heat-induced laziness

It's been quite a while since I've posted anything, I realize. I guess I've been busy or lazy, not sure which, but unmotivated to sit down and do anything for more than a half-hour at a time! I've had so much energy lately with the heat and long hours of sunshine - physical energy, perhaps not mental - that I've been waking up early and going all day and still having trouble falling asleep at night. I suppose I'm also feeling a bit wired because I am trying to figure out a job and with the end of the year coming I feel an urgency to have things set in motion before I ring in 2009. I think this urgency also stems from hanging out with Argentinians who are all working their butts off and I feel like a slacker loser who wanders around town and spends a few hours a day learning Spanish but then is unable to speak to them in their native tongue.

Everyone that I've met from here has been very kind and supportive and so helpful in every way - if I'm planning a trip, friends and cousins get called, itineraries get planned out, reservations made, escorts to the bus station to get my tickets - the generosity is absolutely unbelieveable! And these people are incredibly busy with their own lives. It reaffirms my faith in humanity in a way to experience this firsthand. The social connectivity seems quite strong and embracing, people take care of each other, even if they've just met you. I don't ever want to forget how grateful I am for this.

So what have I been up to this past month.... Spanish class ended last week and starts up again in January. I've spent some time taking private lessons with one of my professors, the one that was a good teacher (the other, I began to loathe a bit - sorry, but I don't do favorites when a class consists of just me and one other person for the majority of the time, until we had a Dutch guy join at the end, with whom I vented my frustration and gained a supportive ally). My Spanish is coming along, little by little. It is absolutely thrilling when I hear myself string together one sentence after another - whether it's correct form or not doesn't matter at this point, I am speaking! And today I was speaking to a cab driver. But I realized as soon as his meter started scrambling numbers around for the appointed fare, that his firing of one question after another, asking if I was married, had a boyfriend, do teachers make a lot of money in the US (and I was quite happy to practice my Spanish on a perfect stranger, no pressure), that he was trying to distract me from seeing the fare go from 3 pesos to 34 pesos in 2 minutes. I stopped with the Spanish and said in English that his meter is wrong, there was no way the fare could be 30 pesos, it should be 10 pesos. He said, oh, yes, it's not working, it's not even on. And pushed a button that brought it back to 3 pesos. Then he told me it was to be 20 pesos. I said that's too much. And I haggled with the price until we got to 15 pesos - I said this is not fair to do to tourists! (Clearly my Spanish was awful enough that he easily pegged me as a newcomer.) Unfortunately, I only had 10 pesos and a 100 peso bill, bad move!!! I got yelled at by a cab driver before for only having a 100 peso bill - they are crazy about change here!!! There is a change shortage. So often if you don't have small bills or correct change, people get pissed at you and act like they would rather not sell you anything than have to part with their beloved change!! So anyway, I told the cab driver that I would have to get change. Oh, cambio? He said. I have. Great. He had enough cambio (and who knows, they could be counterfeited bills, another big problem here) to still charge me 20 pesos. I said that's not fair. Then he took out a US $1 bill and wished me luck. All the while, smiling like a freaking con artist. Well, I learned my lesson with that one. Or a few lessons.

On Friday I went to my first disco club, saw a seedier side of life here, with my Dutch classmate, and have been coughing with a sore throat ever since. At the time I thought it was great, I was dancing salsa, singing along to the 80s, meeting people, but then the next day I felt soooo awful I just wanted to lie in bed. Maybe it was the fact that I consumed more beer than I have in a long while, that I was unable to sleep in after being up til 5 or 6am, that I am waaaay too old to be going to places like that, that the smoke completely polluted my system...I think what I disliked most about the club was that I've been getting used to meeting men that are true gentlemen, really great quality people, and I began thinking that that's what all the men are like here, but ohhh no. I was thoroughly disappointed with the behavior - I was asked if I was single or married I don't know how many times, and never asked what my name was. My blank stares got the message easily across: GO AWAY! But all in all, after leaving, I just felt dirty. I guess this is why I am very selective with who I spend time with and where I spend my time - I get completely thrown off and my energy gets drained and it takes me days to recover (still have a sore throat). And I'm not talking about my Dutch friend, he's great, but the people at this club! Once again, a problem but also a gift of getting older is realizing these situations that suck the life out of you and to avoid them like the plague! It only made me feel that much more fortunate to be meeting great people.

Blahblahblah....

Upcoming plans...Lindsay is coming for two weeks (can't wait!!!) and we are heading down to Patagonia. I am really looking forward to taking this trip with her. Posts and photos to come! Tomorrow I head over to Maria's home for Christmas Eve. I've been invited to take part in their family traditions and she said dinner usually runs on until 2:30am!! On Christmas Day, it'll be swimming in the pool in the predicted 90 degree heat, a lazy lunch, and then a bike ride with my new friend. I feel so fortunate that I have such wonderful people to spend my holidays with away from home, although I miss home very much.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!!

Peace and Love,
Anne

This is how I felt in Spanish class today trying to speak. Spanish.

a side note

I caught the second half of "Idiocracy" last night on TV, starring Luke Wilson, and I have to say it was hilarious but also frightening! 500 years into the future and civilization had been reduced to low-brow smut, a society run by meatheads with IQs lower than a pencil's.

I recommend this movie.

Polo, Spanish class, other things

So what have I been up to. . . . It is polo season in Argentina and on Sunday I was invited by my Argentine family to see my first polo match. It was a hot sunny day but we only attended one match that was in the late afternoon, so we managed to not get completely fried. I guess the best polo players in the world are from Argentina and the sport is a pretty big deal here. It was fun to watch, rather exciting to see the horses almost run-hopping along. At one point, a horse fell and did a few somersaults while the polo player was still in his saddle. The crowd shouted and shuddered. An ambulance came out to revive the man, but within minutes, he was back on his feet and in the saddle, ready to keep playing (who knows how he was feeling the next day).

After the match, dolled up spectators lingered around the concession area - a concession area like I've never seen before. Lots of booths/bars sponsored by Mercedes (there were a few of the brand's cars parked on the lawn) and other high-end goods producers. It was all in all quite a glamorous scene.

The history of polo (quite interesting, actually):

http://www.argentinapolo.com/polohistory.html

I also started Spanish class this week and my first impression: boring!!!! I'd forgotten what old school class can feel like, it's like an insult to one's intelligence - I wish they had Montessori Spanish classes for adults! And the fact that there are only two other people in my class also keeps the energy buzz at nil. But I'll keep going back, it's only four doors down from my apartment, an extension program through the University of Buenos Aires. Class is everyday for three hours - but I can tell this time will get shaved off quite a bit because everyone is late, even on breaks (at least from what I can gather from the first two days). The professor is nice and extremely patient. When I speak, I feel like I have a mouth full of marbles.

Yesterday there was a student from Kenya, in our class temporarily for he was really supposed to be in Level 2. He told me and the other student, a recent graduate from Maine, that times were tough when he left Kenya, with all the killing going on, and since he's been in Argentina his grandmother, who raised him, has died as well as his girlfriend. But he says he wants to be out having fun, learning Spanish, dancing tango, rather than be in bed sad. Geez!

Today we had a new student from Norway, a fisherman in his mid-20s. He knows no Spanish, like me, and was quite flustered when the teacher spoke to him. It'll be fine. I think we'll all learn quite a bit, even if I totally disagree with the method in which it's taught! It's interesting for me, after all of the teaching I've done and school that I have behind me, to be this sort of student again - it reminds me of elementary school, talking about what profession people are in our workbook, how old are they, learning the alphabet...I guess it's a bit humbling. Maybe it's been a long time since I've tried to learn a new skill.

Some brain gymnastics never hurt anyone. The other day, the college grad asked me if I brought any good books with me (after telling her I'd just finished a MA in literature), and I said no and that I haven't read anything in a while. She then pulled out a book she had picked up, one I hadn't heard of, and explained it's not that great, that she feels like it's making her dumb. Perhaps my blank stare caused her to put the book away and our conversation ended. When I graduated college I was the same way about books, I wanted to get going on all the classics I hadn't read yet, books are so amazing, I'm an English major, I need to be well-read, etc. So I spent a lot of time reading some really great books, classics, that I could talk about and sound 'smart.' (And I LOVE books, don't get me wrong, and feel incredibly blessed that I've been able to read as many books as I have and have had extraordinarily stimulating conversations talking about them - books build civilizations, so read!) But I don't look to books anymore to make me 'smarter.' I'd rather follow my interests and if that leads me to a great classic, then wonderful, but that book's value might not be any higher than a low-brow book that gave me a great experience or awakened certain insights in me. (I guess I'm going against the idea that certain books are elitist and that those who read them are elite.) Bottom line, however, you've never read enough, and I realized in this moment with the recent college grad, that I wanted to be reading and wasn't.

My interests currently lie in getting to know Argentina, so I decided it's about time to read some of her authors. I'm bypassing Jose Luis Borges for now, even if he is the most celebrated author (I fear I may find him a bit boring) and opting for Julio Cortazar, or at least the one book of his I found at the English bookstore, his short stories. I also recently learned about another author, Roberto Arlt, an Argentine that wrote about the seedy side of life, broke literary rules, was really rather edgy and ahead of his time. I had to order his book 'Mad Toy' online for it's impossible to get any of his work here in English from what I've found.

