Spring and Swimming

Ahhh, spring. As the United States falls into a deep and dark winter (both weather-wise and economically), Argentina has moved into a tropical spring/summer (Although Argentina is in a perptual state of recession). For me, this means my first period of sustained sun and warmth in over two years. My body had more or less shut down in the last year, a permanent state of hibernation, surviving but not thriving. Now my leaves are beginning to grow again, my mind is turning positive, and finally I have energy. I recommend never skipping summer.

Ahh, spring. When a young mans thoughts turn to.....Well, if your me, they turn to asado

Yes, I'm still obsessed. I've foresaken my catholic roots. I now pray to the cow.

As I write this, it's Friday night at about 10 pm and if I could take a picture that somehow included smells, you would all sell your first borns to come down here. The smell of grilled meat is heavenly, intoxicating. I never thought I'd be writing these words, having for many years been as good as vegetarian....But the meat is simply that good down here.

Luckily, I've met some Swedish guys, newly arrived at my former host family's casa, who share my passion for the carne. Our quest together is to tour the city's parillas trying all sorts of new nasty bits. Tomorrow, we will share a 4 person parillada (A small grill brought to the table with a gazillion cuts of meat) while we plan our own asado as well as a trip to Tandil, a town in the Pampas known for its meat. In Tandil, the plan is to hike around and then spend the rest of the time searching out the best butcher shops in the town and then making our own asado on the grill of our cabin. I can't wait.

Ok, enough about meat. The spring here has been invigorating in general. The city has come to life. People fill the streets at all hours and there is a sense of something having lifted, a cloud or veil, allowing people to breath easier and be healthy again.

For me, the city is still like nails on a chalkboard. My trip home to the states helped me alleviate a ton of stress and I returned invigorated and ready to face the city. Now after over 3 weeks back, my stress level is still low, but I still feel a bit uncomfortable, on edge, as if I'm battling the city and not flowing. The tension is great for learning, reflecting, and growing. But sometimes you just want to be able to sit back, in a cocoon of sorts, and be able to relax completely. In the city, I'm not sure if it's possible. If you are too relaxed, then you ought to put up your guard a bit.

My former host mother is always imploring me to watch out for myself and be on the lookout for crooks. I always thought she was being hysterical until her mother told me about the 4 or 5 times that she'd been robbed in her life, the most recent having been this past weekend. Argelia's mom has had her house broken into and liquidated, almost everything of value taken. She has been pick-pocketed 3 or more times. And one time about 4 years back she was encountered by drunken or drugged out thieves who stole her purse and then tried to slit her throat (the only thing saving her being her polar fleece 'bufanda' or scarf). The veracity of these stories I can't confirm, but she's not the sort of woman to make these things up. Before my family freaks out after reading this, I want to point out that I, knock on wood, have not had any such encounters. I had things stolen from my travel bags once, but nothing else. I think that crooks here prey on the sick and the old, as well as the kind, naieve, and innocent. And this is why I say that you can never and should never relax in Buenos Aires, or any big city I suppose. It's a shame, but it has also forced me to open my eyes. My mind has become much quicker here, much sharper, much more ready to make an important snap judgement or observation. I considered this today as I walked home from work, how my mind jumped from person to person, assessing their situation, their motives, their intentions, their economic status etc. At the start of my trip, these thoughts were forced and draining- now they are effortless and second nature.

One thing is certain, however. Humans were not meant to spend 5 months in this city without a substantial break. This was the amount of time I spent here before my trip home to the states. By that time, I was frazzled, frustrated, stressed, my teeth grinding through the night. To combat this, I have decided to get out of the city on a more regular basis. As I said, next weekend, I plan on accompanying the Swedes to the Pampas for hiking and grilling. Then in the middle of January I take off for a full 2 weeks to San Martin De Los Andes, a mountain town on the border of Chile in Southern Argentina. I'm going there with 6 friends, 5 women and one guy (a newly minted doctor). We're going to act like hippies except I'm going to be grilling out a ton. In San Martin, I plan to hike, mountain bike, canoe, kayak, horseback ride, swim, sunbathe, and of course, make asado.

