Great food

Buenos Aires has great food. Argentina is, of course, most famous in North America for its beef and its wine. I have to say, I’m not sure I really know how to judge the quality of beef. Growing up, my family’s red meat consumption was mostly in the form of hamburgers (my dad makes the best, and I’ll fight you on that) and the occasional pot roast or stew. Actually, my mother would eat stew every day if she had her way, but my brother and I went on strike at a young age after it was the only dish we ate for an entire winter. At least that’s how it goes in my memory. I have eaten steak only four or five times in my life. I had filet mignon once at one of those Japanese restaurants where the chef juggles knives and cooks the food at the table. I was probably eleven or twelve years old and went with my aunt and cousins. They, being good Cubans, ordered their steaks rare; I, taking a cue from my Irish mother who microwaves her meat after my father cooks it, even if it’s already crispy, asked for mine well-done. Apparently this is a filet mignon faux pas, and the chef made a big deal of serving everyone’s food and then having to wait around for mine to finish cooking. I distinctly remember him slapping it with the spatula, perhaps to prove that it was good and dry. But I digress.

So Buenos Aires is known for its beef, which comes from cattle that graze in the pampas, the vast plains to the west and south. Actually, Argentina has a gaucho, or cowboy, culture that is alive and well; I often see gaucho paraphernalia decorating the windshields of busses and there is a gaucho market a little outside Bs.As. The most traditional ways to eat Argentine beef are asado and parrilla; both are kinds of barbeque. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I have not actually had either. Well, I sort of had parrilla, but I went with a vegetarian and we shared a vegetable version. The grilled veggies were yummy, but did not quite constitute the traditional Argentine experience. I have, however, eaten my fair share of beef. My host mother makes an excellent roast, and meat is served at La Alameda on a regular basis. As I said, I’m not an experienced judge of beef, but I can say that meat here is very good. Also, they like it well-done.

Wine is a subject with which, while I know just as little about it as I do about beef, I have more experience. I really like wine and, although I usually buy cheap wine because I am a poor student, I can taste the difference between good wine and cheap wine. Here, the cheap wine is good wine, while expensive wine is really good wine. I can buy a bottle of wine for nine pesos (a little less than three dollars), and it tastes just fine to my finely attuned college student taste buds. Really, most college students are just excited by wine that doesn’t come in a box with a pour spout. The price also means there is a lot of incentive to drink wine over other beverages because, as I said, an entire bottle of wine can be had for nine pesos while a 20-oz bottle of water (a glass of tap water is difficult to come by in restaurants) or soda is between six and eight pesos.

As wonderful as Argentine beef and wine are, there are three other food items that, in my opinion, make a trip to Bs.As. worth it. The first is empanadas. I’m going to go ahead and assume you all are familiar with empanadas—if you’re not and you live in Arlington, take a drive down Columbia Pike. Here they are stuffed with the traditional ground beef or chicken, but can also be found with mozzarella, basil and tomato, tuna, bleu cheese, ham and cheese, spinach, and a whole array of other ingredients.

The second amazing food is helado, known in English-speaking places as ice cream. Here you can really see the city’s Italian influence, as the ice cream is more like gelato. There are helado shops on almost every street corner, which means it is a daily struggle to eat anything else. My favorite flavors are chocolate suiza (dark chocolate with dulce de leche), coco con dulce (coconut with dulce de leche), and dulce de leche (dulce de leche with dulce de leche).

Which brings me to the third: dulce de leche. Dulce de leche is made from milk and sugar that has been boiled down and boiled down until it turns into a thick, gooey, delicious caramel (the name means milk sweet, or milk candy). It is put in or on top of everything from cookies to bread to fruit. I love it. I hear other foreigners complain that dulce de leche is too sweet, but, as a Cuban, I have no concept of “too sweet.” In case you’re wondering, as a Cuban I also have no concept of “too loud,” “too close,” “too much garlic,” or “none of your business.” It appears the only trait I picked up from my mother is my strong aversion to meat that is still bleeding.

I could go on and on about Argentine dishes. The pasta, the pizza, the tortas, the pastries—all the things that Argentines are miraculously able to eat and still maintain their size 4 figures. But I’ll sign off for now, I hear a salad calling my name.