I'm also continuing to let go of my organic produce fanaticism, I have no choice, it's just not possible here...it's amazing how ingrained that is in me, to buy organic, but I have to shut it off for now, and enjoy inferior-tasting conventional, chock-full of pesticides. Today I was purchasing some nuts and tofu at a nearby health-food store (the standard size for these health-shops are pretty small, about the size of a large closet, just to give a visual) and a sweaty (it's approaching 90*F) Englishman dressed in business attire came in asking the young man at the counter for diet pills to lose weight. He explained how the diet here is making him gain weight, it is horrible. He said he saw an ad for something on TV that's supposed to make you lose weight (if you pay attention to any of the adverts on TV you become inundated with weight-loss hoodoo). He was a little bit manic. But I could totally relate to that one-too-many-empanadas-and-steak feeling that leaves you feeling bloated and disgusting. The man had grocery bags of fruit and vegetables with him. He said he was going to check the name he had written down and come back to see if they had the tablets he saw on TV. After he dashed out, I asked the clerk if many foreigners come in saying the same thing, asking for help. He said, oh, yes, all the time. I asked if he had any tips regarding the Argentinian diet. He said he doesn't eat it, he's a vegetarian.

Pillow Fight

Today I went to see a massive pillow fight in the park. People were laughing, yelling, chasing, charging, singing, chanting. I was approached by some participating young men who asked me where I was from. No, not Venezuela, Minnesota (I get this more often than you'd think). Los Estados Unidos. Then one of them told me not to say that too loud or I'd get attacked by enthusiastic pillow swingers. The other asked me if I'd like to borrow his pillow to fight his friend. I declined.

Pillow Bits

Buenos Aires does not have a recycling program. People called cartoneros have picked up the slack. I was quite impressed with this guy's heavy load.

culture shock...zzzzzzz

I went to the gym today and was approached by an Argentine woman walking into the elevator. She asked me if I was American. I said yes. She said she can spot them a mile away. I asked, how? She said she just can.

We stepped into the elevator and continued our conversation.

She said she's been living in the US for years now (Florida, but in BA for one month) and because her son goes to school there she has to go back, but wants to stay in Argentina, she loves it, it is her country, her home. In America, she said, all that people care about is money, there is no time to enjoy life. Here, she said, you don't see people eating on the street.

We stepped off the elevator. I was pretty much just nodding and saying, hmm, hmmpf, oh.

In America, she said, there's a Starbucks on every corner. Here, you order a coffee and you get mineral water and a little cookie (yes, this is something that I love, so elegant). She said there is no style in America. There is so much style in Argentina and the people are beautiful (here she took off her sunglasses and revealed extremely puffy eyes lined with heavy dark makeup) and so friendly. NY has style, but people are cold, no one talks to you. Here, she said, people take the time to have a conversation.

And then at this point, she was approached by an extremely muscley man wearing a tight tank top. They exchanged greetings and we said goodbye. I didn't quite know what to say, I sorted of mumbled, have a good trip. I had been a target for this woman's American cultural dumping ground.

These past few days, as I've been detoxing from my travels, I've been thinking, a bit obsessively, about how much healthier it is at home, or how much easier one can have a healthy lifestyle (I just can't seem to give up my qualms about eating non-organic produce and my extreme exposure to air pollution); today I was dreaming about having an organic farm in Vermont . . . so then why the heck am I in Argentina? Well, as I believe that you attract what you need at the moment, here I received a rather hostile reflection of perhaps my own thoughts. As this woman went on and on with her rants, I just kept thinking how wonderful America is, it's the greatest place on earth! And that's because it's home. And perhaps that's what she was telling me. Argentina is not my home, but I'm here for now, so enjoy it!
And I am enjoying it, don't get me wrong! But culture shock is real, and I have been experiencing it (even though I thought I'd be immune by now after living abroad before).

I came across some useful info on culture shock here:
http://edweb.sdsu.edu/people/cGuanipa/cultshok.htm

Symptoms:
Sadness, loneliness, melancholy
Preoccupation with health
Aches, pains, and allergies
Insomnia, desire to sleep too much or too little
Changes in temperament, depression, feeling vulnerable, feeling powerless
Anger, irritability, resentment, unwillingness to interact with others
Identifying with the old culture or idealizing the old country
Loss of identity
Trying too hard to absorb everything in the new culture or country
Unable to solve simple problems
Lack of confidence
Feelings of inadequacy or insecurity
Developing stereotypes about the new culture
Developing obsessions such as over-cleanliness
Longing for family
Feelings of being lost, overlooked, exploited or abused

It's a funny thing what happens when you take yourself out of your comfort zone. But I suppose that was my point all along, as I've found that getting too comfortable can become quite uncomfortable, no matter how much I might long for my comforts at this moment.

P.S. a great sound to run to: 'Pump It' by the Black-Eyed Peas

Salta and beyond

I just spent the last ten days in the Salta province, located in the NW corner of Argentina, bordering Bolivia to the north and Chile to the west. I spent a few days in the city and the rest of the time exploring the rural mountainside. The city of Salta itself is very pretty and relaxed, but I was really there waiting to get a trekking trip worked out with a guide. I was not about to go into the mountains alone, knowing that hiking in this part of Argentina is quite different than Ireland in regards to sign markings, roads, towns, people - the usual stuff that keeps you from being completely cut-off from civilization. But I made the most of my time there and tried to limit my cnn viewing (the elections!).

The main things to do in Salta are: see the Spanish colonial cathedrals, go to the high-altitude moutain museum and see the frozen child that was found in the mountain (one of many that had been sacrificed), go up in a gondola to the top of a small mountain that overlooks the town, and best of all, sit at a cafe surrounding the main square, 9 Julio, and people-watch (although the constant begging and/or solicitations can be a bit of a nuisance). I'm most likely giving a lukewarm description of the endless activities that abound in this town, but I wanted to be in the mountains and let nature restore me while I was away from Buenos Aires.

So after my circuit around town, I signed up for a bus tour, as I was still waiting for a guide to get a group and trip together. Normally I hate these kinds of bus tours (and I didn't realize how long 14 hours was going to feel, especially after my 24-hour bus ride a couple of days before), but there was so much to see and I didn't really know how else I was going to see it without going from one town to another on the regular bus, day-by-day, not sure if where I end up will even be all that great, etc. Anyway, with this tour it was a love-hate relationship. Spectacular scenery, but then we were told by our guide, Estella, when it was a "kodak moment" and we could have 10 minutes to walk around at her selected stopping point. Of course I appreciate that she has done this trip hundreds of times and knows the layout of the land, but then where is the surprise and discovery?

We stopped for lunch in a place that felt like the middle of nowhere (probably because it was); a few adobe houses, some farm animals, a church, and a restaurant for tourists. We had delicious llama stew and empandas, malbec to drink, and a sweet corn porridge for desert. We were a group of ten that consisted of Dutch, Spanish, Cuban, Argentinian, and American. The election results were just out, so we naturally toasted to Obama.

Back on the bus, I sat, looking out the window at the views, the bumpy roads and my tailbone killing me, pain leftover from an accident when, as a nine-year-old, I fell from the pipes in my parents' basement, practicing for a future game of paranas against my sisters. I had some other worthwhile flashbacks to Japan as well: my stay at the Buddhist Zen monastery with my sister, where I was sitting in half-lotus, my legs falling asleep and turning purple, and the Zen-master saying to the group that if you feel pain, you should ask yourself why do you feel this pain? So there I was on the bus and asked myself, why do I feel this pain? And tried to detach and have a Zen moment. It didn't really work and I developed a pounding headache from the high altitude instead (around 3700 meters).

Estella passed out coca leaves for people that were feeling unwell and instructed us to put them in our mouths like chewing tobacco, first placing them on top of each other, then rolling them into a tube. I'm not sure if I felt anything, but it was fun to try it. I guess it's illegal to take coca leaves over the border for many kilos can produce a gram or two of cocaine. I was talking to someone that was on a bus and there was a coca leaf raid where the police officers found bags and bags of the stuff under the bus driver's seat. But while in Salta, you can buy the leaves anywhere, and the locals mix it with some sort of sodium bicarbonate to get a buzz.

Perhaps the coca leaves were the most interesting part of the tour. The scenery was awesome, like I said, and I took pictures until my battery ran out, but it really just felt like one step up from looking at photographs in a book - no time to absorb what I was seeing, to experience it in depth. It was just skimming the surface. This is why I prefer walking long distances.

There were two Dutch girls on the tour, cousins traveling together, and toward the end of the tour, one told me that her mother had just passed away less than a year ago so her dad decided to walk the Camino to Santiago, starting in Holland. It took him 3.5 months. Then she mentioned a back story from the movie Steel Magnolias, that on the set Julia Roberts was complaining about how hot she was in the southern heat and Shirley MacClaine, another fellow Camino-walker, told her to just be happy to even be alive and be where she was at that moment, to realize how lucky she is to even be able to experience being too warm. This stuck with the Dutch girl and it stuck with me as something I'd like to remind myself of when I start complaining. After all of that I felt rather silly that here I was, in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, complaining (even if not aloud, I was clearly uncomfortable), and this girl was most likely grieving and suffering the loss of her mother, not wanting to take a moment for granted.
Well, that was the tour. Another day passed and finally the excursion was set to go....

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome

This was the souvenir shop at Salinas Grandes. The artisans wore sunglasses and scarves over their faces to protect them from the elements. You could buy salt sculptures fashioned as cacti here. (Note the motorcycles in the background.)

