It was a busy weekend. Since Brad is here visiting from San Francisco, I got to play tour guide. Saturday was quite rainy. We went to La Boca in the early afternoon where, despite the drizzle, we each ended up taking a boatload of pictures. Many of which turned out quite well, despite the overcast conditions. Then we hopped a cab to the Museo de Bellas Artes (a joy of living in Buenos Aires is the low cost of taxis - barely six dollars to get across town; cabs are cheap, plentiful, and tipping is not expected - you just round whatever is on the meter up to the nearest peso, because of the coin shortage, and Bob's your uncle).
The Fine Arts Museum is enormous - there are still whole wings I didn't get to explore - and full of wonderful exhibits. My favorite was on the top floor, which was given over to an exhibition of photos by Argentine photographers from the end of the 19th century. But I still need to go back.
Yesterday, we made an early start to get the ferry over to Colonia, a terrific little town more or less directly across the river/estuary from Buenos Aires. After the one-hour ferry ride, there was a one-hour guided walking tour, after which we were free to wander around on our own (with a voucher for lunch at one of the local restaurants). There are - needless to say - photos, uploading to Flickr even as I type this entry. The photos are striking for (a) the superabundance of dogs and (b) the complete lack of any feline presence at all. This is either because (i) Brad is a kind of pied piper where dogs are concerned (ii) there are no cats in Uruguay (iii) a combination of (i) and (ii) or (iv) some explanation too hideously sinister to contemplate. There was, I am glad to say, no evidence of any feline elements in the cuisine, based on our lunch choices, but then we were restricted to the limited set of choices offered to those with vouchers, so dark unsavory possibilities cannot be ruled out completely.
I am keeding, of course! It was a terrific outing, in every respect. Brad was particularly excited, because in the course of crossing and recrossing the river, he got his passport stamped six times. As did I.
Yesterday's excursion forced me to pay attention to the map, so I realized that Montevideo is not actually directly across from Buenos Aires, but quite a bit further down the coast, so that a ferry there would probably take closer to three hours each way.
Offsetting the disturbing lack of cats in Uruguay, the air was distinctly less polluted. Apparently, the pollution and smog of Buenos Aires provides them with spectacular sunsets. While the pollution in B.A. doesn't quite reach post-Krakatoa levels, at times one could be forgiven for getting that impression.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
A Learning Experience
Travel. It broadens the mind. Exposes one to new places, people, cultures, ideas. All that sort of thing. Teaches you things you might otherwise never have learned in a gazillion years. Here are a few things I have learned in the last four short weeks.
Sexado de loros por ADN (Parrot-sexing by DNA):
This is what the sign in the window of the local pet-store says. The first couple of times I passed by I misread it as "sexado de lobos por ADN", which - of course - made no sense at all. By the time you get close enough to a wolf to get a DNA sample, you can probably tell what sex it is - the question is, why would you want to in the first place? When I finally figured out it meant parrots, not wolves, I was relieved at first. But it still seems very odd to me. Isn't there some easier way to figure out whether your bird is a Polly or a Petey? Who knew that one would have to have recourse to DNA testing?
Though, now that I think about it, isn't chicken-sexing supposed to be one of those notoriously difficult professions, restricted to a select few talented individuals who are born with "the gift"? Suppose you are one of the rare people born with the gene for accurate chicken-sexing. How would you ever find out about your talent?
Prejudice in the House:
In contrast to the swooning Spanish fans of the sneering, misanthropic, drug-addicted, limping, implausibly brilliant, insufferably obnoxious, assmarmot diagnostician Doctor Gregory House, Argentine viewers are underwhelmed*. They have noticed a repeated, disturbing tendency for episode plots to refer to the practice of medicine throughout Latin America as if it were nothing more than a collection of primitive techniques practiced by indigenous tribes whose witch doctors never wash their hands or sterilize the instruments they use to kill the chickens used in their quaint healing rituals. Play the game yourself. Next time "House" comes on, see how far along the episode gets before "recent travel to Latin America?" comes up as a question in the differential diagnosis efforts.
Fear not. I always wear a Biohazard Level 4 protection suit (or greater), when going to the cootie-ridden internet cafe. Though it's hard to find sterilized booties in my exact size, so it's possible that the parasites are creeping in around my ankles.
*As am I. This creaking, one-note, excuse for a series passed its "sell by" date at the end of its first season, if not before. Hugh Laurie is a talented actor who needs to get out more, instead of being seduced into allowing himself be reduced to a caricature by the lure of filthy lucre.
