out, with everyone in skimpy tank tops and shorts and
sandals. In Spain, even in 90-degree weather long sleeves were common, long
pants were far and away preferred to anything else, and I sometimes saw people
in light cardigans and windbreakers. 70 degrees, you would absolutely see the
jackets. I never saw a man in flip flops. So, Argentines have a more relaxed
dress code overall (though more formal, European-type style never goes amiss),
with a more bohemian, “American” vibe—lighter-wash jeans (as well as European
dark-wash), colorful prints, and natural fabrics. The hottest clothing item
right now, which you absolutely can’t not have and be a fashionable porteña, and which I really can’t
imagine in Spain, is platform sandals—not heels, but instead just a
uniform-height black platform of usually about six inches (I saw one woman
wearing a pair that had to be ten inches—she could barely move her feet), with
straps on top like a regular pair of sandals. I actually think they’re pretty
cool, but I can’t imagine walking in them. Basically, European style (clean,
chic, upscale) is always top of the line, can’t go wrong, but there’s a greater
range of what’s considered acceptable or fashionable here. (And yet American tourists, including me, no matter how we dress, still stick out like sore thumbs.)
Switching topics a little, I’ll give an extremely brief
summary of the last couple of days. We arrived on the 15th, had our
city bus tour then, and then the 16th and 17th we had
orientation, for about ten hours both days. There were a million different
presentations, interspersed with very long coffee breaks. The first day of
orientation was held at the office of the Argentine Fulbright Commission, and
the second was at the Ministry of Education. Both organizations have different,
but joint, roles in our grants.
Probably the most useful thing I learned in the orientation was about my health coverage information during the grant term. Probably what got me most excited was a presentation on the CELU test, a kind of standardized test of Spanish language proficiency. (Europe has their own ranking system, which is the one I’m most familiar with, but I can’t remember its abbreviation right now; and the U.S. has the ACTFL.) It’s comparable to the other European and American models out there, internationally recognized, and, best of all, free for Fulbright grantees to take. It’s only offered twice a year, in June and November, and so I’m going to be signing up for it in May! It’ll be great to have a definite certificate to prove my level of proficiency, and also I’m the kind of person who is really motivated to learn by the knowledge that I’m going to be tested on the material. So I’ll have a good reason to buckle down and study up on my formal Spanish, with the help of the workbooks I brought with me. My goal is to be at the C1 level, according to the European model of ranking. (The highest rank is C2, which is essentially near-native proficiency.)
[Interjection: I’m getting out of this courtyard. I’ve
discovered the hard way that not only is this a smoker’s paradise, it’s
actually the designated smoking spot
for the building. And didn’t I mention it’s extremely tiny?]
It’s eight o’clock here and pitch black outside. That’s one
surprising thing: the weather is like summer (you were right, Mom!), and I
can’t remember the last time I was in such a humid climate that I was actually
compelled to shower at least twice a day; but how early it gets dark is what
reminds me of the latitude and the season. (Also, since this place keeps
tricking me into thinking I’m back in Spain, I keep expecting it to be bright
and sunny until 11 pm. Nope, that’s just Spain.)
Today was my free day in Buenos Aires after the orientation
wrapped up yesterday. I’m glad I decided to stay here an extra day. I mean, above
all, why not? I am longing to have a
place to set up shop more comfortably (I packed my suitcases to the brim, so
every time I have to get into them I have to totally repack), but that’s okay. I
feel so lucky all the time to have been placed in La Plata, which is only
forty-five minutes by city bus back to Buenos Aires (and in fact, many people
live in one and commute to the other). It means, among other things, that I
feel absolutely no pressure to see everything here in the city all at once.
I’ve got time (insh’Allah!). And I wouldn’t want to be placed in Buenos Aires
and never be able to escape the din and bustle of it all. The wonderful thing
about my situation is I have the control, to come when I want and to leave just
as easily. The best of all worlds!
For today, I left my luggage at the hotel in the morning, as
I couldn’t check in to my hostel until 2 pm. (Yikes—the guy running the lobby
put my suitcases, including my satchel with my laptop in it, which was the only
valuable thing I was leaving there, off to one side of the lobby; I asked him
if they would be put somewhere else for safety, and he said, Yeah, of course,
I’m going to put them elsewhere for safekeeping. Well, guess where they were
when I returned three hours later?) Then I took off walking in a random
direction.