Don't worry, be happy

I've had a bit of an indulgent day as an attempt to relax and quit worrying so much. I've tried to stop worrying about the fact that the Argentine diet is one of the unhealthiest I've come across (loaded with refined flour products, charred red meat, nada on the organic, coca-cola galore, every other person chain-smoking, everything we've learned in the last ten years or so that is horrible for your health), that you have to have 360-degree vision to cross a street to avoid being hit by a careless driver that does not pay attention to crosswalks or stoplights as well as nimble feet to keep you from tripping on loose tiles (that sometimes spray doggie doolie and other unidentified matter on your legs if it's been raining). I've needed to stop worrying that I don't speak the language (but I can try), that I may be getting asthma from the air pollution (went jogging today and felt as though I was breathing through a straw), that I could get mugged, that I might see another dead cat on the sidewalk, that one of the stray dogs could give me rabies (although they seem quite friendly). Anyway, it's time to let all that go. I'm going to start enjoying myself here a bit more. Not that I'm about to go hog-wild and try to experience everything I can get my hands on (I learned my lesson in Japan, as I became deathly ill from my overindulgence-induced food poisoning, see "Sushi" poem below for more details) or go to every club, bar, museum, etc. But I'm going to try and relax a bit.

So I had a delicious hot chocolate with dulce con leche-filled churros and then went and had sushi at Maki Sushi, a tiny place with only four seats that is mostly takeout (with shelves lining the walls holding the ubiquitous white cat of fortune and other common cartoonish characters that you might expect) just a few blocks away from my place. Surprisingly, BA has a lot of sushi restaurants due to a large Japanese immigrant population along with their exposure to a huge stretch of ocean (I'll let you know if I find a good one, however). As I sat there having a rather disappointing sampler platter (I don't at all understand the popularity of philadelphia cream cheese sushi rolls - yuck) and a One-Cup Sake (extremely cheap sake that you would buy at an am/pm convenient store in Japan and drink on the street), I was reading a bit of my Time Out guidebook, newly purchased from the ultra-expensive English bookstore (I accidentally left my guidebook at a locutorio back in Uruguay and needed to get a new one, especially with my upcoming trips around the country) and came across the author's nutshell description of this city, and was struck by an adjective he used to describe it: Dickensian. I almost laughed.

I find Dickensian London rather fascinating and when I was there and went on that ghost tour there was a part of me that wished things weren't so shiny and new but rather looked the way they looked for Dickens with the dreary darkness and suffering because that seems more authentic. And now what do I have? At least according to one guidebook author, I can have all this in BA. And this was all exactly what I was running like a bat out of hell from in Villa Crespo and what keeps me off dark streets at night or causes me to avoid navigating in areas where the homeless have enough bagged possesions to fill a one-bedroom apartment. And all of this is what I have been complaining and coughing about ever since. I guess it's quite a luxury to actually romanticize Dickensian times. And once again, I feel like an idiot. It seems that every time I make a decision or form an opinion about anything it's somehow thrown on its head and in my face to prove me wrong. I'm trying not to be too opinionated (I mean, opinions are good and necessary, of course, but without enough knowledge and adequate experience to back up an opinion, you end up looking like an arrogant idiot - duh - and that's been me more times than I'd like to admit). I try to remain humble, I'm working on it. But oftentimes strong opinions can be quite funny, like Maria's son's response when I asked him what he thought about Sarah Palin: she's a bimbo.

I also don't want to report back all of the stereotypes that I am seeing that one could read in a guidebook or that I've read in a guidebook myself (okay, I know I've done this quite a bit already, and just did it above, but these people can't hog it all! I can only promise to keep it at a minimum). Has everything already been thought and written before or can I actually have a unique experience here? Or is this all just cliche? Well, bear with me.

Here's a poem I wrote a while back:

Sushi
Seaweed-wrapped salmon eggs glisten like the Buddha’s belly.
Oily mackerel on rice glows like a geisha’s painted face.
Ruby maguro blinks red: flashing pachinko parlor lights. Daily
the kaitenzushi beckons me. Small plates circle the counter’s
canal, graced with uncooked kings and queens bedecked
in sparkling baby jewels. I devour otoro-maki after tekka-maki
and let shoyu drip down my neck as wasabi explodes up my nose.
I take another plate. But the unhatched whipworms hid
between fish scales and tuna blubber. Salmon sashimi carried
an army of anisakis into my intestines. Nematodes build cities
in my belly, nibble on decadence in frenzied copulation,
multiply in my ruddy gut while I waste away muscle, and am left
with toxic fat globules. Raw delectables are now no better
than a pair of used panties in a Tokyo vending machine.

Springtime in BA

Things are getting better. Spring is here, it´s warming up, the days are growing longer, flowers are blooming, trees are getting greener, the portenos (city people in BA) are out in the parks having picnics and bike-rides. The air feels better. Everything honestly looks brighter - I don´t know if it´s my outlook, my new location, the weather or what, but things are beginning to look up. I'm beginning to grow into my new surroundings and my feelings of panic are fading, quickly.

The evening of Paraguayan harp music and food with Maria and her friends was lovely. It was at an intimate little venue in Palermo Soho (a hip part of town that is growing with new shops, cafes, restaurants, and trendy lofts), filled with locals. We were served a delicious meal of empanadas, some sort of cornbread, stew, and goat's cheese with honey for dessert. And of course, malbec to drink, conservatively.

There were a number of Maria's friends who spoke English fluently, so that's always comforting. One of her friends, a doctor, asked me what it is I'm doing here (naturally a common question where I at times am at a loss for an answer). Am I studying the culture and habits of the Argentine people, like an anthropologist? I said, yes. Then he laughed and asked, what am I really doing here? I said, to travel and learn Spanish. This seems to be the most socially acceptable answer and is true, of course, but really, I want to go beyond being a tourist--I want to absorb everything I can about this place and see what I can make of it, expand my horizons I suppose.

So, Sunday was another lovely day. Maria came to pick me up, gave me another tour of some more parts of the city with historical commentary, and then took me to her home outside of the city to have a nice home-cooked lunch with her and her son before we would go to the town church of San Isidiro for a classical music concert that she was in involved in putting together. I'm always thankful to get out of the city and it was very nice to be in a home with dogs and a garden eating a nice meal and talking to people, my Argentinian adoptive family.

The concert was nice and the church was packed with people, many were sitting on the floor. It was quite a turnout. The town of San Isidiro, where Maria grew up and where she lives now, is beautiful. It's an old town, with two-story Spanish colonial buildings, lots of cafes, lots of trees, narrow cobblestone streets. Very charming. I was thinking I could live there and never need to go back into Buenos Aires. From everyone that I've spoken to that lives outside of the city, they seem to feel the same way - it's like there is BA and then the rest of the country. I suppose it's that way with any huge city, though. Just like there's London and the rest of England - while I love London for it's bustling quirky energy, the rest of England is quite different.

After the concert and the tour of San Isidiro, we went over to Maria's brother and sister-in-law's for afternoon tea, which was just behind Maria's home. We all sat in the garden (which had a little pool in the corner, like Maria's garden) and I met many of Maria's nieces and nephews and their children and grandchildren. There were croissants and scones and tea and coca-cola. They usually meet like this on Sundays. It all seemed so old-fashioned. I love that this sort of tradition still exists in today's world of no time for anything. Through what I've seen of Maria's life at least, it seems that Argentines are extremely social. People make time to see loved ones on a regular basis. And most of the family lives close to each other to make it that much easier to get together.

I guess Maria's sister-in-law was a bit shaken up from the week before when thieves broke into her home, tied her up, put a gun to her head, took any money she had, and attempted to steal her and her husband's cars. They were going to climb over the wall into Maria's yard and rob her as well but the sister-in-law said not to go over there because there are dogs. So they put some meat from the freezer in the microwave to feed the dogs. The police were called by a neighbor before they got any further, and no one was hurt, but it sounded quite scary. Maria said there are a lot of people on drugs here and the neighborhoods are getting dangerous. There is a huge slum in San Isidiro called La Cava and a lot of problems occur like minors murdering people and being set free because they cannot be tried as an adult. Meanwhile their president was elected because they paid people off to vote for them (the wife of the previous president, who did the same) and are not doing anything to help with what seems to be many concerns that are growing worse.

Well, it's almost time for me to take a level test for Spanish class, a test that is quite unnecessary because I can tell them already I know nada. Maria also pointed out a few jazz places to hear Argentine jazz that are just a few blocks away from my place. This is quite nice that there are so many places to go near where I live now. Being in Villa Crespo, which has now become a funny story when I am introduced to people, living there, getting bug bites (I'm still getting bug bites like crazy even now though, I don't know what it is) like I said before, made the city feel so huge and with dimly lit streets that I was walking down to get home at night, made this city feel very scary for me. Rightly so, that was probably a little bit on the dangerous side to be walking everywhere and I've decided that the city is best seen at night from the window of a taxi. Taxis are actually quite cheap, so that helps.

I'm also looking into travel plans within Argentina as this country has so many beautiful places to see and it would be a shame to miss them while here. I was thinking of going to Salta, a NW province filled with beautiful mountains, indigenous people and culture, and old Spanish colonial architecture, for a week or so, to begin. Just as long as I'm far enough from mosquitos carrying yellow fever! I did not get vaccinated for this before I left, unaware that this was a problem.

And I can start posting pictures - yay! Maria's son kindly helped me with my computer problems and I am again connected to the internet - this could be a good and bad thing, but my reliance on internet access has reached a point that without it I feel quite lost.

Hope all is well and thanks for reading!

