The Shortest Day of the Year

Fin

2009-06-25T17:20:00.000-07:00

The experience is over. I'm back in North Canton spending time with my parents and family for a few weeks before moving to Denver to start a new job.

The normally arduous flight back to Ohio from BA was shortened significantly via great conversations with college students coming back from Buenos Aires after a 4 month study abroad program. Together, we reflected, affirmed and validated each other, and breathed mutual sighs of relief to be leaving the big city. And we admitted that we would likely miss it.

In Atlanta, it was sad to see the Argentines peel off to their respective terminals to catch their connecting flights. My last interaction was with an older Argentine woman who looked confused on the terminal train in Atlanta. I asked her where she was going and explained to her where she needed to get off. And when I left the train before her I said, 'chau!' and she fittingly responded, 'bye bye!'.

So I've been thinking about the take away. The biggest lesson I've learned here. The different forms of thinking and ways of seeing I experienced throughout my life in Argentina. I went from in love with the city to overwhelmed by the city to culture shock to deep pessimmism and frustration to enjoying the city and country in the summer and finally to coming to an understanding of the city, learning the game, and ending with mixed feelings.

In short, what it comes down to is that for much of the trip I felt burned by the city and some of the people (one more than the rest). And so I'd become pessimistic and super critical of the place. It was as if Buenos Aires had been a best friend who stole my girlfriend but then wanted to be my friend again. And for most of the trip, I wasn't having it. I was wary of the city and people and biding my time to leave. But over time I came to understand the city better. While I couldn't accept many of the characteristics that led me to my initial cynical view, I at least understood.

I think I had become infected by a sort of existential every man for himself jaundiced view of the city. I call it the Porteno Mentality. I'd seen it time and time again, in about half of my friends and a significant number of people that I interacted with every day. In fact, most of the people I did business with or wanted to do business with were wary of me upon our initial meeting, as if even my desire to give them money to procure a service had some type of ulterior viveca criollo motive.

But after a while I realized that my negativity was becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. That is, even if someone responded to me in a genuine and honest way, my negativity and heightened wariness soured the interaction and made the result negative. For instance, when the mailman called up to my apartment to tell me that I was late on one of my bills, I immediately thought he was a crook trying to get me to open up my door so he could rob me. I told him rudely to leave, only to find out later that he was right. I was late on my bill and the fact that I waited longer to pay it meant that I had to take a 2 hour trip across town to pay the bill at a special location.

Once I made a number of these mistakes, I began to realize that half of my problems were my fault: my negativity, my lack of trust, my newfound Porteno Mentality.

So I tried to change. I tried hard to be positive until I had evidence to the contrary. And I also tried to overcompensate to try to undo others pessimissm by opening doors, giving bigger than normal tips, catching people on the bus and subway when they were jarred to the floor by sharp turns or jerky stops, and helping out whenever the opportunity presented itself. I also tried hard to do what I said I was going to do, be on time, return emails and calls, and do nice things for people without expecting anything in return or without ulterior motives. I found meaning in the work of undoing the Porteno Mentality, of trying to be selfless and responsible in the hopes of showing people that their cynicism and wariness, to the degree that it exists in BA, is unwarranted.

Now that it's all over and I'm back in a place where the Porteno Mentality doesn't exist, I find myself still negative, todavia Porteno. For example, I travelled up to a used car dealership to check out a car that had a clean carfax report and that I was told over the phone was in great shape. In reality, the car was a wreck. It had clearly been repaired after an accident, had a bolt sticking out of one of the tires, had been terribly repainted to hide the accident, had almost no oil in the engine, and was visibly dripping oil underneath. I didn't even have to turn the car on to know that it was junk. I felt burned again. Stupid for having trusted any used car salesman, despite the clean carfax report.

After the experience, my Porteno Mentality told me never to trust another used car salesman. That they were all dishonest and that I should completely exclude dealerships from my car searches. And then I remembered what I had learned. I realized that generalizing one bad experience to all used car salesmen would result in a much more difficult search. I told myself that while I might run across more dishonest car salesmen, there were bound to be a few honest ones with good cars to sell. I had to keep being cautiously optimistic in order to not pass up a potential opportunity. Because if I dismissed the veracity of all car salesmen, I'd be missing out on a great deal.