Tell Me More (a shameless plug for NPR)

For those of you who don't know, I am an avid listener of NPR and, thanks to podcasts, I have been able to keep up with my shows down here. One of my favorite shows is Tell Me More with Michel Martin. If you've never heard it, I highly recommend listening to her. Anyway, Michel has been following the South African elections and the other day she interviewed two women from the country about their experiences on election day. Something one of them said made me reflect on my own experiences during election day here in the U.S., and I wrote Michel and the Tell Me More crew an e-mail. I wanted to share it here:

Dear Michel and everyone else at Tell Me More,

First of all, I want to thank you so much for the show. I am a self-proclaimed NPR junkie, and Tell Me More is my absolute favorite. I am currently studying in Argentina, but I tote my computer to an internet cafe every few days to download the podcast!

The other day you did a piece on the elections in South Africa and you had a conversation with Nanette Sabidys. She spoke about her first voting experience, which happened to be in the first democratic election. She talked about standing in line behind an 87-year-old man who was voting for the first time in his life. She said that it felt "really really good and very humbling."

I was very touched by this story, and I felt humbled myself hearing it because I have been lucky enough to grow up in a country that has held democratic elections for a long time. Her story made me think of my experiences during the U.S. presidential election last year. I know it's been five months since November and that we've all heard a million stories about Election Day, but I wanted to share mine because I found parallels between Nanette's story and my own.

I am a university student in Richmond, VA, where I worked for a well known progressive nonprofit organization, canvassing neighborhoods to register voters. I canvassed almost exclusively in African American neighborhoods; unfortunately in Richmond this is often synonymous with low-income neighborhoods. The reception my fellow canvassers and I received was astounding. People were thrilled we were there and would often come back to us with their children, parents, neighbors...anyone they knew who wasn't registered. We got smiles, hugs, and many cheers of "We can do it!" I don't think for a minute that it was really about us. People were just so excited to be getting involved in the election. I've never felt such a strong sense of solidarity--of really being part of something important. What's more, I registered many people who were in their 40s or older who had never been registered. I cannot tell you how many times I heard things like, "I've never voted before. I never thought it made a difference and I never cared who got elected. But this year I'm going to vote." They were so proud and, thanks to them, Virginia went blue for the first time in 44 years. Like Nanette's story, I found the whole experience extremely humbling--not only to have elected a man who inspired people to believe in their power and gave them renewed faith in their government, but to be with people who were discovering and believing for the first time that they do have a voice and the ability to make a change and to make history.

Thanks again!

Lina Rodriguez, from Arlington, VA (and Richmond and currently Buenos Aires)

Tengo ganas de hacer anything but schoolwork

I’ve had quite an eventful week.  I started my internship, attended a peña with the folks from said internship, got invited to join another choir, went to a South African theatre festival, and made my first two Argentine Facebook Friends.

I have now worked two days at La Alameda.  If you’ve missed earlier posts, La Alameda is a community center that works mostly with Bolivian immigrants who have been working in sweatshops in BA.  The center also serves community meals, has sweat-free ceramics and clothing workshops, runs a small library, and offers classes for adults and children.  I am interning there eight hours per week with David, another IFSA student.  We will primarily be working on two projects: reorganizing the library and translating parts of the website and other materials into English.  So far we’ve only been working in the library.  We are completely reorganizing the books, both physically on the shelves, and in terms of updating their records system, including organizing them by subject and figuring out a numbering/tracking system.  This is quite a daunting task, although David seems to have a little more patience for it than I do.  I think it’s pretty boring, but I also know that it’s something that needs to be done and that it will make a big difference to La Alameda and to the people who use the library, so I’m happy to do it.  I really like the other people that work there, and I’ve made friends with Jorge, the center’s media guy (Argentine Facebook Friend #1).  He makes videos and slideshows and things like that.  He also gave me 2 gigs of Argentine music—that’s about 500 tracks.

La Alameda hosts and sponsors many events to raise funds or just to raise awareness and support for their causes.  Friday night they hosted a peña, or folkloric music concert, to raise awareness about child labor and the terrible working conditions under which some immigrants work (all you grammar nerds can correct the construction of that sentence).  A few artists played and the music was wonderful.  Then there was a video about child labor and a Bolivian man who had been working under pretty terrible conditions on a farm spoke.  I got to play with his children!  It was a good event. I'm starting to learn a lot about sweatshops and labor and, although sometimes it's so hard to hear these terrible stories, I think it's an important thing to know about and I'm interested in doing more work in this area.

Choir rehearsal on Saturday was exciting.  If you missed my last entry, I’m singing with a choir that needed more people to perform Carmina Burana in July—they rehearse their own music on Saturday mornings and then the rest of us join them in the afternoon to practice Carmina.  On Saturday the director invited me to join the small choir!  It turns out that I won’t actually be here for any of their concerts, but he told me that if I have “ganas de cantar,” I’m welcome to join them on Saturday mornings.