Settling in . . . still

I know this is a rather self-indulgent blog, or at least it has been lately, because I have been using all of my energy just trying to exist in BA, trying to figure out how can I be sufficiently happy enough to get through another day and not come home. I like having funny stories to share, but so far nothing funny has been happening. The only funny stories are the ones I´ve been thinking about from past experiences. It´s really great to have a whole bag of these to look back on when things look grim. And amidst all of my self-absorption, with my anxiety and panic over whether or not I´m going to find organic produce or will all of the (extreme like I´ve never experienced it before) pollution cause me to look like Cosmo Kramer after he turned his apartment into a smoking lounge, the entire world is falling apart.

Craziness!

Yesterday the Argentinian government announced that they would be turning private pensions public and the country is in a panic. What this all means I don´t quite know. Since I´ve been here, I´ve wondered if this was perhaps not the best time to tap into my savings and travel a foreign land. It´s completely impractical, I realize this. That puts all the more pressure on me to make something out of my experience.

Anyway, I´ve moved to a nicer area where I can actually walk to the parks in an hour and it´s a very nice walk the whole way, with museums, nice neighborhoods, and a giant metal flower that opens and closes relative to day and night. I can see trees from my bedroom window and it is quiet at night. I also can watch the news on TV and become completely glued to CNN in fascination. (I´ve never found the news to be this addictive since 9-11.) I have my own tiny kitchen and a bathtub. It feels like utter extravagance in comparison to my last accomodations and I am very thankful that I had that barebones experience in a less than ideal neighborhood (where I was getting horrible bug bites every night as well) because it makes me appreciate my new place so much! Something that I can´t quite figure out, however, is why a swarm of flies gather above my bed and attack each other. They come back to the same place every day and thankfully leave at night.

So, what´s next.... I am looking into some other Spanish classes for I missed the sign-up on Monday (was returning from Uruguay) and decided I didn´t want to sign up for something that would be everyday anyway. Tomorrow night I´m going to a Paraguayan harp concert with Maria and her family and friends. That should be really interesting. More to come.

I will try putting some pictures on here soon. I´m having to come to a locutorio (phone and internet place) because I still can´t get the internet on my computer, even with a cable. We´ll see if I can do pictures on their computers.

Hope all is well! Thanks for reading.

coca-lite and wine

Something I´ve noticed here in S.A. is that people (Argentinians, Uruguayans, Brazilians) often drink mineral water, coke, and-or coca-lite with their meals, rather than wine. Sometimes they have coca-lite AND wine with their meals, which was the case at the asado I attended, an odd combination if you ask me. I find this interesting and am guessing that Argentine wine is largely exported, most likely to the US, where we drink copious amounts in comparison.

my vacation from my vacation in Uruguay

So, as you can see from my previous posts (or perhaps not), I was having a very hard time and needed to take a vacation from my vacation before I got to the point of a total freak-out, needing to come home. Am I a complete wimp? I think I´m just doing what I think is necessary to help me get a handle on my new surroundings. BA was a complete shock and totally different than I had imagined, which was a great opportunity to live cheaply in the Paris of S. America. I´m finding out that not only is this a deceiving comparison but that it is also not cheap! For someone coming from NYC or England it would be a steal. But I am finding that it is at the same level of expense as Minneapolis, at least in the nice parts of town.

As for my therapeutic vacation, I am currently in Punta del Este, Uruguay. This town is nicknamed the St. Tropez of S. America, but as I have never been to St. Tropez I cannot compare and find it to be a mix of the Italian Riviera and Fort Lauderdale. This may sound like a strange mix, and normally I do not seek out resorty spots, but I absolutely love this place! Although it is filled with those typical white skyscrapers, the beaches have beautiful natural views, the food is amazing (I have finally found great salads that I´m not afraid to eat [e-coli worry-free] and fresh seafood), the Uruguayans are incredibly friendly, and of course the sunshine is not at all bad. It´s everything you could want for a touristy beach resort town. I also spent two days in Colonia, Uruguay before coming here. It was a quiet, charming little town that reminded me of a miniature San Miguel de Allende, but on the river (that looks like the ocean) rather than in the mountains. It was easy enough to get there via a one-hour ferry from BA and from there I took a four-hour bus ride to Punta del Este, which stopped in Montevideo for one hour. Both of these places were recommended by my family friend, Maria.

While I´ve been in Uruguay, I´ve been able to get my scattered self back together and think more clearly about the direction I want to take with my time in Argentina. In Colonia I spent a lot of time just relaxing by the river, feeling like it would not have been totally out of place if I had been in a wheelchair with a warm blanket over me, recovering from my shock. I know from experience that new things can be a bit scary at first (or even terrible, I was not at all happy upon arrival in Japan, I´m remembering), but in BA I was beginning to feel like the girl in the blair witch project in the scene where she is in the basement panicking. Yes, I was completely panicking. Simply walking around unfamiliar territory once it gets dark can be a bit scary and I´ve concluded that wearing my glasses might help as my night-vision is not the greatest.

So now that I´ve seen what BA is like, granted this had been on a very surface level, I´ve only been there a week and have spent most of that time walking around to put a visual map of the city in my head, I can begin addressing my needs and attempt to put together a structure that will hopefully make for a happy and productive time. In Villa Crespo I tried to do this, but being so far out (it took me an hour to get anywhere via walking, subte, bus) caused me to experience the vastness of the city on a level that was too much for me to handle. Not only that, but as I´m away I´m realizing it is not only important but crucial that I am somewhere near nature, and the only park near Diana´s house is what I can only compare to one huge circular parking lot with people jogging around the outskirts amongst traffic. I was also unable to sleep due to the all-night long traffic, noise that earplugs could not cover up. All in all, I was just unhappy where I was living and it mainly had to do with the location, as authentic of an experience it may have provided me, it was ultimately not the experience I wanted. I could go into all of the things that bothered me about the place and how Diana was beginning to get on my nerves, but I think to be fair I´ll leave that out.

So while I´ve been on my vacation from my vacation, I´ve also (sadly) spent quite a bit of time on the internet trying to figure out a new place to live. After a lot of searching and email exchanges, I found a very charming studio in Recoleta - the heart of the city. I found this one on craigslist, as I did the room in Villa Crespo, but this apartment is through an agency and it all seems more professional, I suppose. Maria made a point in one of our email exchanges (she has been putting a lot of effort into trying to help me get settled comfortably) that when you are in a foreign country you need to find a living situation that is similar to what you are used to or else it can be quite unpleasant. I was searching for something different than I was used to when I came here, but I think living in BA will be different enough for me and my little studio can be my santuary where I recharge. I have only seen pictures, but it overlooks a small garden and is supposed to be very quiet. It is also very close to all of the parks, and there are a handful of beautiful big parks in this part of BA. So anyway, I think after my needs are met of feeling secure and well-rested, things will start to run a bit more smoothly. It´s difficult to just overturn your life, mix everything up, and expect things to fall into place. The older I get, the better idea I have of what I need to make myself happy and when I don´t have those things it starts to feel like my brain is short-circuiting, unable to compute what it is taking in and in shock of what it is missing. But bottom line, I must have nature. And a quiet place to sleep.

Anyway, thanks for reading, if anyone is reading this. Time to go flake out on the beach for a while....

getting to know ba

Here I am again at the Spell Cafe, a bar-cafe on the canal in Puerto Madero, a nice quiet area that is easy for me to get to and where I have bushes and the sky as part of my view. I have given up on trying to get the internet on my computer for the time being and have trouble going into the sleazy internet shops.

So yesterday I spent the day with a family friend, Maria. She was an exchange student at Wayzata High School in 1959 and can vividly and fondly recall her time spent in the twin cities, paradise, as she says. It was interesting to hear her speak of a time that seemed so all-American and old-fashioned - a memory that is locked in her mind as it was an intense one and she has very little experience of the changes since then. She picked me up from my apt., gave me a tour of the city, showed me the US Embassy, the very wealthy neighborhoods, the important landmarks, brought me to a neat little coffee shop where we had cafe con leche, and then we went to her sister´s home in the outskirts of town for an asado (barbeque) with some of the family. So much for not eating meat.

On our way to her sister´s, she pointed out slums along the highway that have appeared in the last two years and explained that they are out of control, and there are more slums being built on top of each other everyday. It was quite a contrast going from wealthy neighborhoods to utter poverty. But even in the nicest neighborhoods, statues had been spray-painted with graffiti. She also pointed out the river (here I realized that that was not the ocean I was walking along the other day, but the incredibly wide river) and explained its murky brown color that was caused by all the mud on the bottom. She said she loves the color of the river. I am realizing this from all Argentinians that I´ve spoken to (and so far that hasn´t been many), that they love their country, take pride in what they have, and find beauty everywhere whereas my first impressions were heart-sinking. But to see a bit of the city through Maria´s eyes helped, and it helped moving along in a car - much more condusive for travelling along the expansive 6-lane roads than walking.

We arrived at her sister´s home, an English-style country home that is over 100 years old. They have a huge family, many brothers and sisters that have many children and so forth, and only part of the family was there on this day. I was warmly greeted by everyone and have become quite comfortable with the standard greeting of a kiss on the cheek (I did not know that was the custom before coming here). Everyone gathered around a long table in the backyard that was enclosed with plastic (it has been raining) and a roof which jutted out from Maria´s brother-in-law´s office (detached from the house). The grill was in this space with lots of meat cooking. We had salads and different meats, great red wine (I have not had any Argentinian wine that I have not liked so far) and then for dessert we had amazing cakes and dulce con leche on chocolate - I´d never had this before and found it delicious. They told me that it is typical for families to have a jar of the caramel in their refrigerator and go through it in a week. Everyone was trying out their English and encouraging me to speak Spanish and giving me lots of good advice for my stay. The elders thought I´d probably rather live in a nicer area and perhaps with someone that would cook my meals, wheres the younger family members said they like the neighborhood I´m in.