So the next reasonable deal I saw, I decided to check it out, despite the fact that it was yet another used car dealership. As it turned out, this vehicle was much better than the last. It had not been in an accident, but had some dings and dents and had been well used in general. However, it was mechanically sound and the salesman was genuinely forthcoming in telling me everything that was wrong with the vehicle. His honesty was refreshing and he proved my point when he agreed with me that the car was too well worn to trust at the price it was being sold at, or any price for that matter.

The take away then is that an attitude of cautious optimism yields better results than outright cynicism. There are dishonest people out there. But their opposites exist too. If you are negative about everyone, you will miss out on the good in life. Even when it happens to you, you won't recognize it. And it will happen to you less because you will sour potential opportunities. It's simply the way the world works.

Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

2009-06-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

In my 1st and 2nd years of graduate school, I lived in a cheap and efficient but terrible apartment. I was proud of myself for having found what I thought was the best combination of cheap, efficient, and most well located place on campus. I even took over someone's lease and therefore didn't have to put down a deposit. The apartment cost $425/month. It had one bedroom, a living room, a windowless office (to prepare me for life as a school psychologist), and a small nook kitchen. The utility costs were negligible and it was a short bike ride to the gym, university center, and grocery store. I thought I'd love it.

In the end, I learned the meaning of the saying, You get what you pay for. Or in Argentina, lo que sale barato al fin sale caro. Or what's cheap ends up being expensive. Allow me to run down the issues with the apartment.

1. Train: I was less than 30 yards from train tracks and the train passed multiple times daily and nightly. And every time it did, because it was a college town and drunken college kids were known to wander down the tracks, it would blare its horn relentlessly and invariably wake me up multiple times throughout the night.

2. Former uranium processing plant: I was about 250 yards away from a former uranium processing plant. I didn't believe the rumor at first but confirmed it by going to talk to the city's environmental director who showed me the former map of the area and gave me the history of the 2 botched cleanups. It turns out that in WWII we disguised a uranium processing plant with a dairy farm smack dab in the middle of Oxford. It has been cleaned up twice, but doubts remain as to the quality of the cleanup. On top of it now sits new student housing that some builder finally got the guts to build, as if 50 years were enough for the effects of radioactive material to dissipate.

3. Lack of Airconditioning: There was one window unit in the apartment that did little to cool even the kitchen area which it blew right into. And in the inferno Oxford summers I had a technique of running my fan in the window all night and putting in front of it a large bowl of ice from my freezer. The semi cool air usually lasted about 30 minutes and I tried my hardest to fall asleep in this time.

4. Neighbors: The house next to me seemed to have parties every night. My upstairs neighbor I called my roommate because I could hear her every move. I knew when she got home at 3 in the morning. I could hear her vomit at 8 in the morning when I'd wake up early to finish reports before class. And worst of all, I had to call the police on her when she threw a huge Rocky Horror Picture Show party. I had a test the next day and was trying to sleep and at 4 in the morning, after asking twice for them to quiet down, I brought the cops into the game...And it worked. The party broke up. But when I walked out of my apartment in the morning, I realized that no good deed goes unpunished. I think every partgoer, or at least a a few, had taken turns peeing on my door.

When I finished my stay, I was more than happy to be leaving. Leaving, however, didn't turn out to be as easy as I'd hoped. My upstairs neighbor left a week before I did. She moved like she lived. Sloppily and loudly. Everything was packed up in large black trash bags and thrown down flights of stairs. When it came time for the big couches and chairs, she simply pushed them down the stairs. It sounded as if someone were tumbling boulders through the apartment all day.

When her Uhaul finally pulled out, I breathed at least 10 sighs of relief. Good riddance. But it wasn't that easy. One Saturday night while I was watching a movie in my apartment, I heard a crash come from my bathroom. I walked in to see what had happened and found that my ceiling had caved in. I called building maintenance and they were there in 5 minutes (If it were only so in Argentina!!!). The guy must have come straight from the bar because he was half drunk and when he barged into the empy apartment above me found a flooded apartment. My ex-neighbor had left the water running slightly in her bathtub and because her drain was clogged, the water backed up and flooded the bathroom and the surrounding apartment. It was as if the ghost of my neighbor had stuck around to make sure that I wasn't getting too comfortable.