I would like to take a quick moment to explain the phrase “tener ganas de.”  It is one of my favorite phrases in Spanish and we really don’t have an English equivalent, so I find myself using it often in English conversation.  It essentially means to have a desire to do something, but it’s used pretty casually.  The word “gana” means a desire or an inclination.  It can also mean an appetite or a hunger.  It’s like saying you want to do something, but it implies a little more than just a casual inkling.  I’m not very good at explaining things like this, but it is a phrase I love, so I gave it my best shot.

To tie back into my story, Daniel, the director, told me that if I had ganas to sing, I was welcome to rehearse with the small group on Saturday mornings.  I am very excited (and a bit nervous), although getting there at ten in the morning is going to be a bear.  It takes me an hour to get there on the colectivo, and I have a hard time making it by noon.  In this city, getting up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning is practically unheard of.  I guess it means no more Friday night partying for me!  That’s alright, it’s worth it to sing.  Also, the guy who told me about the choir, Samuel, became Argentine Facebook Friend #2.

I actually haven’t been doing that much partying.  When I first got here I was going out a lot, mostly because it’s a good way to make friends.  But now that I have friends, I would actually rather do things like go to peñas or other cultural events.  Saturday night I went to a play that is part of a South African theatre festival.  The festival is called Proyecto 34˚S, and is “is a theatrical and artistic exchange...between Buenos Aires, Argentina and Cape Town, South Africa, both located on the 34°S line of latitude....   Its primary objective is to promote and facilitate the exchange of African and Latin American performing arts, culture, heritage and literature.”

The show I saw was called Every Year, Every Day, I am Walking.  It was a “physical theatre” production.  I don’t really know anything about physical theatre, but the story was told mostly through movement, although there was some dialogue in English, Afrikaans, Xhosa, and French.  From the website:

EVERY YEAR, EVERY DAY, I AM WALKING traces the story of a young refugee in Africa who loses family and home brutally and irrevocably and is forced to journey to a new place through many dangers and uncertainties. It is a piece about dislocation, about what home means, about Africa, about loss and about the first tentative steps towards healing and recovery.

The performers were two women who both played a few roles, but the main roles were the young refugee and her mother.  The piece was incredibly moving.  The show opens with the family’s house being ambushed and burned, and the girl’s sister is killed by the attackers.  The mother sees this happen, but manages to hide herself and her other daughter until the men leave.  They hide for a week and then wearily walk until they find someone to take the to Capetown.  There was a part where the mother was carrying the daughter on her back and the whole thing was heartbreaking.  There was also a scene that took place in a English school, which I found very interesting.  The girl, who was not from South Africa, is taking English courses and the teacher (who is white) tells the class they have a new student from Africa.  This struck me as odd because South Africa, of course, is in Africa.  I know very little about African history (or African present, for that matter), but I felt like this was telling of South African attitudes towards the rest of the continent, at least among white people in the country.  I hope some of you who have spent time in South African will offer some insight.

I have to say, I’ve been doing my best to pretend that I’m not actually in school down here.  I’ve been going to class, but I’m a little behind on schoolwork.  I’m not necessarily proud of this fact, but that’s how it’s going.  I’m not particularly inspired by any of my classes, and I am very inspired by my internship and the other activities I’ve been doing.  In the future, I know what I will remember is things like working at La Alameda and the South African theatre fest.  I have a hard time thinking schoolwork is more important than things like that, and that has always been my problem with school.  However, I also know that I need to pass my classes, so I need to get on top of things.  I have an exam on Tuesday that I am completely unprepared for, so I think tomorrow’s going to be a long day.  Wish me luck!

In other news, my birthday is two weeks from today.  I’m not sure I’m quite ready to turn 23 (I know, I know, I’m still young…whatever, it feels old to me), but that’s how it goes, I guess.

Carmina Burana, thanks to friencquaintuddies!

I get made fun of sometimes for talking so much. Okay, I get made fun of often. But I have stumbled across some great opportunities because I talk so much, and this story is just such an example. I'll start from the beginning.