After the meal, I had a tour of the house. It was a modest-sized home, filled with antiques that sparkled from care. I was shown a little room where they had a rather large crucifix that was hundreds of years old and some other very old religious icons. Another thing I did not know was what a devoutly Catholic country Argentina is. I guess I´m just learning as I go. After the tour we said good-bye and headed to another neighborhood so Maria could drop off some gifts for a friend´s daughter´s wedding. This was the old English neighborhood outside of the city, filled with English mansions and tree-lined streets, but then enclosed with tattered buildings, shops, etc., that have been built in the last 50 years. I met Maria´s friend and thought she was English, red-haired and freckles and a perfect English accent. It turned out her father was English and came over with the meat-packing industry. She also attended the best English school in the country, which was right around the corner.

We left and began to head back to BA. Just around the corner from her friend´s home were train tracks with a commuter train crossing. Maria explained that the English had originally owned the trains but that Peron bought them. Since then they´ve been deteriorating. I saw that the trains had door missing with people hanging out of them and yet again, spray-painted with graffiti. After we crossed the tracks, Maria pointed out the English country club where one could play polo or golf. A beautiful country club that was surrounded by tattered spray-painted buildings. But it seems that this is the way things are here, you see decay and deterioration and then behind the doors is this opulence that is brought on by the people taking care of what they have. This is why where I am staying is fine with me because it doesn´t feel scummy, it is well taken care of, even if it isn´t much. Coming from the land of plenty, I really respect this.

So I am thinking that since my English classes will begin next week, I should take this time to get out of town for a few days and go to Uruguay. Maria was telling me about Colonia, a quaint colonial town that is an hour away by ferry, and Punta del Este, another hour from Colonia, that sound very nice.

More later! Hope all is well!

Yerba Mate and other thoughts

Something that I did not know about yerb mate (and really, I didn´t know much about it before coming here) is that Argentinians only drink this with family and close friends. The other day as Diana was making her mate, filled her little ceramic pot with it the leaves, stuck in her silver straw, and poured boiling water over it, I asked if I could try it. When she pointed the silver straw in my direction, I said I thought I was coming down with a cold and didn´t want to give her my germs. Then she said that is good because she only drinks mate with family. I´ve seen S. Americans around town with a mug and straw, and she said these are not Argentinians, that Argentinians only drink mate at home. I read in my lonely planet guidebook that a group all drinks out of the same cup, from the same straw, passing it around in a circle. This reminds me a little bit of the Japanese tea ceremony where you would pass the tea bowl around in an intimate setting and everyone would drink from the same bowl - that bowl only to be cleaned later with a good rinsing of cold water.

I´m also feeling a bit bad that I´ve been rather harsh with my first impressions. I need to take into consideration that this is an impoverished country and that I´ve come from a city with an extremely high standard of living. It is sad to think it was once one of the wealthiest countries in the world 100 years ago. I´ve been noticing some of the faded granduer with old buildings in the perhaps not-so-nice neighborhoods, spray-painted with graffiti and blackened from pollution. And then out from these buildings come extremely well-dressed Argentinians. It´s an interesting contradiction.

And I don´t want to go around thinking everything is so cheap because I have American dollars and that´s so great. That helps with containing some of my feelings of overwhelmnent (is that a word?), but overall I think that is an arrogant attitude to take on. These people are working hard and they have so little. I guess I´m realizing that this is a whole new concept for me to experience.

have arrived safe and sound in Buenos Aires

So it´s been a little more than 2 days now that I´ve been in Argentina and I´ve spent most of that time freaking out. Well, freaking out while walking, usually - and not necessarily freaking out in a good way. Last night I was freaking out while trying to get to sleep. This is a very high energy city, I am living in a rather polluted and busy part of town, Villa Crespo. It is the Jewish neighborhood, blue-collar, middle-class, where I figured I´d get a more authentic experience. My eyes are swollen every morning from the pollution and I´ve made the mistake of drinking the water (in tea, boiled, I thought this was okay??).

Behind the peach-painted metal door on the street, you walk down a long skinny corridor lined with plants to another door that leads you to the open area of the casa. There is a room to the right where Mike from Midway Chicago is living, a recent college graduate (I told him I´d flown out of Midway a few times, was this rude?), then counter-clockwise you have the den, with a table and Diana´s computer, then left of that is Diana´s room, then a bathroom and the kitchen (which toxicly smells like kerosene). Then there is a set of shallow worn marble steps that lead up to the terrace, Diana´s studio, and my room which consists of a bed, table, wardrobe, and bathroom - all of which I awkwardly move around. The hot water for the shower I´ve found out takes a while to travel up the pipes, but after waiting ten minutes and having one minute of warm water and then a continuous trickle of cold, I´ve learned that I will be taking trickling cold showers. Luckily I joined a gym a few blocks away where I plan to take any needed hot showers. A gym where you need to be inspected by a doctor for lice and they check your fingernails as well to see if you are fit for the swimming pool - this to be done every 15 days. I also need my doctor´s okay that Í´m healthy enough to work out - and I´m hoping this will just slide by unnoticed because I have a whole list of hassling things to try and figure out before I do that - like learn Spanish! I feel like such a rude idiot not knowing much of the language here and am looking into Spanish classes pronto.

The madame of the house, Diana, is an artist, very kind and helpful and is trying to do everything she can to make me feel comfortable. When she laid out the house rules she said that we smoke only alone and ashamed, on the terrace or in our rooms, ashamed. I´m not planning to smoke in either, but I found this rather humorous. Her tango paintings and sculptures are all over the house and there is one in clear view from my bed. It is all very interesting. She gives art lessons at her home and today had a little girl over, they were working with colored paper. She is full of information and ideas for what I can do here and has helped me find Spanish classes at the University that I can sign up for next week. She has also described for me what things were like in BA during the economic crash in 2001 - people wailing in the streets because their homes were taken from them, all their money in the bank was taken from them. She said that it made people crazy and there are still many crazy people left on the street. I think I may´ve seen some of them already. She said that she likes having rooms to rent out because she likes meeting new people and trying to understand their perspectives. When I arrived Wed., we had tea and a long chat talking about our different perspectives.

There is also a black cat, Shakti, and a tortoise that I accidentally stepped on when I first arrived. At first I thought he was a doorjamb.

Next day...
I´ve spent the last couple of days just trying to slow things down. The pace of the city and my urgent need to feel comfortable and adapt to my surroundings has caused me to feel quite anxious - that on top of not sleeping well due to traffic through the night and birds chirping early in the morning has not been a good mix. Last night I went to a tango performance that included dinner. It was all quite impressive. I had an Argentine steak that was so huge it was ridiculous. The smell of steak cooking everywhere I go may just put me off meat for quite a while now. This morning I went to a spinning class at the gym I just joined and could smell cooking meat from the restaurant across the street the whole time. Along with making me nauseous, it also brought back memories of the gym I belonged to in Evanston that was above a steak place - it always smelled like burnt meat in there.

So tango was good and I loved the music - I´d like to learn some tango steps and plan to take some classes and go to some tango halls. I´m trying to develop a purpose for me being here besides writing - concrete activities like spanish classes rather than such abstract ideas - I think this will help ground me. I also want to make some friends. This will all help me happily write. If I´m not feeling good I don´t want to do anything. I didn´t get home from the tango show until after 1am last night and my head was literally buzzing. I´m hoping to get a good night´s sleep tonight. What has happened to my nerves over the years? I think back to being in Japan - how did I do it? I don´t know if I was more resilient then or if the older I get the less adaptable I become and more inclined I am to want to be cozy at home.

My favorite area so far is Puerto Madiera, an old port that´s been refurbished. There are lots of pretty cafes along the water (unfortunately, however, there is a Hooters and TGIF´s, not so pretty), lots of warehouses restored with lofts. It is very quiet, no cars zooming by, and people seem very relaxed. Beyond the canal is a huge nature preserve. I wandered around in there yesterday. It is completely wild and you can walk along the ocean. Again, very quiet - it was just what I needed. I´d like to make it there a couple of times a week. I do like cities, but I like green cities. I need parks if I´m going to be in a city. I need to be able to breathe!!! My impressions of the city as a whole have been quite positive - the more I see the more I like it. It feels like a mix of Japan and Europe. BA actually reminds me more of Kyoto than Paris - but I think that´s just the newer (last 50 years) cheap construction. The older stuff reminds me more of cities I´ve visited in Spain, Barcelona perhaps. But it´s only been a few days - I want to get my first impressions down because I know I will never see the city the way I see it now, it will continue to change and grow by the minute - and I´m absorbing it all as I go. This can be a bit overwhelming. But I guess this is exactly what I wanted. It´s already getting hot here, was probably in the 80s today.

Bloomsbury Group

Just passing by one of my literary heroine's old stomping grounds on my way home from a day of wandering.