It's been a long time since I've had an apartment situation that bad. But my current apartment I think I can officially say has been the worst ever. Allow me to go down the list:

1. Dirty: For the first time in my life, I had to do serious cleaning before entering an apartment. In every single apartment I've rented in the US, it's cleaned before I enter. This one, no. There were dirty rags and paint cans scattered all over the place and it was generally filthy. I called the owner to ask him if someone was going to clean it and he said 'yeah, you are'. Welcome to Argentina.

2. Loud: Want to dream of monsters every night? Come to my apartment and try to sleep. If you can sleep through the window rattling busses that pass every 2 minutes, or the lawn mower mo-peds, you may be lucky enough to dream that you're stuck in the bowels of a brontasaurus.

3. Busted: Almost everything has broken once in this apartment. Allow me to go down the list: Water heater, toilet, clogged kitchen sink, exploding lights in the kitchen and bedroom (because light bulbs burned through cables that were placed too close), clogged bathtub, broken pipe under the kitchen sink, leaky pipes in the bathroom sink, bathroom door, doors to my balcony, oven, wooden curtains in both the living room and bedroom, internet 5 times, possible gas leak, elevator, no water 2 times for almost a total of a week. Put more simply, the only thing that hasn't broken is my wall heater. Knock on wood.

The apartment has more or less been a disaster. Or an almost constant test of my patience and problem solving ability. And just as my apartment during graduate school gave me a fun sendoff, this one too has not disappointed, right in time for my last week here.

A few days ago, I went to use my bathroom and noticed that the water was not running constantly in the toilet as it usually does. Bad sign. That means that at least my cold water is not turned on. Someone in the building, as often happens, had turned it off without informing me. Maybe it'll be back on by the end of the day, I thought.

Tomorrow will be day 4 without any water, hot or cold. No one bothered to inform me. And when I complained to the building janitor and the building administrator, I received annoyed responses that it's the weekend and the plumber can't come on the weekend. And today when I asked why the plumber wasn't there fixing the problem, the janitor looked at me like I was the stupidest guy in the world and said, feriado. Or that it's a holiday and that the plumber doesn't work on holidays. Then the janitor, visibly annoyed, said look Patrick, if you want water, you can get it from the side of the building. It was equivalent to when I was 13 years old and a caddy and there was no more water in the water cooler and Kip the caddymaster scowled, 'Drink from the hose'.

And so I've been been taking my empty water bottles up and down the 7 flights of stairs multiple times daily to manually flush my toilet, wash my hands, and boil water to wash dishes. And I still have to go to my friend's apartment or the gym to shower.

The good thing is that the janitor and the building administrator don't seem to be terribly bothered by the fact that the majority of the building is without water. To them, it seems like second nature. No water, no problem. And they have water in their places so no biggy.

And so, after complaining better and more clearly in Spanish than I have ever complained. I mean, I had the building manager reeling and nervous. And still, nothing came of it. My experience here is that you can complain until you're blue in the face and it doesn't change a thing.

I was spoiled in the US where a well worded complaint and perseverance often leads to action. Here they just don't seem to care.

So because there's really nothing I can do now but wait it out and live like a boyscout in my-what's expensive for Buenos Aires-apartment, I'm trying to think about this all more philosophically. How can I make an opportunity out of this situation. Lemonade out of lemons.

I think for me this inconvenience means being much more adaptable than I typically am. Being a 30-year-old bachelor who has lived on his own for many years now means that I have my rituals and have become a bit rigid in my every day routine. As such, I like things to work and go as I expect them to go and when they don't, I'm easily upset. What does this say about my ability to raise children, God only knows....In any case, this apartment is constantly confounding my rituals. I can never fully count on my day going off without some type of hitch. So I'm almost constantly having to deal with the unexpected. Which is good for me.