Speaking of relaxing and getting out of the city, I have come to realize that my choice to buy a 6 month pass to Megatlon was one of the best decisions I've made since I've been down here. Megatlon is not only a refuge from the busy city, it has also lowered my stress level significantly, given me a place to cool off in the sometimes unbearable heat, and helped me to get healthy. Swimming has become a new passion or at least a curiosity for me. In fact, yesterday I had the best swim of my life. I swam 80 lengths of the pool and felt like I could have swam for another hour non-stop. The truth is that I'm a terrible swimmer. I've never been good at it. I can remember as a kid almost always being the slowest one in swimming lessons and I simply never felt comfortable in the water. For many years, I avoided swimming altogether. It seemed like a lot of work, especially for something I didn't enjoy doing in the first place. However, after giving it another try, I've really come to enjoy it and I think I'm improving. I'm still inefficient, I can't flip turn or anything fancy like that, and I still don't always feel comfortable in the pool, but every now and then, I find my rhythm and it's like hitting the sweetspot on a seven iron or riding flawlessly through the pipe of a wave-connecting with harmony.

But it wasn't always this way. When I was just getting started, I had to fight my way through the lanes every day. First of all, in Buenos Aires, there is limited space and a limited number of pools. I pay a ton for my gym membership, but it doesn't matter. I still share a lane with at least 2 people every time I swim. The most people I have shared a lane with is 10 and the average is 4-5 people per lane. In the states, I never would have swum under these circumstances. The things is, though, that once you live in the big city for a while, you learn that you have to fight for your space and make things work. That is, if you make the trip all the way to the gym and there are 10 people in one lane, you jump in that lane and you put up with the kicks and shoves, you doggy paddle if you have to in order to get your laps in. In the end, you may not have alleviated your stress, but you got a workout and more importantly, you didn't let anyone keep you from doing what you set out to do.

Having sharpened my observation skills, I have identified a number of types of swimmers at my Megatlon. I'd like initially to point out that purely from an objective point of view, Argentine men are considerably hairier than the average man. On top of that, I believe that the heavy meat diet makes them bulky and massive, not in a body builder sort of way, but in more of a well fed animal sort of way. I have come to name a few of the swimmers with whom I share the 'Nado Medio' lane (translation: I swim at a medium speed).

The first and most consistent person with whom I share a lane is the 'Oso' (bear) or as I call him when he is making me feel slow, 'The lumbering mass'. The lumbering mass is a large hairy man who can swim for an hour non-stop. He never spends any time fooling around or catching his breath at the wall, he always swims freestyle, and I can hear his bearish grunting noises underwater. He is a solid swimmer, always keeps to the right side of the lane, and very much resembles a bear in his movements. I am a fan of the lumbering mass because he is very predictable and courteous.

The next swimmer I have nicknamed mockingly the 'rey de la pileta' or The king of the pool. The rey de la pileta is a much better swimmer than me. He's a normal looking middle aged guy who will do whatever it takes to swim for an hour non-stop. If someone is in front of him slowing him down, he will always try to overtake them, regardless of whether someone is coming down the other side of the lane, regardless of any situation. He has taken city Buenos Aires living to the nth degree. He stops for nothing, cares about no one, never apologizes or pardons himself, and essentially does whatever it takes to have the exact swimming experience that he desires. I detest the rey de la pileta. In fact, after he more or less deliberately ran into an older woman, I engaged in a game of swimming chicken with him, just to disrupt his progress. Very mature.

The last regular for whom I have a name I call La quejadora or The complainer. La quejadora is an older woman who swims very slowly who is always complaining to the lifeguards about someone around her or about the conditions of the pool. Everything else is to blame for her not enjoying or having the perfect swimming experience. She very much has an external locus of control in this sense. She also is very inconsiderate. For instance, she doesn't notice when people are swimming very close behind her and doesn't think to let those people swim in front of her at the turn. Further, she swims down the middle of the lane, doesn't move to the side of the wall when another swimmer is approaching (So the swimmer can't kick off the wall), and she talks to you as if you're the one who is being inconsiderate. In general, however, La quejadora doesn't bother me much. She swims slowly and her style, while frustrating, is predictable. I know that I have to be in front of her and that I have to watch closely every time that I pass her in the other direction because she's often in the center of the lane.

The remainder of the regular swimmers I put in the category of squatters. These folks are not as interested in swimming as they are in hanging out against the wall of the pool, chatting, bobbing their heads underwater, and stretching. They typically do not make room for approaching swimmers to kick off the wall nor rest. Squatters occupy their space against the wall as if simply hanging out in a lane were what lanes were for. This bothers me.

I suppose if I've illustrated anything through my observations of my pool time it's that I don't have much of a life. While that may be true, it is my life, however pathetic...And these people with whom I occupy the pool everyday have become my silent companions. Maybe they have a nickname for me too. Like the surly Yankee or the skinny dork.