Hairball

Riley and Mandu wrestling

Something I came across in a fancy department store.

continuing to explore london

So most of yesterday I was a bit laid up trying to let my knee recover from a spill outside of Starbucks. I was running across the street and made the mistake of stepping on a glazed brick curb. I was very stunned. A woman standing there asked if I was alright, that it can be quite a shock. As I slowly got up, shocked indeed, everything was carrying on as usual, but it was one of those falls where I was afraid to look at the results. It still hurts today and the bruise, about the size of my palm, continues to darken and I can feel tendons and ligaments creaking when I move. I started thinking, yeah, it's so great living in a big city with great public transportation and no car, but what happens when you can't get around anymore (walk) and you really don't want to ask for anyone's help?

Anyway, I have not been a very good dog-walker lately until today. I got a rather demanding invitation to walk dogs with a neighbor in Regent's Park. I never want to do this because it interferes with my schedule during the day, whatever that is, but I am always glad I go afterward. It turns out she'd feel quite comfortable with me watching her black lab Captain when she goes on holiday next summer, if I'm interested. While I had just been thinking I probably wouldn't do anymore dog-sits, I said, that'd be great! Even though Captain's glowing yellow vampire-like eyes kind of scare me, it wouldn't be a bad deal at all. Plus this lady is an author/ex-actress, so has lots of inspiring stories. Today she told me all about how she ended up writing her first book. I guess her whole family is full of writers, some of them famous, but I didn't pry.

Earlier in the week I spent quite a bit of time with friends from home that were here and got a little caught up in living a normal social life (I mean talking to people I know). One of my friends asked me what I was going to do when I went back to reality, or the real world. I'm not sure that's any different than right now. Or have I lost touch with reality? I said that everything around me could just be an illusion anyway, so why does it matter? Do I really believe that? Sometimes. When I get fearful of what the heck I'm even doing with my life I try to tell myself this--it's all experience either way you look at it. It is living.

So what else is going on? I could talk about the animals, how (the 30-pounder) Mandu hits my face with his paws to try and eat my yogurt or tries to wake me up in the morning by licking my lips. I know I said I like animals once I got to know them, but I've gotten to know this cat and he's annoying, aggressively annoying, and purrs all the time while being annoying. (And when he sleeps, he snores.) I occasionally have to break up wrestling matches between him and Riley as well. They are almost the same size and Mandu usually wins.

Wanting to experience some of Camden's music scene last weekend, I went to the Green Note, a sort of hippyish nightclub that also serves vegetarian cuisine (I'm not a vegetarian but have been leaning this way lately, so this was an added bonus), where Robin Williamson, a Scot of the Incredible String Project, was doing an intimate "gig." (It was pretty much the only thing going on besides a very expensive night with De La Soul.) I had never heard of him before, but he apparently did a lot for folk music in the 60s. There were only about 12 tables and I managed to sit in the front, sharing my table with an older couple. The performance was pretty good, a lot of harp music and acoustic guitar. Good storytelling. But there was this man sitting on the floor in front of the little stage. He had his shoes off, was drinking copious amounts of red wine, running his fingers through his hair, clutching his heart, and throwing his arms up in rapturous praise. When the musician played a song the man shouted out as a request, the man, continuing to lose muscle control, began to sob loudly. At the break he told the musician he could stay at his house. By the end of the show, the man had lost almost all muscle control and was practically lying on the floor while everyone else was quietly sitting at their tables. It was rather distracting.

This evening I went to a ghost tour around old London. I guess London is the ghost capital of the world with so many layers of the city built upon old layers of city and cemeteries. The city was 20 or so feet lower during Roman times. I didn't see any ghosts, but the tour guide was quite an entertaining performer, shrieking at opportune times and always looking over his shoulder. He took us to the alley where Dickens came up with the beginnings of A Christmas Carol and where Scrooge would have had his office. He was able to conjure up the old London Fog atmosphere of a yellow billowy haze that ran through the streets and alleys from chimney smoke. It was very eery to imagine indeed. He also told us of portable human toilets, men that would walk around with huge trench coats and a bucket, and if there was no place to go, you could go inside of his coat to use the bucket. This portait seemed to be a much different one of the city today with shopping and restaurants galore, polished people spending lots of money--I kind of wanted to see it before, gloomy and grimey. I suppose that's what you get to see in Dickens. Perhaps I should read more of his stuff.

Well, it's time to take Riley out for his evening walk. Just a few days left here, how strange! Will write more later.

Some more news, still in London

I've been in Europe now for almost three months and will admit I am beginning to get tired and miss home. I miss the Mpls lakes. I miss family. Friends. I wouldn't mind some green curry at chiang mai thai (I know I can get amazing food here, but it's the familiarness that I'm missing). I suppose the honeymoon period of my travels is ending? Or perhaps it's just the msg-induced haze I've been experiencing today (went out for Vietnamese last night with friends from home). I plan to do this for a full year, travel, pet-sit, house-sit, or until I run out of resources. I am recalibrating myself, clearing the slate, so that I am better able to listen to my inner voice rather than be cluttered by all the background noise telling me what I should be doing with my life. Uprooting myself and leaving my creature comforts behind allows me to do this more easily--when I am too comfortable I get clogged up with rootedness and feel like I stop growing. I am currently reading one of the professor's books, What Should I DO With My life?, by Po Bronson. It's a good read so far and I recommend it for anyone feeling like they need a change or are unfullfilled but might be too afraid to take the steps necessary. It's not like I want to just blow around in the wind forever and ever, I'm just searching for something more fulfilling, wherever that might take me.

After a short visit home the end of September, I head to Argentina. I have not found any house-sits for the winter (and although there were many listed for England (I was asked if I wanted to stay here again over the holidays for a month), France, and Ireland, I do not want to have a dreary winter in Europe, as spoiled as that may sound) and plan to travel around the country and spend time in Buenos Aires. Hopefully my cousin, who will be off from firefighting season, can join me for part of it.

Things are good here all in all, I am getting to know the animals better and enjoying them more, we are bonding. I really do like animals, but only after I get to know them. Does this sound cruel? I feel the same way about children and people in general--doesn't everybody? I don't know. The thing with animals and children though is that you get to know them so quickly, they are so honest with their personalities, so trusting, while there are adults that you can know for years and years and not really know the first thing about them.

Riley and I went over to Hampstead Heath the other day and had a really nice walk; Riley was able to get in the water a little bit (I guess he is very fond of swimming), but we had to steer clear of the swans--the professor told me that they will try to drown Riley by sitting on him and pulling him under the water. This sounds awful! Who knew swans could be so vicious.

The situation next door has gotten unbelieveably bad. There was not yelling, but screaming like I've never heard before coming through the walls and windows. The flat was rattling. I could hear the child (I've figured there is only one child) screaming and then laughing and then crying and then screaming along to his parents' all out brawl. I was beginning to wonder if I should call the police, do something??

Then around the corner the other day, a disoriented old man stood on the sidewalk exposing himself as a group of mothers with children walked in his direction. The mothers began hollering, Oh! Put it away old man! Put it away!! This was something I really wish I hadn't seen. Also, I saw two people make an exchange, some brightly colored candy for a chunk of change. It's feeling a little seedy around here. I guess you can't really choose just exactly what kind of day you're going to have as I naively said in a previous post. I'm glad the parks are nearby. I do love the energy and the mix of everything, but I'm beginning to crave fresh air, sunshine, perhaps some space from people. I haven't even been here that long. But it seems like you have the whole world right in your face, which is great when you are in the mood for it, but when you aren't, well, it can be a little exhausting. This is not a good city to be tired in.

The Vanessa Regrave play, The Year of Magical Thinking, was phenomenal. I had goosebumps throughout the whole thing. It was a very sad story, a true story of Joan Didion's tragic loss of her husband and then daughter in the same year. Vanessa Redgrave delivered it like she was having an intense conversation with an intimate friend.

Hope all is well with everyone, I've attempted to watch Obama's speech on the web but have had trouble downloading it--sounds like it was pretty inspiring!



(I promise I'll have brighter, cheerier things to say next time. I swear, it's the msg.)

News from London, Part II

For this pet-sit, I am in the neighborhood of Camden Town, London. This is the home of the London indie-rock band scene, Amy Winehouse, the Camden Market and canals, Regent's Park, and a hodgepodge of people, restaurants, pubs, shops, etc. It is a very exciting but also comfortable part of London. You have the Hobgoblin pub around the corner a few blocks with heavy metal death music and then Fresh&Wild a few blocks down the other way, a Whole Foods boutique (I was, sadly to say, very excited to go in here and buy some organic tofu--but alas, there was no Kombucha). The Jazz Cafe is a few blocks in another direction where De La Soul is playing all week. Londoners walk around dressed to the t or even in sweatpants, but for the most part, their style seems more like a work of art, punkish, fun, inventive and at the same time looks completely effortless. I love just walking around to see what everyone is wearing. So, this is the area I'm in. I feel like I'm in the center of everything and am able to choose just exactly what kind of day I feel like having just by where I want to go, what I want to look at. My first evening here I was greeted for dinner at a nearby gastropub, the Crown and Goose, by a friend from elementary school that has been living here since she graduated college. It was a very nice time and lots of fun getting caught up!

The flat I'm taking care of is on a quiet street, but there's hustle and bustle just around the corner. It's quite nice and spacious, but the walls are unfortunately paper thin and I was kept awake the other night by the neighbors upstairs having a late-night fight and then heard the neighbors nextdoor yelling this morning, the woman saying, I'm [expletive] leaving him!! The professor, who owns the flat, had warned me about them, saying that she and some others are on the verge of calling child services because the children just sit in front of the TV (too young to be in school) and there is yelling sometimes all through the night. It hasn't been too bad, but I do see right into their TV room from the bedroom here, and the TV is either on or the curtain is drawn.