I've also started to become aware of how much water we use on an every day basis. Did you know that it takes a good 10 Liters of water to manually flush my toilet? By God, we ought to flush less often. And it also takes a good liter and a half to wash your hands, if you are quick. If I do this long enough, I might change my water usage habits semi-permanently.

Going without water has also forced me to get out more often in my final days here. I have hermit like tendencies and having to beg my friends to use their showers and sinks has forced me to do something I should be doing anyway-seeing the people who have made my stay here what it's been. For instance, yesterday my friend Cecilia and I travelled to La Plata, 1 hour away by bus and hung out at the zoo and ate at an awesome parilla. And today I went over to my friend Erica's to take a shower and chat for a while.

So as Buenos Aires gets me back for all the times I've trashed it in this blog, I've been trying to turn it around. I don't know if everything in life happens for a reason. That to me is a cliche. But I do think you can turn everything into some type of opportunity. And as the door hits me on my way out of Buenos Aires, I'm trying to see it instead as a friendly and useful tap on the arse.

Final Thoughts I

2009-06-07T12:51:00.000-07:00

I'll be home in 2 weeks and my blog will end at the same time as my experience.

I want to have a total of 52 entries to represent the 52 weeks of my stay. This entry is number 50.

I arrived in BA on the Shortest Day of the Year (2008) and will leave on the 20th of June 2009, the longest day in the North.

It's transitioning from fall to winter. The mornings and nights are chilly (though nothing like in Ohio), the trees have lost most of their leaves, the autumn incense is no longer, it's getting dark a little after 5 pm, and people in the streets are huddled in coats and scarves. It feels kind of like Holiday time in the states.

These days, I spend most of my evenings inside writing or preparing classes and more than ever attending yoga classes and chatting with friends in their apartments or online. I'm cooking more too since it's not as hot as it was before and it actually feels good to turn on the oven and fill the apartment with the smell of a chicken roast with onions, garlic, carrots, and rosemary.

My apartment is becoming emptier and emptier too as I clean it out, give away, and sell stuff. Where my futon used to be sits a blanket and a pillow on the wood floor for when I want to watch TV before bed. And a half an hour is about all I can take since my butt hurts too much after that. Luckily, I still have cable even though I'm not paying for it. I even told Fibertel that this was the case, but the guy who came to fix my internet (after it went down for the 5th unexplained time this year) gave it to me anyway after we concluded a chat about how much he likes the US and how he wants to buy a US flag. I thought he was kidding. I asked snarkily, 'Why do you want a US flag?' He replied, 'Porque me encanta Los Estados Unidos' (Because I love the United States). It was surprising to hear that from an Argentine. In fact, it's the first time I've heard one say it.

In any case, he gave me cable and I gave him a glass of water and a powerbar from the U.S. I also rifled through my clothes to see if I had anything with a US flag on it that I could give him, but there was nothing. I really wanted to leave him with some sort of memento from the States.

Anyhow, in the next 13 or so days, I'll be finishing up my work with the family from San Francisco as well as teaching English one last class with the former ambassador from Columbia to the UN. I'll also be eating out with my friends, saying goodbye to Argelia and her family, preparing my trip here in December, going out to movies and dinners with Cecilia, and preparing a bit to buy a car and rent an apartment in Denver.

I felt a bit sad about leaving for the first time yesterday. Life could easily be more boring and normal in the states. Here it was a constant adventure with new opportunities that seemed to fall in my lap at every stage of the journey. On top of that, I had a ton of time here to address my major goal of reflecting on life and deciding where I wanted to go next. I would be surprised if I had that much time in Denver pero veremos.

Speaking of goals that I accomplished here... I also succeeded in gaining new job experiences, improving my physical health, improving my mental health, reflection (to some degree), and improving my Spanish. More than anything else, this has been an experience of spiritual and phsyical cleansing. It wasn't fun or something to be jealous of. For example, it wasn't until the end of my experience that I was laughing on a regular basis. I used to love to have fun and laugh and be silly and stupid. But for whatever reason I've become more serious throughout the years. And when I came down here, broken hearted, lonely, messed up stomach, confused as heck....I was not laughing or having fun. It wasn't until the last few months that I felt as though my fever of life finally turned the corner. And now I'm laughing again, allowing myself to have fun and be stupid and happy. I used to think it was a luxury to feel this way, but now I know that at least for me, it's also a necessity.