Limbo Hands:
Then, of course, there is the vexing "manos de Perón" case. How can they still be in limbo, when the Vatican eradicated it just this past year? 'Tis a puzzlement.
Sexado de loros por ADN (Parrot-sexing by DNA):
This is what the sign in the window of the local pet-store says. The first couple of times I passed by I misread it as "sexado de lobos por ADN", which - of course - made no sense at all. By the time you get close enough to a wolf to get a DNA sample, you can probably tell what sex it is - the question is, why would you want to in the first place? When I finally figured out it meant parrots, not wolves, I was relieved at first. But it still seems very odd to me. Isn't there some easier way to figure out whether your bird is a Polly or a Petey? Who knew that one would have to have recourse to DNA testing?
Though, now that I think about it, isn't chicken-sexing supposed to be one of those notoriously difficult professions, restricted to a select few talented individuals who are born with "the gift"? Suppose you are one of the rare people born with the gene for accurate chicken-sexing. How would you ever find out about your talent?
Prejudice in the House:
In contrast to the swooning Spanish fans of the sneering, misanthropic, drug-addicted, limping, implausibly brilliant, insufferably obnoxious, assmarmot diagnostician Doctor Gregory House, Argentine viewers are underwhelmed*. They have noticed a repeated, disturbing tendency for episode plots to refer to the practice of medicine throughout Latin America as if it were nothing more than a collection of primitive techniques practiced by indigenous tribes whose witch doctors never wash their hands or sterilize the instruments they use to kill the chickens used in their quaint healing rituals. Play the game yourself. Next time "House" comes on, see how far along the episode gets before "recent travel to Latin America?" comes up as a question in the differential diagnosis efforts.
Fear not. I always wear a Biohazard Level 4 protection suit (or greater), when going to the cootie-ridden internet cafe. Though it's hard to find sterilized booties in my exact size, so it's possible that the parasites are creeping in around my ankles.
*As am I. This creaking, one-note, excuse for a series passed its "sell by" date at the end of its first season, if not before. Hugh Laurie is a talented actor who needs to get out more, instead of being seduced into allowing himself be reduced to a caricature by the lure of filthy lucre.
Limbo Hands:
Then, of course, there is the vexing "manos de Perón" case. How can they still be in limbo, when the Vatican eradicated it just this past year? 'Tis a puzzlement.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Money matters
One of the odder things I noticed (or imagined) since arriving here in Buenos Aires was what appears to be a distinct shortage of coins. To the extent that cashiers will plead with you to check if you have 40 centavos, because they don't have the 60 centavos it would require to give you correct change. Or they just round the price down in your favor. In the subway, where the cost of a single trip is 90 centavos, things are so bleak that they have introduced a special card, whereby your 10 centavos change can be credited electronically. A far cry from the U.S., where every household has some kind of enormous penny jar. I asked one of the teachers yesterday, and confirmed that this is not a figment of my imagination. There is indeed a city-wide shortage of coins in Buenos Aires. Nobody can explain why. It just seems so ... odd.
Another currency-related note (vile pun intended) pertains to the 100 peso bill. Prominently featured is one of the country's former presidents, Julio Roca. Nothing particularly unusual there, one might think. Problem is, one of Roca's main contributions to the country's history was the extirpation of all of the indigenous populations (Argentina doesn't have issues with indigenous people because Roca just eliminated them all back in the 19th century). In response to criticism that portraying a mass-murderer on the country's most valuable banknote might be considered inappropriate, the government came up with the Orwellian response that the 100 peso note was the least circulated, and that Roca was thus less honored than - say - Bartolomeo Mitre (an infinitely more savory former president-scholar-writer), who appears on the lowly 2 peso note, which enjoys far greater circulation. Indeed.
Finally, I was amused to note (sorry!) on a currency exchange rate display earlier today that the pound sterling was denoted as the "libra Elizabeth".
Another currency-related note (vile pun intended) pertains to the 100 peso bill. Prominently featured is one of the country's former presidents, Julio Roca. Nothing particularly unusual there, one might think. Problem is, one of Roca's main contributions to the country's history was the extirpation of all of the indigenous populations (Argentina doesn't have issues with indigenous people because Roca just eliminated them all back in the 19th century). In response to criticism that portraying a mass-murderer on the country's most valuable banknote might be considered inappropriate, the government came up with the Orwellian response that the 100 peso note was the least circulated, and that Roca was thus less honored than - say - Bartolomeo Mitre (an infinitely more savory former president-scholar-writer), who appears on the lowly 2 peso note, which enjoys far greater circulation. Indeed.
Finally, I was amused to note (sorry!) on a currency exchange rate display earlier today that the pound sterling was denoted as the "libra Elizabeth".