As I've mentioned, I am taking a music history class at la UCA and I've befriended some of my fellow students. Well, befriended may be too strong a word. Beacquainted or bebuddied might be more accurate. Anyway, one of the first days of class, one of these friends/acquaintances/buddies, Nicolás, took the colectivo home with me and I told him that I had sung Carmina Burana this past summer with my choir. Actually, we were really talking about traveling and I was telling him about China; the Carmina part could have just as easily not come up at all. So last week during the break in class I was having coffee with these friencquaintuddies when a boy I didn't know came up to me and asked if I sing. It turns out that this guy, whose name is Samuel, sings in a small choir that temporarily needs more singers because they are performing a big-choir piece--Carmina Burana. He had been trying to convince Nicolás to join the group, and Nicolás told him to talk to me because he knew that I know the piece. Samuel told me there was going to be an audition before rehearsal on Saturday and that he'd take me. I could not have been more excited.

By Friday, however, my excitement had mostly been replaced with terror. I've barely sung in months and I have no place here to practice or even to warm up. I got even more nervous when Samuel emailed me to say that he actually wasn't going to rehearsal on Saturday. For a brief moment I considered not going, but I really really wanted to sing, and I figured I should take any opportunity that offers the potential of making Spanish-speaking friends.

On Saturday morning I got to the colectivo stop at 10:30, a full hour and a half before the audition time. It was a good thing, too, because at 11:20 the stupid 57 still hadn't come, so I got a cab. I wandered a little before finding the rehearsal space, but once I arrived at the little chapel a very nice man helped me find the director, Daniel, who was conducting auditions elsewhere. There were ten people waiting in the hall to sing, but when my excort told Daniel I was there, he came to the door with a big smile and said, "¡Ah sí! Samuel's friend! The American!" Then he had me come right in ahead of the people waiting. The audition part was pretty low-key; he mostly asked me questions about my choir experience and then told me that there's a cartoon for kids here in Argentina with a turtle that sings and that my voice sounds the like the turtle's. I guess that's a good thing, because he invited me to sing with them!

The rehearsal went well, and the other singers were very friendly. One girl knew who I was because her sister is one my class friencquaintuddies. It was really nice to feel welcome and in my element.

In other news, I have my first exam next week. The list of things I would rather do than study for this exam would fill the page and then some.

Thanks for the comments and emails--I love hearing from you! ¡Besos!

Spanish Struggles

I came to Argentina with the silly idea that when I left, I would be pretty much fluent in Spanish.  In reality, I feel like my Spanish has gotten worse, not better, since I came here.  That’s probably not true, but my language skills have not improved the way I expected them to.  They certainly haven’t improved as noticeably as they did in Costa Rica, or even Peru.  To be fair, I shouldn’t compare this experience to learning Spanish in Costa Rica because I barely spoke any then, and you improve much faster when you know very little.  Once you know enough to get by, I think improvement comes slower because the things that are left are more complex.

Also, I have a much harder time understanding people here than I ever have, and that has caused a severe dip in my confidence.  In Costa Rica and Peru, even though I couldn’t always say what I wanted to say, I never had to worry about understanding the language.  Part of my trouble here is the accent—people talk really quickly and with different pronunciation and inflection that in other Spanish-speaking countries.  The biggest problem, however, is that the Porteño vocabulary is full of colloquialisms, slang, and words that are actually Italian.  Costa Rican Spanish, on the other hand, is very straightforward.

Another big difference between Costa Rica and here is that in Costa Rica I was speaking and listening to Spanish for 90% of the day.  I remember feeling physically exhausted from having to process everything in Spanish.  Here, I’m simply not practicing as much because it is very easy to go a day without speaking any Spanish at all.  Most of my friends here are English speakers (not all Americans, but the common language is still English).  Before I came, it hadn’t occurred to me that there would be so many foreign students in the city.  Even though we all wish we were friends with Argentines, it is so much easier to meet and bond with people—to form real friendships—when you speak the same language.  I think I just have to accept this as the study abroad experience, and remind myself that even though they are not Argentine, I am making some good friends with people from different places and who have had experiences very different from mine—and this is still cultural exchange, right?

That said, I could certainly be making more of an effort to immerse myself in the language.  For starters, I need to read more.  This should be easier now that classes have started in earnest.  I should also be reading the newspaper.  I think starting my internship will help, because I’ll be interacting more with Spanish speakers and doing some translating.