But you can't always genuinely feel this way. I had to go through a kind of journey here in which I got my body back on track first, and then focused on my mind and getting to know and caring for myself better. And I think that while I've just started this process, I know now that I ought to sacrifice my physical and mental health only on the rarest of occasions. But I think in the U.S., there is a culture of carelessly handing these treasures over to corporations and our jobs. We don't guard them, but instead guard are jobs. Which is not to say that I plan on being a lazy bum in my job. But I can't let my job take over and force me to put my mind and body second. If I don't have a healthy mind and body, I'm no good for my job anyway. It's kind of the difference between going to war carelessly (as in Iraq) versus only doing it when it's absolutely necessary.

Yes, yet another enlightened musing... I kind of know my trip here has been a stereotype. Like in the webpage my sister sent me of Stupid Things White People Do. One of these stupid things is taking a year off from your job to travel, teach English in another country, write long emails to all of your friends about spiritual enlightenment, and then propose to write a book about it all. Ok, guilty (all except the book about my experience part. Not that I haven't considered it, but it's too cliche and probably been done by a gazillion BA expats. But hey, I'm still not ruling it out). But, shouldn't everyone take the opportunity to step back for a time to find out what it's all about, why they're doing what they're doing or why they're running in the direction they're running. Because if we get to the end and realize we have no idea why we were running our entire lives, that we know no more than we did when we started the chaotic journey, isn't that kind of depressing?

Maybe I'll never make it to a more enlightened and peaceful state. Maybe I'll continue a frustrated path of mock discovery only to realize that I would have been better avoiding it. I don't think there are any assurances that hard work on learning about oneself leads to any kind of true fulfilment. But I think I've traveled beyond the point of no return, so to speak. I've realized too much and there likely isn't any going back now.

9 to 5

2009-06-06T17:49:00.000-07:00

I always felt lucky to be a school psychologist at Reynoldsburg. I was doing something I generally liked. The work gave me a sense of fulfillment. I felt respected and well treated. I was paid well and the benefits were great. I only worked 186 days a year and had all kinds of breaks for holidays, snow days and teacher work days. By all accounts, I led a privileged life.

I felt that way until I moved here.

When I moved down to BA, I almost immediately found 4 or so jobs and was plenty busy. But as the year progressed, I dropped more and more of the jobs and have now only work to meet my basic needs. Before, I felt a need to work for the sake of working, because I didn't know what to do or how to fill the days without work. I just felt like I should be working because I used to work all the time and not working made me feel nervous, anxious, jumpy, like I should be doing something. Waking up at 9am and not being at work and not needing to do anything was scary. I'm still not completely over it.

Losing work I suppose is like losing anything else. It's a huge part of your life. It makes decisions for you. It structures your life. It decides what you're going to from the moment you wake up until the moment you go to bed. It dictates when you can vacation (it makes the concept of vacation necessary), when you eat lunch, when you wake up, when you go to sleep, what stresses you will encounter, what type of healthcare you will receive, the environment you'll spend your day in. The typical 9-5 job is both a blanket of comfort, schedule, routine, and certainty but also something that controls, constrains, and takes away our freedom.

But that's ok because as the sociologist Erich Fromm pointed out, most of us want to Escape From Freedom anyway. Freedom is not as cool as it sounds. When you constantly have to make decisions, when you assume total responsibility for your actions and behavior, when you're freed from many of the bonds and boundaries of life, you don't all of a sudden feel a huge relief or happiness or sense of a fulfillment. I think you instead feel like you've just been shoved outside of a warm cozy cabin on a subzero day in your underwear.