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Descanso
My friend Brad arrived from San Francisco this morning, and will be visiting until Wednesday evening. So there might not be too much time for updating the blog over the next several days. I will do the best I can - for instance, my reading of El País has reminded me that there is much important information about European royalty that I owe my readers (marital discord - a problem which is apparently not confined to the house of Windsor - plagues some of the royal offspring; not to mention the tragic accident which has befallen the royal family of Bulgaria).
Brad has - wisely - expressed a lack of interest in the combined dinner 'n tango show recommended by the school; we may go to Uruguay on Sunday instead.
Yesterday, we went on a class outing to the Museo de Bellas Artes. Which merits a second visit (and its own blog entry, in due course).
In other news, I was very pleased with my performance on what many people consider to be the ultimate test of Spanish ability - my 40-minute conversation with the taxi-driver on the way to the airport this morning. All these classes appear to be paying off.
Sadly, there is no progress to report in the perplexing case of "las manos de Perón". Police - indeed, the country as a whole - remain baffled.
Pavement update: for the past week, city "workers" spent enormous amounts of time, and made enormous amounts of noise, repaving the sidewalk on the corner where the school is located. They finally departed yesterday. But here's the thing. Not only has the unevenness of the pavement not been ameliorated - it is noticeably worse than it was prior to the "improvements". Personally, I'm beginning to suspect some kind of hideous plot, involving the city's orthopaedic surgeons and chiropractors.
The plain people of Ireland: Here, this is very choppy today. All disjointed like.
The management: Indeed it is. Sometimes life fails to arrange itself into little neat thematic packages.
The plain people of Ireland: Is this the best you can do?
The management: The idea that I should take seriously the criticism of an entity capable of writing "phrases" such as "All disjointed like" is frankly ludicrous. Back to your caves, troglodytes!
Brad has - wisely - expressed a lack of interest in the combined dinner 'n tango show recommended by the school; we may go to Uruguay on Sunday instead.
Yesterday, we went on a class outing to the Museo de Bellas Artes. Which merits a second visit (and its own blog entry, in due course).
In other news, I was very pleased with my performance on what many people consider to be the ultimate test of Spanish ability - my 40-minute conversation with the taxi-driver on the way to the airport this morning. All these classes appear to be paying off.
Sadly, there is no progress to report in the perplexing case of "las manos de Perón". Police - indeed, the country as a whole - remain baffled.
Pavement update: for the past week, city "workers" spent enormous amounts of time, and made enormous amounts of noise, repaving the sidewalk on the corner where the school is located. They finally departed yesterday. But here's the thing. Not only has the unevenness of the pavement not been ameliorated - it is noticeably worse than it was prior to the "improvements". Personally, I'm beginning to suspect some kind of hideous plot, involving the city's orthopaedic surgeons and chiropractors.
The plain people of Ireland: Here, this is very choppy today. All disjointed like.
The management: Indeed it is. Sometimes life fails to arrange itself into little neat thematic packages.
The plain people of Ireland: Is this the best you can do?
The management: The idea that I should take seriously the criticism of an entity capable of writing "phrases" such as "All disjointed like" is frankly ludicrous. Back to your caves, troglodytes!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
La lluvia en Sevilla es una maravilla
Long-time readers of this blog will recognize the title of this post as the Thpanish version of the infamous 'enry 'iggins phrase "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain". As my teachers in Salamanca explained, this is considered a good test phrase, because how a Spanish speaker manages the subtle "ll" sound is regarded as a measure of how well-spoken he or she is.
I regret to say, dear readers, that my Salmantine teachers would not be favorably impressed by the local pronunciation here in Buenos Aires. Somehow those lovely liquid "l"s are transformed into a regrettably sialoquent* shshushshing kind of a sound. Between my porteño teachers and all the Brazilian students "zhzhzhing" their way around the hallways at school, it is all I can do to hold on to the purity of my lithping Cathtilian pronunciation.
But I am doing the best I can. Assuming I return to the Don Quijote school in Madrid in November, I don't want to be the object of scorn and ridicule when I do so.
* sialoquent: spraying saliva when speaking (I could name certain graduate school professors, and a few professional colleagues, in his context, but it seems unkind to do so). The antonym of sialoquent is, of course**, xerostomic, xerostomia being one of the defining symptoms of Sjögren's syndrome.
** there is, of course, no "of course" about this at all; nobody in their right mind knows this kind of stuff. Somehow, over time, my mind has become a vast storehouse of obscure trivia and particularly useless bits of information. Not necessarily a blessing, I might add. I'd much rather be able to remember my phone number here in Buenos Aires, something that the presence of an eighth digit seems to make particularly hard to do.