Also, finally after two months, I am bonding with my host siblings.  My host mom was out of town this past weekend for the Easter holiday, and it was actually really nice because the host sibs were hanging out in the apartment, instead of going out.  Friday night Flor and I watched Pan’s Labyrinth (which is called The Faun’s Labyrinth in Spanish).  I didn’t understand it without subtitles, but I was able to use Spanish, not English, subtitles!  I was very pleased with myself.  While we were watching the movie, Ignacio came home, plopped himself down in a chair next to me, and chatted out for over an hour.  I think the longest conversation we’d ever had previously was about 45 seconds.  We made a pact to be English/Spanish conversation buddies, but he had been out drinking with friends and suggested the pact at the same time that he was demonstrating his best dance moves, so I’m not sure he remembers it….  But the experience certainly broke the ice!  I’ve also been talking more with Mariano.  I learned that he is a DJ and he invited me to his next gig!  I think being more comfortable with them is going to make a big difference for my Spanish and for feeling settled and happy here (not that I’ve been unhappy—I’ll just be happier!).

Some goals for practicing Spanish more:

-Read the newspaper

-Listen to Argentine music

-Do my reading for class (I mean, I always do all my reading—I swear, Mom and Dad!)

-Hang out in the living room with the host fam, not in my bedroom

-Make friends with the kids in my music history class

-Email people in Spanish: Papi, Marta, Dad, Tía, Katie, Suzy, Dani, Claire, Molly, Yelani, Mariel, Ben, Lissie (anyone else?)….  I have lots of people who will practice with me!  This is important because the other day I emailed Marta in English.  There’s really no excuse for that.

Quickie reminder....

First, I wanted to post a photo I took of the Congreso building downtown:

As always, click on the image to make it bigger (it's not too big).

Also, I wanted to remind you all that if you have Skype, you can call me on my cell phone! How exciting is that? It'll cost you $0.23/minute, but is that price not worth the joy you'll feel while talking to me? I'm also available for skype-to-skype dates, which are freeeee!

Catch up

Well, I’ve been slacking on the blog writing. Life gets a little less exciting after the first couple of weeks, so I don’t have so many fun stories to tell.

I finally have a set schedule, which is a relief. I am taking three required classes through IFSA: Spanish, Human Rights in Argentina, and a Methodology workshop that goes with my internship. Of these, the methodology class is my favorite. The instructor, Natalia, is young and energetic and easy-going. She’s a PhD candidate in anthropology at la UBA and works specifically with children of Bolivian immigrants. This is great for me because my internship is at a community center for Bolivian immigrants (more on that later). In addition to the IFSA classes, I am taking a class called Historia de la Música Barroca at la UCA and one called La Cultura de la Paz y Derechos Humanos (that one has fewer cognates, so I’ll translate—it’s peace and human rights) at la UBA. At some point I'll write about the vast differences between the universities—it’s really something. I like them both though, and I’m glad I get to experience two sides of the Argentine university system.

I am finally starting to make some Argentine friends! On the first day of my music class I introduced myself to a group of students, but the conversation didn’t progress much past hi, nice to meet you. Two weeks ago, however, they invited me to get coffee with them at the break. They were really nice and patient with my language, even though they all speak some English. They asked me some questions about myself, and then caught me up on the fútbol tournament. After class one of them, Nicolás, took the colectivo home with me, although he usually takes the train, so we could keep chatting and I could practice Spanish. I was in such a great mood afterwards and I’m so excited to be connecting with some Argentine peers! Unfortunately I had to miss class last week because I had my first meeting for my internship, but I’ll see them on Wednesday I am hopeful that I will win them over and they will be my friends!

As I mentioned, on Wednesday I had my first meeting for my internship, and I’m really pumped! I am working at La Alameda (http://ww.laalameda.wordpress.com), a community center that works mostly with Bolivian immigrants that have been working in sweatshops here in Buenos Aires. The organization has a lot of different facets, including a library, a community kitchen, a ceramics collective, a workshop that manufactures sweat-free clothes (the brand is Mundo Alameda--http://mundoalameda.com/), and direct intervention at sweatshops in BA. The center also offers a variety of classes and workshops for adults and children. They do more, but those are the things I got to see. The building is a sparse, but airy space with green walls (alameda means a grove, or tree-lined path) in a neighborhood that feels much more Latin American than Palermo. It takes me an hour to get there, but I’m excited to be working in a neighborhood where the main landmark isn’t a shopping mall with a Starbucks.

Alright, I really have to stop procrastinating and write my first paper in Spanish. It’s on a book that I didn’t understand very well and I’m pretty stressed. The only good thing about being so stressed about it is that I went to the gym, cleaned my room, and updated the blog just to put off writing it!

It won’t be so long next time, I promise. I’d love to hear from you!