It's funny how the professor seems to be almost the opposite from the Piggys, from what I could gather during the little bit of time we spent getting to know each other. She raves about Marks&Spencers ready-to-eat dinners, while the wife would bake things from scratch often using the freshly-laid eggs and normally had a bountiful supply of vegetables growing in the garden. The professor doesn't recycle, the wife made it clear that nothing gets wasted, leftovers are either composted or fed to the chickens, everything was to be recycled. Nature flowed inside and out in the Irish cottage, while at the London flat all of the plants and flowers are fake. They both, however, construct their own cabinetry.

Some of the professor's requests in the packet she left for me were no drinking red wine in the bathtub, those are expensive limestone tiles and the wine would stain, and no standing on the sink to look in the mirror, because it does not have much keeping it up. Keep the windows shut or put a wire window contraption in it so the cat can't fall out.... I have a couple of windows open with the little fence thing--here I'm more worried about rats getting in! (There was a dead rat at my Ireland house-sit that I found outside of the shed, floating in a pie tin. Very disgusting, especially after it was infested with maggots! I could not touch it and did not want the chickens to start pecking at it, so I covered it up with a mound of dirt.) Here, I figure the animals are keeping the (most likely hoards of) rats away.
There is also quite a bit of dog and cat hair here in the flat, as you might imagine from looking at the photos of my furry friends. The thought of Riley collecting germs and small insects wherever he goes in his billowy coat makes it hard sometimes to fall asleep, I start feeling completely itchy and find it hard to breathe, like I'm inhaling the inside of a vacuum cleaner.

It's been really fun getting to know Camden and see the area with a dog as my companion. Riley is greeted by friendly smiles wherever we go and has been filmed many times by tourists (yesterday it was some Japanese people) as he goes by in the park. That is something that I really enjoy when walking Riley, how you see everyone's faces light up--what would the world be like without dogs? They bring so much joy to people.

Anyway, besides walking the dog, I've been filling my days with a variety of activities. Last week, I ventured over to Shakespeare's Globe Theatre on the Thames and went to see Timons of Athens in the famous open-air theater. You can stand as a groundling or sit on a wooden bench. I took the wooden bench with limited views, the cheapest of seated tickets. It was really neat to get to see the theater and think about all that William Shakespeare has given us with his talent, but I have to say that my limited views (I could hardly hear or see anything) from a very hard wooden bench and an American sitting next to me that ate through the whole first half, I had no idea what was even going on in the play, so I left during the intermission. I was also thinking that the animals had been alone for quite a while and after the day before, when Riley got into my suitcase and ate the box of lemon cookies that the Piggys brought me back from Italy and threw up and had diarrhea everywhere, I'd better get back.

Continuing to explore the area nearby, I spent an evening having dinner in the Primrose Hill neighborhood, about a 15 minute walk from the flat, hoping to spot some of my favorite British celebrities, Hugh Grant and Jude Law, both whom live in this neighborhood. I had walked Riley around this area earlier and we went to the top of Primrose Hill park and had an amazing view of the city--it just seemed to go on and on. Seeing the industrial skyline made me even more appreciative to be staying in a greener section of town, with some "lungs," Regent's Park. Anyway, I didn't see any celebrities, and probably will not continue my celebrity hunt because I realize really how dumb that is, but I did see some beautiful homes. It felt more like a really nice suburb where you can imagine one could easily forget that a buzzing metropolis awaits just a tube stop away.

I also went to the Wellcome Collection, a museum nearby that has more science-related exhibits (and it was free as are all of London's museums!). Here I saw a collection of skeletons that have been uncovered over the years during excavations for new construction all around the city. Graveyards that were built upon or forgotten, etc. It really was a fascinating exhibit, skeletons that were anywhere from Roman times, when London was called Londinium, to the Black Death years, to the 1800s. The scientists studied the bones and were able to come up with ideas as to what they ate, what diseases they suffered from (rickets was quite common as well as syphilis), what injuries they had, if they were obese, how old they were, what they most likely died from, etc. It was pretty amazing to think that you could have your physical life story told through your bones. There was a man from Roman times found whose teeth were completely ground down because the diet was very gritty--the lack of crevices actually protected the teeth from developing cavities. Another man was found with an arrowhead lodged in his spine that had bone growth over it, his body just took it in and adapted. There was another of a little girl that had been born with syphilis. Her bones were so brittle and tiny and her skull looked more like lumpy fruit, very sad. There was a man who had broken ribs, some that had healed, some that hadn't, and a huge dent in his head. The scientists hypothesized that the man, like many others found in the area, was most likely stumbling home drunk on a regular basis and falling down the steep stairways nearby. I found this all very fascinating as you can see! I could go on and on.

Of course another well-known fact about London is the plethora of great Indian restaurants, one of my top favorite ethnic foods. I don't think I could ever get tired of Indian food and plan to do my fair share of eating it while I am here. Yesterday I went to a place nearby and ordered the Ayurvedic vegetarian thali dish and was in heaven!

So, today I will take Riley for his walk/run--I was thinking we might head over to Hampstead Heath, a supposedly beautiful part of town a bit north of here that is very woodsy and wild. Then I have a ticket to see Vanessa Redgrave in a play called the Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion. I am looking forward to that and planning to be able to hear and see everything--a small theater, a one-woman show, and I don't think there were even any restricted views seats to sell.

I feel incredibly lucky to be here and can't believe how this all worked out! The internet can open up doors that I would never have imagined just a few years ago. I am incredibly grateful that I found some people that trusted me to step into their daily lives for a few days and given me these opportunities.

Hope everyone is well!

News from London, part I

The last couple of weeks or so have been quite a mixed bag. I was waiting to write something in Ireland until I had done some things worth writing about, but then the internet connection went down and stayed down the rest of my stay, not that it was that eventful, still.

In Kinvarra:
After getting up my nerve to walk the busy road, I went to a pub in town to listen to a music session, something that western Ireland is quite famous for, and ended up talking to some of the locals until 2am, one of whom claimed to be the best fiddler in Ireland (and his friends affirmed this). Needless to say, I may've also gotten a snippet of what I later learned was quite common in town, alcoholism that runs rampant. The fiddler said he'd been drunk for three days. Yikes! I don't think I'd ever been out this late in Ireland before and experienced firsthand a lockdown--at 12:30, the legal closing time, they lock the doors and pull the curtains so that police think the pub is closed. If you want to leave, you are locked out for the rest of the night and you are unable to visit another pub (unless you have a friend at the door to let you in). Anyway, I called a taxi to take me back to the chicken ranch and as we were driving down that scary road I saw how completely pitch black it got at night and could not see anything! I did not leave any lights on and prayed that I would be able to find the house. I made a lucky guess, asked the cab driver to pull into a driveway, and it thank the lord was the right home. I will say that it was not just paranoia that kept me off that road, but gut instinct to keep me protected--that weekend, which was a very popular weekend to be out due to the Galway horse races and the fact that most people were on holiday the week before and the week after, three people were hit walking the roads. Most likely in the dark and drunk, but still, it happens. I never ended up riding the bike. Too scared.

Besides taking in my solitude and almost going completely batty by the end from the isolation, I also went to a banquet at the medieval castle in town. I wouldn't recommend it and would most likely never do it again. Although it was cool to be inside the castle and hear some poetry and harp music, I think live jousting at Medieval Times outside of Chicago might be more worth the money. The place was full with an American tour group anyway, so I might as well have been in American suburbia. The mead was nice, though. When it was through, I once again was going to take a cab, but when I found out it was going to be two hours one of the actors from the show offered to give me a ride. This time I had left lots of lights on and was able to find it. Those country roads....

So I think I waited out the rest of the week, oh, had lunch with the neighbors which was a little bit awkward. I felt the need to prove to them that I was completely fine at the house so that they would stop coming over to check up on me (they were literally coming into the house calling for me and at one point I hid in the bathroom--it was just getting too weird--and I started locking the door if I was inside). So either I was talking rather loudly and nervously or the mother was talking and most everyone else was silent. One of the sons sat on the couch when he was done eating and started listening to his iPod.

Later that week when the husband and wife (I'm almost tempted to call them the Piggys since that is what they call each other) returned they were truly stunned at their neighbors' behavior because they probably see them once a year! Anyway, I was very happy to see them--they were concerned wondering if I had cabin fever and I almost wanted to cry as I said, a little bit. The next day, the wife took me to the Shannon airport where I flew to Glasgow, Scotland (I thought it was best to depart from Ireland at this point). I was going to walk the West Highland Way, a 95-mile walk in the Scottish Highlands, from Glasgow to Fort William, before setting out for London. The wife was very sweet and sent me off with fruit and egg salad sandwiches, made with freshly-laid eggs, of course. I was a bit sad to leave the Irish couple and still hear the husband calling their dog Barney a spastic and window-licker and the wife telling me to pay no attention to her husband and would I like anything more to eat?