I regret to say, dear readers, that my Salmantine teachers would not be favorably impressed by the local pronunciation here in Buenos Aires. Somehow those lovely liquid "l"s are transformed into a regrettably sialoquent* shshushshing kind of a sound. Between my porteño teachers and all the Brazilian students "zhzhzhing" their way around the hallways at school, it is all I can do to hold on to the purity of my lithping Cathtilian pronunciation.
But I am doing the best I can. Assuming I return to the Don Quijote school in Madrid in November, I don't want to be the object of scorn and ridicule when I do so.
* sialoquent: spraying saliva when speaking (I could name certain graduate school professors, and a few professional colleagues, in his context, but it seems unkind to do so). The antonym of sialoquent is, of course**, xerostomic, xerostomia being one of the defining symptoms of Sjögren's syndrome.
** there is, of course, no "of course" about this at all; nobody in their right mind knows this kind of stuff. Somehow, over time, my mind has become a vast storehouse of obscure trivia and particularly useless bits of information. Not necessarily a blessing, I might add. I'd much rather be able to remember my phone number here in Buenos Aires, something that the presence of an eighth digit seems to make particularly hard to do.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Can anybody lend a hand?
Peron Hands: Police Find Trail Elusive
Investigators trying to determine who broke into the tomb of Juan Domingo Peron and sawed off his hands have arrested six people in recent days, only to see five of them cleared by a judge. The authorities discovered the hands missing two months ago after leaders of the Justicialista Party, the Peronist political movement, said they had received an anonymous letter advising of the mutilation and demanding $8 million ransom.
Investigators trying to determine who broke into the tomb of Juan Domingo Peron and sawed off his hands have arrested six people in recent days, only to see five of them cleared by a judge. The authorities discovered the hands missing two months ago after leaders of the Justicialista Party, the Peronist political movement, said they had received an anonymous letter advising of the mutilation and demanding $8 million ransom.
New York Times; September 6th, 1987
Who knew? I certainly didn't. But I intend to find out more about this important topic. Because my readers deserve no less than the full truth of the matter.
Lest there be any confusion on the matter, I should stress that Evita's hands remain unscathed, as firmly attached to the rest of her cadaver as the competing forces of natural decay and the magic of the embalmer's art allow.
Doomeder and doomeder
Flickr is being particularly obnoxious this past few days (I have no idea if it's just to me, or whether it's a more widespread phenomenon), so it's been hard to upload photos. That said, the blurriness of the photo below is my own fault, nothing to do with Flickr:
But you get the picture.
Doomed as doomed can be. Without remorse.
But you get the picture.
Doomed as doomed can be. Without remorse.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Oh those internet censors
They're so sharp they'll cut themselves (NOT!!)
I guess I just have myself to blame for the provocative title of the last post but one.
With a link to pictures, yet.... Oy vey, chicos. Son gatitos, no ******s!
I guess I just have myself to blame for the provocative title of the last post but one.
With a link to pictures, yet.... Oy vey, chicos. Son gatitos, no ******s!
Two Sleeping Giants
Every morning on my way to school I first pass by the Teatro Cervantes, just two blocks down my street, then past the enormous Teatro Colón, which takes up a whole city block, between the Plaza Lavalle and the Avenida de 9 julio. The latter is quite obviously under repairs, with sidewalk closures all around and random scaffolding. The former gives the superficial appearance of being in full swing, with placards for various shows on prominent display. But there never seems to be any activity in the evening - after three weeks I had yet to see any evidence that the advertised shows were actually being performed.
It turns out - somewhat shockingly - that renovations on the Teatro Colón have been underway for almost 10 years now - a project which has apparently fallen victim to various changes in city government, with each successive incumbent firing all those previously hired to work on the project so that his particular cronies might benefit instead. But each successive incumbency never lasts long enough for anything to get done. In other words, an ongoing political farce, which would be funny if it weren't so pathetic.
Just as shocking, lights have been dim in the Teatro Cervantes for over a year, due to an inability (or lack of political will) of the city to come to an agreement with "the unions".
It's as if the London National Theatre were closed for 10 years. Or the Globe in Stratford. A pretty sad state of affairs.
It turns out - somewhat shockingly - that renovations on the Teatro Colón have been underway for almost 10 years now - a project which has apparently fallen victim to various changes in city government, with each successive incumbent firing all those previously hired to work on the project so that his particular cronies might benefit instead. But each successive incumbency never lasts long enough for anything to get done. In other words, an ongoing political farce, which would be funny if it weren't so pathetic.