As much as 'patriots' in the United States say that we should put Freedom first or vote for Freedom (which somehow is supposed to mean vote for the dude who wants to go fight every war we can get ourselves into), I don't think the average person wants freedom at all. I think the average person wants certainty. Why else is Christianity or intense religion so comforting to people? It's easy. If you accept the Bible, everything suddenly makes sense. You no longer have to struggle with the existential battle of existence. You know why you're here, how you got here, and how it will all end. Pack this up in a big box community church with well respected mainstream churgoers and why not take the plunge of faith? As astronomer and philosopher Karl Sagan observed, 'If it takes a little myth and ritual to get us through a night that seems endless, who among us cannot sympathize'?

Getting back to the point.... I think true freedom means pulling off the cloaks of structure, culture, norms, religion, society, subtextual and other messages that we are constantly absorbing from our environment so that we are making decisions based on our knowledge of ourselves and our individual needs and desires, as opposed to what we've been told we ought to do. I don't think this is 100% possible. But I think that most of us have a ton of room for improvement toward freedom. But I don't think most are interested.

Many choose paths that structure life almost as soon as they're able to make our their own decisions apart from their parents. The lucky ones choose college after high school. At least 4 years of what's supposed to be rigorous academics and higher learning that usually results in making the decision to imprison our lives even more by taking 9-5 jobs that allow 2 week vacations.

And if we don't choose college, we might get married quickly out of high school. Combine that with a full time job or career and we compound even further our loss of freedom or cloak of structure and comfort, whatever you want to call it. Other ways of escaping freedom are joining a religion that purports to have all the answers, submitting to the path that society and the dominant culture lays out for us, or doing what our parents and other family members tell us that we ought to be doing.

And maybe these escapes from freedom aren't so bad. Maybe they're not bad at all. If we don't know what the heck life is all about, why not put ourselves in a position of constantly reacting to a structuring mechanism that we have chosen. For example, if you choose to have a family, you are more or less constantly reacting. You live to take care of your children and your family and you do everything you can to ensure that they are ok now and in the future. You're constantly responding to their needs and the #1 goal and focus is crystal clear. You work, manage money, wake up in the middle of the night to change diapers, shuttle kids to events, support them as they grow older, and eventually become a grandparent to their kids. The structure is there for life.

And why not choose one of these structuring mechanisms. Is it really better to be stuck in your own head trying to figure out what it's all about when you could enjoy a sense of fulfilment or at least forget the existential void? So I'm not judging, I'm just saying.... I think most of us want to escape freedom. And as much as many don't want to admit it, we make choices to do so. We make choices to start families and therefore not be able to spend as much time ruminating on what it's all about. How can you when your baby is screaming and needs his bottle? Or we make choices to lose ourselves in work. Or religion. Or consumerism. Or food. Or anything that fills us up or structures our lives or gives us the illusion of direction, purpose, comfort, or certainty.

But if we truly want freedom, we must start getting rid of all of the messages from outside that tell us what we should be doing or how we should be living our lives. And we should look inside to find out more about ourselves and what We really want and need.

So more than any other lesson I've learned here, I've learned that it's ok for me not to work most of the time, especially if I don't feel a sense of fulfillment from it. Right now, I'm teaching a 5, 9, and 11 year old and I love it. I only do it about 10 or so hours a week but it's enough. The time we spend together is intense learning, serious critical thinking. Ok, not with the 5 year old, but the older kids. And my other job is teaching English to the former Columbian Ambassador to the United Nations. Which for me is just totally cool.

And that's all I do. It pays the bills and I live well. I don't save a thing. But I feel really healthy. I swim, cook, read, research, enjoy long meals, visit museums, talk with friends, think, go out to movies, eat out with friends, travel on the cheap, and write. If it were not for the stress of the big city and the fact that my family is so far away and that I have issues with the Porteno culture, I'd be set.

There came a point at which I realized that working for the sake of working is a little bit ridiculous. What does it say about me if I can't find a way to occupy my time without work?
So I feel like now I am living. When I work 9-5, I don't get that sense nearly as much. I am instead working to live.

And so this is my concern about going back to the States. Will I be able to handle returning to the 9-5 situation that I've set myself up with in Denver? Granted, I've handpicked my job out of 8 or so choices in 8 or so different cities so that I will in theory very much like what I'm doing. And I feel totally privileged to have been able to do so. Especially in a time when so many people are out of work. But then again, I don't need the job, despite the financial crisis or the fears of US society at the moment. My job in Denver is more than enough to support me. It's easily too much.

