Out of some stubbornness and insistance on using my own computer, I have neglected to write since I arrived early early Sunday morning.
Another factor has been an equally stubborn sinus infection, which, much to my dismay on this first Friday night, still persists. If I wake up tomorrow disappointed, I will be seeing a doctor for some antibiotics.
A lot has happened, and even in this first week I have seen a lot, heard a lot, and gotten a good feel for this country and how it differs from my home. I am using Spanish all the time, and it still baffles me that this set of sounds can elicit responses in other people, even though they barely make sense to me.
But, I am about to go dine with a student of mine and his family, and I am weary. My head is too full of mucuous to have much else in it right now.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Photos of Buenos Aires #2
A corner.
A view of apartments.
International House, where I take Spanish classes.
"You don't think it twice."
Eraser + EvaSunday, July 19, 2009
I have received my assignment: I will be teaching at the Instituto Babel, in Monte Maiz.
Here is a map:
View Larger Map
I don't know much about the place, information comes piecemeal here. Bridges are never crossed before they are come to.
When I was applying for the program, I was perturbed by the fact that there were no papers or contracts or signings, simply the word of mouth. One more cultural difference to go on the list.
Another is the universal greeting here: a kiss on the cheek, which, as an American, took some getting used to. I was very surprised by Maria's greeting when she picked me up at the airport. However, I'm starting to appreciate it. Being so close to someone when you first meet them breaks down barriers that a handshake cannot.
Today, I went to Maria's family home in the suburbs to celebrate her father's birthday (feliz cumpleanos), but ended up spending most of my time napping. Hostel life is not very hospitable, so I am looking forward a great deal to getting a real bed and a real room and quiet, sweet quiet, that rambunctious internationals devoted to a good time cannot.
Regardless, I ate some good lasagna, coffee, cake, and was able to listen in on plenty of conversation en castellano (the term for the Spanish language here). I am getting better all the time.
Here is a map:
View Larger Map
I don't know much about the place, information comes piecemeal here. Bridges are never crossed before they are come to.
When I was applying for the program, I was perturbed by the fact that there were no papers or contracts or signings, simply the word of mouth. One more cultural difference to go on the list.
Another is the universal greeting here: a kiss on the cheek, which, as an American, took some getting used to. I was very surprised by Maria's greeting when she picked me up at the airport. However, I'm starting to appreciate it. Being so close to someone when you first meet them breaks down barriers that a handshake cannot.
Today, I went to Maria's family home in the suburbs to celebrate her father's birthday (feliz cumpleanos), but ended up spending most of my time napping. Hostel life is not very hospitable, so I am looking forward a great deal to getting a real bed and a real room and quiet, sweet quiet, that rambunctious internationals devoted to a good time cannot.
Regardless, I ate some good lasagna, coffee, cake, and was able to listen in on plenty of conversation en castellano (the term for the Spanish language here). I am getting better all the time.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Volume
I can, however, always be as loud as I want to. With no repercussions or scoldings. So I let the noise rock play.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
-Phones, Anglo- and Latino-
English is not totally absent from here, especially here in the hostel. In fact, English is the lingua franca amongst peoples not just from South America, but Europe too. Still, there is a subtle difference between the way I speak and the speech of an Australian. I am staying with a dozen Americans, but our conversation is devoted to this new world we are in and the huge differences that surround us.
The effect is mind-numbing. The range of my English is contracting, and the expansion of my Spanish (which is spoken at least fifty percent of the time) cannot keep up. I am starved for dialogue. But change never comes without discomfort; there must always be a period of transition, when one thing yields to another, and the gap that remains in the meantime stretches and adapts to the shape of the new thing.
The novelty of this place keeps me alert, though:
Asado is delicious. It is meat, pork ribs and cow belly and blood sausage, slowly grilled over coals, leaving it crispy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. Argentines think the way Americans grill, with the flames licking the meat, is silly. I am tempted to agree, but I know I would be just as thankful for an American hamburger off a Weber grill.
Argentines despise breaking bills. They are almost unfailingly offended by the idea, so don't try to break a hundred-peso note (which is the smallest denomination ATMs give out) without buying something.
There are no free refills here. When you pay six pesos for a Coca Cola, that is all you will get, unless, of course, you pay for more. Even water costs money, so saying "Yo quiero agua" will not save you any money. Even at McDonald's. Yes, I ate there; it was pretty much the same, except for slight differences in the menu (there are a lot of ads for the "Big Tasty Bacon" around the city), and it was even more depressing, because McDonald's is actually more expensive than many other restaurants. Anyways, I gather that the free-refill phenomenon is actually unique to the U. S. and Canada.
Ah, such are the ways in which our lives differ. But they are toys, playthings, shiny objects that will, with time, inevitably lose their luster. They are filler, until a more substantial familiarity with the culture and the language comes to take their place.
The effect is mind-numbing. The range of my English is contracting, and the expansion of my Spanish (which is spoken at least fifty percent of the time) cannot keep up. I am starved for dialogue. But change never comes without discomfort; there must always be a period of transition, when one thing yields to another, and the gap that remains in the meantime stretches and adapts to the shape of the new thing.
The novelty of this place keeps me alert, though:
Asado is delicious. It is meat, pork ribs and cow belly and blood sausage, slowly grilled over coals, leaving it crispy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. Argentines think the way Americans grill, with the flames licking the meat, is silly. I am tempted to agree, but I know I would be just as thankful for an American hamburger off a Weber grill.
Argentines despise breaking bills. They are almost unfailingly offended by the idea, so don't try to break a hundred-peso note (which is the smallest denomination ATMs give out) without buying something.
There are no free refills here. When you pay six pesos for a Coca Cola, that is all you will get, unless, of course, you pay for more. Even water costs money, so saying "Yo quiero agua" will not save you any money. Even at McDonald's. Yes, I ate there; it was pretty much the same, except for slight differences in the menu (there are a lot of ads for the "Big Tasty Bacon" around the city), and it was even more depressing, because McDonald's is actually more expensive than many other restaurants. Anyways, I gather that the free-refill phenomenon is actually unique to the U. S. and Canada.
Ah, such are the ways in which our lives differ. But they are toys, playthings, shiny objects that will, with time, inevitably lose their luster. They are filler, until a more substantial familiarity with the culture and the language comes to take their place.
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