Just as shocking, lights have been dim in the Teatro Cervantes for over a year, due to an inability (or lack of political will) of the city to come to an agreement with "the unions".
It's as if the London National Theatre were closed for 10 years. Or the Globe in Stratford. A pretty sad state of affairs.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Let's demonstrate!
A los porteños, les gustan manifestar.
It appears, based on casual observation, that porteños will take to the streets in protest for almost any reason at all. On any given day, I pass at least three 'manifestaciones' of one kind or another - on a good day, it gets up to six. Now, to be sure, I am helped in this regard by passing the main courthouse on the way to and from school every day, but the enthusiasm for street protest is nonetheless impressive. Plaza de Mayo, in front of the Casa Rosada, is another favored protest location. The "madres de los desaparecidos" still protest there every Thursday afternoon - this week, as part of a class excursion to the Cabildo (the first seat of government, now a museum, located across the Plaza from the Casa Rosada), we saw their demonstration. It seemed distinctly inappropriate to take pictures of what is now essentially an expression of mourning of personal tragedy, so I put the camera away. There were, however, at least three auxiliary demonstrations, related to causes which were impossible to determine, going on at the same time. All of which does raise the question - with so many demonstrations, is anyone really paying attention?
It appears, based on casual observation, that porteños will take to the streets in protest for almost any reason at all. On any given day, I pass at least three 'manifestaciones' of one kind or another - on a good day, it gets up to six. Now, to be sure, I am helped in this regard by passing the main courthouse on the way to and from school every day, but the enthusiasm for street protest is nonetheless impressive. Plaza de Mayo, in front of the Casa Rosada, is another favored protest location. The "madres de los desaparecidos" still protest there every Thursday afternoon - this week, as part of a class excursion to the Cabildo (the first seat of government, now a museum, located across the Plaza from the Casa Rosada), we saw their demonstration. It seemed distinctly inappropriate to take pictures of what is now essentially an expression of mourning of personal tragedy, so I put the camera away. There were, however, at least three auxiliary demonstrations, related to causes which were impossible to determine, going on at the same time. All of which does raise the question - with so many demonstrations, is anyone really paying attention?
The Unfeasibly Tall Greek Billionaire
This is possibly the funniest thing I have yet seen on the Internet (with the obvious exception of Strindberg and Helium, of course).
http://www.scribd.com/doc/5322451/The-Unfeasibly-Tall-Greek-Billionaire
These folks are geniuses!!
(Thanks to Nicola O. for bringing this to my attention)
http://www.scribd.com/doc/5322451/The-Unfeasibly-Tall-Greek-Billionaire
These folks are geniuses!!
(Thanks to Nicola O. for bringing this to my attention)
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Keeping up is hard to do
I am consumed with blogger's guilt. Faced with the terrible choice of experiencing Buenos Aires, or blogging about it, this week, the blogging part clearly lost out.
Fear not. Tomorrow is Sunday, with hours of vacant time looming. I promise some kind of enormous prose dump. Right here, on this very blog.
That is, assuming I don't yield to the siren call of Evita's grave. Right there in the Recoleta Cemetery, just a handful of blocks away. Not as full of celebs as, say Pêre Lachaise, but still on the list of things a person's gotta visit. Then there's Montevideo, though I'm kind of saving that for next weekend.
I promise, I will try harder. Honestly. Really. I will.
For those of you who check this blog just to see if I'm still alive, the answer is "Yes". Though I am quite tired, what with all the walking and sightseeing and general taking a gazillion hours of classes a week. But my Spanish, she is better than ever. I can say things I couldn't even say in English, now. Not that that's necessarily a good thing.
The plain people of Ireland: Here, this is very disjointed today.
The management: Yes, it is. And your point is?
Fear not. Tomorrow is Sunday, with hours of vacant time looming. I promise some kind of enormous prose dump. Right here, on this very blog.
That is, assuming I don't yield to the siren call of Evita's grave. Right there in the Recoleta Cemetery, just a handful of blocks away. Not as full of celebs as, say Pêre Lachaise, but still on the list of things a person's gotta visit. Then there's Montevideo, though I'm kind of saving that for next weekend.
I promise, I will try harder. Honestly. Really. I will.
For those of you who check this blog just to see if I'm still alive, the answer is "Yes". Though I am quite tired, what with all the walking and sightseeing and general taking a gazillion hours of classes a week. But my Spanish, she is better than ever. I can say things I couldn't even say in English, now. Not that that's necessarily a good thing.
The plain people of Ireland: Here, this is very disjointed today.