In Scotland:
So after a very rough start trying to get set up in Milngavie (6 miles north of Glasgow), the point of departure for this walk, where there was absolutely no place to stay and I found myself in a pub asking to use a phonebook with a bunch of drunkards telling me I am completely insane to try and walk the West Highland Way with no accomodations booked and no tent and no proper shoes, etc., that in some places the closest hospital is 50 miles away! Had I ever heard of midges? You're going to walk ALONE? What? You were in Ireland on an archaelogical dig? (The Dingle Way.) I will admit though that I was starting to doubt myself. I had no place to stay, had no information on the West Highland Way yet than what I had read on the undiscoveredscotland website. A quiet man at the bar gave me the name of a hotel to call, that I could get a taxi, it was close. Sure enough, they had vacancies at this hotel. And when I got there, I found out an Indian restaurant and a club that stays open and bumping until 3am that I could have free entry into if I so chose. So I had an awful night's sleep and found the whole place rather creepy (men with shaved eyebrows?) but the best part of it was the taxi ride over. I was telling the taxi driver my plans, but that I may need to change them and told him what the men at the pub were saying (one of them did own and run the shop across the street that outifts walkers and prepares people for the WHW, so they weren't all completely clueless morons). He said, what? Are you going to let a bunch of drunks at a pub disway you from doing what you set out to do? And then went on to tell me about his son's experience walking the WHW and how he plans to do it someday himself. It was all very reassuring and kind. But it also made me think, yeah, since when did I start taking advice from drunks in pubs? Listen to your gut!

So, I set out the next day on the West Highland Way. It was to be 7 days of walking, from one little Scottish village to the next. This time I had some new socks, however, and found that old socks were most likely the reason for my horrible blisters in Ireland. This time the only blister problems occurred at the end of the walk and were the same old blisters from before that hadn't gone away yet. There was a great group of people from all over that were on the same schedule as I and at the end of the day there was always a pub where everyone gathered to eat a good meal and have a pint. The scenery was fantastic. The walking was great, challenging only in a few places, but very well laid out and maintained and not much road-walking at all, my main complaint of the Dingle Way. There was a point near Glencoe (more Chicago suburbs) that was comparable I'd say to some places in Glacier National Park, the mountains are majestic, dramatic, heavenly. They truly can take your breath away. To feel like just a speck in the whole of things is such an awesome feeling. The one thing I'd recommend, if anyone is considering this walk, is to not go in August. The midges (insects that are like flying fleas that leave bites that swell up and ooze and itch like crazy) were horrendous in some places, you have to use skin-so-soft and wear a face net--both of which I did not have on me when they first descended and thus have about thirty itchy bites on my legs and arms and cheeks (luckily the bites on my face have not itched or oozed). Anyway, the midges are to be taken seriously and this was the worst time to be around them. There were warnings on windows and doors to not let the midges in--they would travel around in swarms. And some walkers that were camping had the worst of it--they would go into their tents to find them lined with midges, a black film covering the entire interior. Another reason to not go in August is that this is vacation time for the entire continent and hostels were packed (snoring!!!) and sometimes it was hard to get a bed for a decent price. Again, a lot of people were having their bags taken from village to village for a small fee, which would've made things easier, but some of us trucked it along--including a 50+ Danish priest who'd walked the Camino to Santiago in Spain 4 times. Anyway, I greatly enjoyed my time in Scotland, I'd love to spend more time there, there is so much to see! And there are many more walks to do. But it was time to head to the bustling city of London to begin my next pet-sit.

Life in the Burren

So I suppose I've developed a bit of a routine, if you can call it that, this first week. I get up--have been getting up earlier and earlier now that I'm all recovered from my walk--have my oatmeal and tea and then tend to the animals (well, after I check my email).

First, to the shed. Out of the rodents, the guinea pig, Binny, seems to be the friendliest and most excited to see me (or get his food). He resides in a large plastic container that's perched above the rabbits' fenced in area and whenever I come in he comes up to the edge and looks as though he's going to leap out. He has a little wooden house to sleep in.

There's usually a rabbit sitting in the litter box below while the rest nestle together in a corner. I feed them, give them their fruit and veggies (apple, carrots, some cabbage leaves), make sure they have fresh hay, water, and scoop up their little rabbit pellets that did not make in the litter box. The rabbit sitting in the litter box does not move an inch while I do this. I put their leftover food in a bucket that gets mixed in with the chickens' food pellets and oatmeal, their droppings and all. It kind of amazes me that these animals will poop in their food and eat it. Anyway, I turn on the classical music radio station for them, leave the shed door open for fresh air and sunlight, and head to the chicken coop.

As soon as the chickens see me they start bawking (and it sounds like they're saying in very concerned voices, Ohhhh! Oh, myyyy!) and as I get inside their run I have to be careful not to step on their feet because they stand right in front of wherever it is I seem to be going. I give them their food and they begin gobbling it down like crazy. I check their water and then check the eggs. There has typically been 8 to 9 eggs in the morning. I collect the eggs that are then dated and stored for the woman to pick up next week. The chickens don't get let out until noon because some still have eggs to lay and if the door is open the lurking magpies might fly in and try to steal the eggs. Once I let them out they are everywhere. Yesterday I spent some time writing in the kitchen with the door open listening to the wife's Middle Eastern music on the GigaJuke (very handy contraption) and two chickens hung out on the steps, peering in at me, and pooping. This has been something that I've found rather disgusting and I'd like to look into permaculture theory to find out ways that this can be useful and contained rather than contaminating. I would also like to have my own chickens sometime but would not be able to tolerate the mess everywhere. Perhaps they can be trained to use a litter box.

So, like I said, I've been trying to develop a routine. I'm making an effort to get out and go for walks, although the weather has been less than inviting (rainy, cold, dreary). When I was walking the Dingle Way I didn't really feel like I had much of a choice to hang back because of the weather--I took a rest if my body needed it, otherwise I needed to keep moving if I was going to make it in time to my destination. Here it's a lot easier to want to stay inside with everything I need. I think this has been a concern to the neighbors down the road, an older couple with two sons in their 30s that live with them. On Tuesday, I was napping on the couch in the middle of the day after not getting enough sleep the night before. I opened my eyes and saw a man looking in the window. I immediately got up and went out to say hello but felt a little odd at the same time because I was wearing my yukata, a casual Japanese kimono that is very comfortable--people wear them all over the place in public in Japan, but here I'm guessing I looked like someone that stays in their bathrobe all day. The man asked me if everything was alright and if I needed to get into town and go to the shops, that they hadn't seen me outside and asked if I was scared being in the house alone. I said I was fine, just a little concerned about the busy road. I said perhaps I would go into town tomorrow. Everything was fine. He walked back home, which would be equal to a couple of blocks, using crutches, he'd just had hip surgery. I felt bad that I didn't invite him in for a cup of tea, which is the custom, but the awkward glances at my yukata caused me to feel a bit uncomfortable.

So the next day I was just doing my thing, took care of the animals, got out a lawn chair and sat in the sun (it was a beautiful sunny day, but the chickens were pecking at me and trying to get on the lawn chair), met the woman that came and picked up the eggs, and so forth. I decided I was in the mood for eggs and was going to eat a couple that were freshly laid for lunch. As I was getting my lunch ready, I saw a car waiting at the gate and honking. I looked out. Now, I've already been warned by the husband and wife to not talk to anyone that comes to the gate unless I'm expecting them, they told me they don't have any friends or people that come to see them (a bit of an exaggeration to get the point across of course). I've also been warned about travellers and tinkers, unsettled and displaced Irish that go from place to place and swindle you, take everything they can, even the tiles off your roof, drink a lot, get into bar fights, and their mode of speaking is shouting (I think I ran into one of them while I was walking a couple of summers ago--a very strange man that shouted at me asking for the time). But they kept honking, so I went down to see who it was. It was the man again and one of his sons, asking if I wanted to go into town to get groceries. I said thanks but I was just making lunch. Well, an hour later, I was reading outside, and saw the same car sitting by the gate. I went over and found that it was the same younger of the two sons. He asked if I wanted to go into town now and go to the shops. I found this to be very kind and comforting to know that these neighbors were looking after me, but at the same time wondered if this was going to be a daily occurence. So we went into town and I asked him about the busy road, if it is safe and all that. I keep getting assured that it is safe and plan to use it to get around. I picked up a couple of things at the store, he waited, got petrol, and took me back. It was nice to see people out and about.

Then later that night the woman of the family, while I was watching the news, again in my yukata, started knocking on the glass door. She'd been out walking the family dog and wanted to see if I was okay, if it was hard living out in the countryside, if the hens were getting on alright. Very sweet, very kind. But once again, there I was in my yukata, getting awkward looks--well, perhaps I'm just imagining the awkward looks. I'm sure they are stopping by to also see how everything is going at the house--she was eyeing the kitchen, perhaps to see if I was keeping it tidy. Before she left she invited me to their family lunch on Sunday.

Yesterday I had no visitors, but did get out for a walk in the Burren. The terrain was extremely worn down grey rocks divided up into these tiny canyons. You definitely have to watch your step or you could easily twist your ankle. The tricky part was not stepping into the crevices covered up by plants, grass or shrubs. I managed to spend a couple of hours wandering around pretty much unused Burren farmland, which was divided up by stone walls, until I ran into some cows that were grazing. I get rather nervous around large animals that are just free to trample me if they want and with absolutely no one else around I decided I needed to leave that section as quickly as possible and climbed over the nearest wall (very low wall).

Perhaps I'm going on and on in detail and boring you three readers out there. I guess this is what happens when you don't have anyone around to talk to except animals. I really haven't minded the solitude and don't feel that isolated. I guess knowing that it's only for 2 weeks makes it alright. If it was 2 years I probably have to change some things. Anyway, I've really been enjoying the experience and by not having constant distractions and comforts of city life has made me continue to simplify my perspective. I wouldn't mind some hot summer weather, however. It is rather dreary and cold today (thank you global warming) and I'm debating having a fire in the fireplace.