There’s one thing: my sense of direction in this city is
TERRIBLE. Yes, I know, I hear you saying, it is always. Of course. But actually
even just visiting Madrid for a couple of days I got to have a really good
sense of direction there, and could navigate well without a map. Buenos Aires,
on the other hand, is kind of driving me crazy! I go down just a block, turn
and go down another, and suddenly I have no idea what direction I’ve just come
from, whether I turned or didn’t; it’s really like I’ve just been plucked out
of space and set down on some anonymous street corner; it feels like I imagine
people with face-blindness feel when they’re looking at someone. It’s pretty
disquieting and certainly makes it hard to get around. Maybe, hopefully, as I
get to know the city better over the course of the year it’ll become like the
back of my hand. Today, at least, I literally could not walk in a straight line
without getting lost. Dear God.
So, anyway, I struck out from the hotel this morning in
–some- direction, and to my surprise and delight wound up in Puerto Madero, the
ritzy, harbor-side district. It was raining, not very hard but enough that I
got out my umbrella, but it was warm and steamy out, which is always a really
nice combination, I think. I spent a long time enjoying gazing out at the
gorgeous gray clouds over the harbor. I really like Puerto Madero. The
buildings have the same chic, green-tinted glass style as the ones in
Vancouver, B.C., and also Capetown to a lesser degree.
Then I walked (kind of) back the way I’d come (really, I was
hopelessly lost and even struggled to navigate with my map (you know, I’d find
the two cross-streets I was at, but have no idea which direction of the street
I should walk down)). Along the way I happened upon some really nice
“peatonales,” that is, pedestrian-only streets. And then I came to my
destination, Galerías Pacífico, which I’d actually stumbled upon the night
before already. Mom and Dad know Galerías Pacífico very well. It’s a fabulous
mall, as shiny and posh as they come, with an epically-painting ceiling and a
Jorge Luis Borges museum on the top floor (which I planned on visiting both
times, and which I forgot to visit both times. Next time, insh’Allah). I went
to the mall actually just to go to the food court on its lower floor, where I could
use the wifi. I thought I should have my bank routing number information at the
ready before I went to Bank of America, my main task for the day, to try to set
up an account for money transfers.
Then I went to the Bank of America. It turned out to be back
in Puerto Madero (my map doesn’t indicate the barrios, and I have absolutely
zero idea where they are, or which one I’m in, except basically for Puerto
Madero, which is easy to recognize). It was a bit hard to find, but then I
figured out it was in a certain unmarked tower, along with other businesses, I
guess. I went in to the reception and asked them where the office was; the
receptionist dialed the office for me and put me on the phone. I explained my
situation, and the woman at Bank of America explained that this office was for
deposits only, and they really didn’t do anything of that kind. So oh well on
that one! There was a giant HSBC across the street; I didn’t want to set up an
account there without consulting my parents, but maybe next time I’m in Buenos
Aires that’s what I’ll do.
Happily, I also found that across from these offices and
banks was the Plaza de San Martín, a lush, beautiful park. I looked for, and
found, the giant tree at the center of it. It’s a kind of fichus or banyan, and
my God! It’s huge. Such an amazing sight.
I found a nice, dry bench and had a little snack of an
orange I’d bought at a supermarket the night before (they have all the European
supermarkets here! I love them so much; they all have this distinct smell,
which for me is pure nostalgia for Slovakia, and which American supermarkets
just don’t have, for whatever reason). For dessert I broke off another piece of
the giant Milka bar I’d gotten, flavor: dulce de leche. I love being back in a
country that has a great Milka selection. I’m not sure yet how I feel about
dulce de leche; I mean, I like it, but I think I like other caramel more; but
in a Milka bar it’s pretty awesome. Whew.
I’ve got to restrain myself from popping out to the supermarket next door and
getting another one right now…
[Interjection: So much for self control. I just went to the
supermarket and bought an apple and, to my delight, discovered they make mini
Milka dulce de leches! This is going to be a very bad temptation for me this
year, I can already tell…]
I basically walked in all directions for quite some time, and
then returned to near my hotel, to change some money. One thing President
Macri, who was just elected in December, has done is change the official money-changing
rate to 15:1, Argentine pesos to U.S. dollars. Before he changed it, the official
rate was 12:1 and the unofficial rate was more like 17:1. So everyone changed
(probably still changes; I really don’t know how locals have or haven’t
adjusted their practices) their money “illegally” through private individuals.
(It was illegal, but so universal and accepted, even it seems by law
enforcement.) So I looked around at a few official money-changing places, and
settled on the one with the best rate—15:1 for $100 bills, and 14.8:1 for $20 bills.