The management: Yes, it is. And your point is?
Friday, August 29, 2008
Doomed as doomed can be
At the end of last week, I decided to take advantage of the extraordinarily low cost of private lessons (about $28 U.S. an hour) and paid for ten lessons, so that I ended each of the last four days in school with an hour-long private lesson with Ciro, possibly the most charming Spanish teacher I will ever have. (His name is the Spanish version of 'Xerxes', a fact which I also find charming).
During today's class we listened to the music of the awesome Astor Piazzolla, who single-handedly invented a kind of fusion of tango and jazz, which earned him popularity outside of Argentina and the fury of the purists at home. At the end of class, Ciro recommended the Libertador bookstore as being a possible place to pick up some interesting tango CD's at a reasonable price.
Oh, dear Lord! The librería Libertador! I am doomed as doomed can be.
Readers of this blog will know that books are my major weakness (or 'punto debil', if you prefer). This store will be my complete and absolute downfall. Here is what I staggered home with earlier this evening, for a total expenditure of $23 U.S.
A 200-page dictionary of Lunfardo
The collected Father Brown stories (in Spanish)
A CD of Astor Piazzolla selections (20 tracks), with accompanying 100-page booklet about his life and work
A CD of Osvaldo Publiese selections (20 tracks), with accompanying 100-page booklet about his life and work
The Sibelius 2nd Symphony and various orchestral works (68 minutes), with accompanying 48-page booklet about his life and work
The Rachmaninov 2nd and 3rd piano concertos, with accompanying 48-page booklet (80 minutes)
10 volumes (each illustrated, 48 pages in length) from the Biblioteca del Conocimiento series , covering topic as diverse as "Human Beings", to "Physics: Energy and Motion", to "Literature: from Romanticism to the Present"
Let me tell you, a world in which it is possible to get a CD of the Sibelius 2nd Symphony (some of the most joyful music ever composed), for under 2 bucks is OK in my book.
¡Dear God, I'm doomed as doomed can be!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuber Abuse
Our research has determined that tuber abuse is rampant here in Argentina. In the name of "gastronomic excellence", it is routine practice to kidnap whole gardens of sleeping potatoes, to haze them by forcing them to imbibe large quantities of alcohol until they are drunk, to gouge out their eyes with unimaginable cruelty, finally killing them by repeated bludgeoning with nasty instruments left over from the Spanish Inquisition. All in the name of bringing the tasty side-dish "smashed potatoes" to the diner's table.
¿Won't you help put an end to these barbaric practices?
¡Join the smashed potato boycott now!
¿Won't you help put an end to these barbaric practices?
¡Join the smashed potato boycott now!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Princess Twinkly
I had planned to bring you further ruminations about Buenos Aires today, honestly. But I've added an hour of individual classes to my daily schedule, so that I didn't get home tonight until 6:30pm. So you will have to wait a while for your dose of pseudo-profundities.
But I feel confident that you will forgive my failure to blather on about B.A. when you visit this link, brought to my attention by my good friend Paul B.
http://rathergood.com/princess_twinkly/
Hasta luego, chicos and chiclets!
But I feel confident that you will forgive my failure to blather on about B.A. when you visit this link, brought to my attention by my good friend Paul B.
http://rathergood.com/princess_twinkly/
Hasta luego, chicos and chiclets!
Monday, August 25, 2008
Organized sets
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157606952153455/ (Colours of La Boca : 36 photos)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157606952284279/ (Personajes de La Boca : 36 photos)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157606948285300/ (La Boca Set # 1 : 15 photos)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157606952374965/ (La Boca - entire set : 152 photos)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157606952284279/ (Personajes de La Boca : 36 photos)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157606948285300/ (La Boca Set # 1 : 15 photos)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157606952374965/ (La Boca - entire set : 152 photos)
Sunday, August 24, 2008
¡¡Hay un montón de fotos!!
Bessie (or, as she is known hereabouts, Isabel) would like you to know that 150* new photos have just been loaded to David's Flickr account.
These are accessible at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/,
but have yet to be organized into any coherent grouping. Go ahead, check them out! They are pretty fun.
*: all taken today, almost all in La Boca.
La vida cotidiana : la ciudad
I've been postponing writing about Buenos Aires itself because the topic somewhat overwhelms me. Truly, of all the cities I've spent time in, this has to be one of the most stimulating. Which is a good thing, but I have so many impressions, and there are so many sensations to try to capture, that it's hard to get down in any coherent form. So, forgive me if I resort to the slightly random bulleted list option, rather than aiming for any kind of linear narrative.