It sucks I didn’t know beforehand that larger bills were preferred; when I went
to the U.S. bank to withdraw money, they gave me my choice, and I chose $20
bills for most of my money, plus a single $100 bill. Ah well. Now I have
something like $300 in Argentine pesos, which will hopefully tide me over for a
bit. I’m looking forward to getting my first paycheck, which I think will be
around April 10th, because it’ll be in Argentine pesos and I won’t
have to change it at all; I’ll immediately spend it on rent and other large
purchases so I won’t have to change so many dollars or waste so much in ATM
transaction fees.
It was getting to be around 2 pm at that point, and on my
way back to my hotel I happened upon the Librería Ateneo, which is apparently on
Calle Flórida (which I’ve walked a hundred times now already, but I’d never
seen it there). The Ateneo is a Barnes & Noble-size two-storey bookstore,
enormous by tiny-inner-city-store size. I had a really nice time thumbing
through some books. I look forward to reading a lot in Spanish. It really isn’t
taxing at all; it’s just one of those things where I think it’s going to be
effort, so I put it off, but then if I find myself reading a Spanish novel it
takes me thirty pages before I remember I was supposed to find it an effort.
Then I got back to my hotel, collected my stuff which was
miraculously all still there, and hailed a taxi. There are no meters in the
taxi, so who knows how they decide on the fee, and I’m also pretty sure it’s
not a negotiable thing you can haggle, but luckily taxis seem to be pretty
cheap here. I paid $7 for a 15-20 –minute ride to my hostel for the night.
(Fulbright paid for our three-night stay in the hotel, but after that we were
on our own if we wanted to stay in BsAs.)
I dropped off my stuff in the hostel, locked up my valuables
in a locker, and then hit the streets once more. Again, I struck off in random
directions, just there to enjoy the sights, and with the security of a map to
fall back on; and again, I got lost while going straight, but I certainly saw
lots of interesting things and got a better feel for different parts of the city. At one point I just happened to stumble upon the
Plaza de Congresos, which is one of the biggest landmarks in BsAs, and one we
didn’t actually hit on our city bus tour before. The Plaza de Congresos
includes the very impressive Congress building, with its distinctly-angled
bronze dome, and a series of huge fountains and a park.
For dinner, I went to a take-out empanada place. Empanadas
are definitely my favorite Argentine food so far. Mom was right when she told
me repeatedly that “there are no deals in Argentina.” I haven’t come across a
single item that is cheaper than it would be in the U.S., except for empanadas,
which are far and away the cheapest food available, usually around 14 pesos apiece.
Considering 14 pesos = 93 cents and two empanadas make for a full meal, it’s
pretty awesome. And there are dozens of different empanada fillings to try and
mix and match, all of which have differently-crimped edges to distinguish them.
So far I’ve tried beef & egg, caprese, “humita” (a veggie blend which
includes plum and I think a kind of cheese), spinach, creamed corn, ham &
cheese, Roquefort, mozzarella & onion, and plain onion; caprese, or maybe
the mozzarella & onion, is probably my favorite, but better even than these
is the “tortita de calabaza,” which is basically an empanada-like thing stuffed with
pumpkin, a.k.a. the best food ever.
I took my empanadas to the Plaza de Peña, a plaza I stumbled
upon a few days ago and mentally bookmarked after realizing that, aside from being a lovely park, it’s
actually a dog park. There are always dozens of unleashed dogs running around
playing with each other. A joy to behold! So I went to that park in particular
to get some dinnertime entertainment and enjoy watching the dogs’ antics. I
recognized most of the dogs from the first time I was there (including a very
large Rottie!). There were two who were clearly best friends, one a tawny mutt
with more than a little greyhound blood in her, and the other a shaggy black
retriever-mix. The tawny dog sprinted like no other, taking great pleasure in
leaping over hedges and benches in mid-sprint. She was amazing to watch. The
black dog would gamely try to keep up, and the two tussled wildly in the mud.
(Quote the exasperated owner of the black dog, upon returning a half hour
later: “Ah, mirá qué lindo te has quedado!” [i.e., “look how neat you’ve kept
yourself!” Note the 'vos.' ;) ].)
By the way, I was eating at five o’clock. Dinner time here
is no earlier than 9:30, usually more like 10-11 pm. Basically, it’s Spain
schedule again. Argentina apparently also observes the siesta as well, which I
didn’t know, to varying degrees depending on how “provincial” the area is. Sigh.
I don’t mind late dinners, but I don’t like waiting to do so much else at later
hours. You wind up staying up late, but you’re still expected to be up working
early the next morning.
So, I had a walking-filled day, and then came back here to
the hostel—returning to where this post started—and started writing for my
blog. It’s now 10 pm, my computer’s battery is about to die, and I’m feeling
slightly sleepy. The two guys next to me are just sitting down to their dinner.
Love you all.
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