There is a slightly frenetic buzz to the city that is maybe best captured by the local version of a 7-11 store in the U.S.:
It's almost like there's a kind of hyper-industry, an excess of entrepreneurial spirit, that maybe results from relatively recent experience with economic catastrophe, and an ongoing sense of potential instability. It manifests itself in all kinds of little details. Thus, for example, the local tobacconist on the corner will not be restricted to selling sweets, tobacco and newspapers: there will also be a couple of tables in case someone wants to have a coffee and doughnut, as well as a couple of "locutorios" (phone booths to make long-distance calls), and often as not a couple of booths dedicated to internet connections at the back of the shop. Similarly, even the tiniest of cafés in the city center transforms to a lunch place from 11:30 to 3:00, even if only to offer three or four "menús del día". Furthermore, it's entirely normal to see the waiters from such establishments scurrying along the sidewalk, making full-service deliveries (complete with linen and silverware) to local offices. Invariably, whenever I've taken a taxi and engaged the driver in detailed enough conversation for him to know where I'm from, he has pressed his card on me, reminding me that he is available for airport service. On my way to school every morning, I pass the main court building, outside of which it's not uncommon to see distinguished elderly gentlemen (retired lawyers?) selling law texts on the sidewalk.
People, with the exception of the loathsome, snotty waiter at the vile "Broccolino" restaurant,
have been universally charming, and extremely helpful. This covers not only the teachers and staff at school, but also the charming Dr Gualtieri and her assistant, assorted waiters and attendants in shops, the doormen in the building, taxi-drivers and random passers-by. I am beguiled by the people of Buenos Aires.
I am less charmed by the pavements of Buenos Aires, which pose a significant health hazard to all and sundry. If you come here, be warned - these sidewalks are lethal! In two weeks, I've already witnessed three full-fledged spreadeagle accidents, and uncountable near-misses. Compared to the lurking pitfalls of the porteño footpaths, the quaint cobblestone streets of Guanajuato were a cakewalk.
Prices are almost uniformly ridiculously low. My most common experience is that I will look at the price of something, go through an initial thought process that it's a little bit on the high side, then make the realization "Oh, wait! That's the price in pesos". Dividing by 3 makes everything a lot more pleasant. The only exception to date, oddly enough, has been the price of stamps: to send a postcard to the U.S. costs 5 pesos, which is about $1.66 U.S., a bit on the high side. But, as I mentioned in a previous post, spending more than $20 U.S. for dinner is a challenge.
Further impressions to follow.
There is a slightly frenetic buzz to the city that is maybe best captured by the local version of a 7-11 store in the U.S.:
It's almost like there's a kind of hyper-industry, an excess of entrepreneurial spirit, that maybe results from relatively recent experience with economic catastrophe, and an ongoing sense of potential instability. It manifests itself in all kinds of little details. Thus, for example, the local tobacconist on the corner will not be restricted to selling sweets, tobacco and newspapers: there will also be a couple of tables in case someone wants to have a coffee and doughnut, as well as a couple of "locutorios" (phone booths to make long-distance calls), and often as not a couple of booths dedicated to internet connections at the back of the shop. Similarly, even the tiniest of cafés in the city center transforms to a lunch place from 11:30 to 3:00, even if only to offer three or four "menús del día". Furthermore, it's entirely normal to see the waiters from such establishments scurrying along the sidewalk, making full-service deliveries (complete with linen and silverware) to local offices. Invariably, whenever I've taken a taxi and engaged the driver in detailed enough conversation for him to know where I'm from, he has pressed his card on me, reminding me that he is available for airport service. On my way to school every morning, I pass the main court building, outside of which it's not uncommon to see distinguished elderly gentlemen (retired lawyers?) selling law texts on the sidewalk.
People, with the exception of the loathsome, snotty waiter at the vile "Broccolino" restaurant,
have been universally charming, and extremely helpful. This covers not only the teachers and staff at school, but also the charming Dr Gualtieri and her assistant, assorted waiters and attendants in shops, the doormen in the building, taxi-drivers and random passers-by. I am beguiled by the people of Buenos Aires.
I am less charmed by the pavements of Buenos Aires, which pose a significant health hazard to all and sundry. If you come here, be warned - these sidewalks are lethal! In two weeks, I've already witnessed three full-fledged spreadeagle accidents, and uncountable near-misses. Compared to the lurking pitfalls of the porteño footpaths, the quaint cobblestone streets of Guanajuato were a cakewalk.
Prices are almost uniformly ridiculously low. My most common experience is that I will look at the price of something, go through an initial thought process that it's a little bit on the high side, then make the realization "Oh, wait! That's the price in pesos". Dividing by 3 makes everything a lot more pleasant. The only exception to date, oddly enough, has been the price of stamps: to send a postcard to the U.S. costs 5 pesos, which is about $1.66 U.S., a bit on the high side. But, as I mentioned in a previous post, spending more than $20 U.S. for dinner is a challenge.
Further impressions to follow.
El Príncipe Feliz
I should have known better. Yesterday evening my options were:
1. Join the assorted 19- and 20-year olds for a so-called "Buenos Aires pub crawl", which promised - for less than twenty bucks - free drinks and appetizers at each of no fewer than four bars, followed by V.I.P. entry to a "hot club" in the city center.
2. A relaxing dinner alone, with an opportunity to catch up on some Spanish reading.
OK, I'm a wuss. My 51-year old liver and I chose option 2.
The root of the problem was my choice of reading material. Rather than eat to the accompaniment of the bloodless prose of Borges's "Ficciones" (which, I hasten to add, are just fine if you are in the right kind of mood), I opted instead to bring along a Spanish translation of collected stories of Oscar Wilde: "El Fantasma de Canterville y Otros Cuentos". I had bought the book earlier in the day, for its nice simple prose - a fine choice for non-native speakers like myself. So my dinner courses were punctuated by intermittent sections of "El Príncipe Feliz" (The Happy Prince).
Problem was, I'd forgotten the effect this particular story has on me. As a kid, I could never make it to the end without bawling my eyes out. And sure enough, the Spanish translation had lost none of the tale's emotional wallop. By the time my espresso was served, when the swallow dies and the prince's heart breaks in two, well - let's just say I had to go to the men's room to compose myself.*
The Happy Prince: reading it in public is a bit like watching "Brokeback Mountain" with the lights on - a recipe for embarrassment.
Damn you, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde! And I mean that in the best possible way.
* I'm all better now, I swear.
**************************************************************************
Tráeme las dos cosas más preciosas de la ciudad -- le dijo Dios a uno de sus ángeles.
Y el ángel le trajo el corazón de plomo y el ave muerte.
Has escogido bien -- dijo Dios -- porque en el jardín del Paraíso este pajarillo cantará eternamente y en mi ciudad de oro del Príncipe Feliz me glorificará.
Bring me the two most precious things in the city -- God said to one of his angels.
And the angel brought him the heart of lead and the dead swallow.
You have chosen well -- said God -- because this little bird will sing for eternity in the gardens of Paradise, and the Happy Prince will bring me glory in my City of Gold.
1. Join the assorted 19- and 20-year olds for a so-called "Buenos Aires pub crawl", which promised - for less than twenty bucks - free drinks and appetizers at each of no fewer than four bars, followed by V.I.P. entry to a "hot club" in the city center.
2. A relaxing dinner alone, with an opportunity to catch up on some Spanish reading.
OK, I'm a wuss. My 51-year old liver and I chose option 2.
The root of the problem was my choice of reading material. Rather than eat to the accompaniment of the bloodless prose of Borges's "Ficciones" (which, I hasten to add, are just fine if you are in the right kind of mood), I opted instead to bring along a Spanish translation of collected stories of Oscar Wilde: "El Fantasma de Canterville y Otros Cuentos". I had bought the book earlier in the day, for its nice simple prose - a fine choice for non-native speakers like myself. So my dinner courses were punctuated by intermittent sections of "El Príncipe Feliz" (The Happy Prince).
Problem was, I'd forgotten the effect this particular story has on me. As a kid, I could never make it to the end without bawling my eyes out. And sure enough, the Spanish translation had lost none of the tale's emotional wallop. By the time my espresso was served, when the swallow dies and the prince's heart breaks in two, well - let's just say I had to go to the men's room to compose myself.*
The Happy Prince: reading it in public is a bit like watching "Brokeback Mountain" with the lights on - a recipe for embarrassment.
Damn you, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde! And I mean that in the best possible way.
* I'm all better now, I swear.
**************************************************************************
Tráeme las dos cosas más preciosas de la ciudad -- le dijo Dios a uno de sus ángeles.
Y el ángel le trajo el corazón de plomo y el ave muerte.
Has escogido bien -- dijo Dios -- porque en el jardín del Paraíso este pajarillo cantará eternamente y en mi ciudad de oro del Príncipe Feliz me glorificará.
Bring me the two most precious things in the city -- God said to one of his angels.
And the angel brought him the heart of lead and the dead swallow.
You have chosen well -- said God -- because this little bird will sing for eternity in the gardens of Paradise, and the Happy Prince will bring me glory in my City of Gold.
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