So I'm worried that I will find myself in the 9-5 position of working as a means of getting away again to maybe Spain or Costa Rica or some other adventure. I wonder if I will always work most of the year to live part of the year. Which doesn't make sense. We ought to be living full time and working to support life instead of the opposite. My hope is that my job is less like work and more of something that I'd be doing if I weren't being paid. And seeing as how I've chosen a position in which I'll be speaking Spanish all day and working with Hispanic families, I think that might be the case.

But if it's not, if I find out that I'm stuck in a windowless office most of the day writing drudgerous reports and administering mindless tests and dreaming of being somewhere else...., I hope I come to the conclusion that I should find a way to work in a position that is less like work and more something I want to be doing or work less so that I can at least be living more each day than I work.

From this point out, my goals is to be more deliberate about the way that I choose to lose my freedom. I think I'll always to some extent feel pushed and pulled in directions by messages from the outside that tell me that I should have a family, a high paying job, a published novel, accomplishments, religion, a nice car, a big house...All that stuff that previous generations claim was just something that they were supposed to do, expected to to, Had to do. Because we really don't Have to do nearly as much as we're told. We give in to these messages. And yes, we make the decision to capitulate, to give up our freedom.

So for whatever reason, I've wound up at age 30 without too much structure. I've got no family, no debt, no serious financial obligations. Ostensibly, I'm fairly free. But I've chosen to go back to 9-5. I'm hoping it's not an escape from freedom, but rather intensified and deliberate living. But only the next year will tell.

The Perfect Place

2009-06-01T16:20:00.000-07:00

I've spent a good many entries detailing my problems with Buenos Aires. It's catharsis. And I want to document all my issues. Because in the US, I might know who to call or how to complain so as to affect change but in the absence of having a strong command of the language, culture, and system in Buenos Aires, my only recourse is to damn the city and it's people in my blog.

It's like this, I wake up, go through the motions of my day...Invariably a bunch of things bug me. I don't feel empowered and don't know how to affect change here, but I still feel a need to do something, to at least tell someone, to make sure those responsible are somehow held accountable, to raise awareness, whatever. So I whine and complain about it in the blog as a means of getting back.

But Buenos Aires isn't all bad. More than anything (as one of my recent and now more faithful readers pointed out) Buenos Aires is very flawed based on the standards to which I am holding it. What are those standards? The standards are characteristics that I personally find important. That is, based on who I am and what I know about myself and what I need and desire. So what are my standards? Who am I and what does that say about what I need in a city?

The who am I part is ongoing and I've blogged that into the ground, but the what's important to me in a city is worth mentioning. So the following is a list of the most important characteristics in a city, based on what I've figured out about myself and what I need and want:

1. A large stock of smart and critical thinking people who communicate well through words and take the time to do so on a regular basis. Folks who value deep and meaningful conversation and communication and who are good at it. Folks who aren't afraid to share their opinions, who listen well, who are sensitive to the world, who can articulate their opinions diplomatically and as Obama says, 'Disagree without being disagreeable'.

2. A spiritually diverse community. In Ohio if you are interested in becoming more spirtiual, plumbing the depths, if you will, you can chose between Christianity, Christianity, or Christianity. Outside of fringe groups, I didn't find too much in terms of an alternative spiritual community. For years, I've put out the spiritual vibe and found nothing but evangelical Christians in different niche packages who try time and again to convert me. There are rocker Christians, sporty Christians, alternative brooding druggy Christians, and much more.

Christianity in Ohio is like different forms of sugar. If you don't like plain old white sugar, there's molasses, maple syrup, honey, evaporated cane juice, brown sugar, organic cane sugar, or agave nectar. But when it comes down to it it's still Sugar.

I want choices. I know there's more out there. Other ways of going deeper without having to accept the tenants of a religion that, given my God given 5 senses, is impossible to swallow without a quantam leap of faith (and unfortunately, as much as I want to, I don't understand it and don't have it). Surely there is a way to be spiritual, to explore under the surface using only the senses that I was given.

3. City and nature. I'd like to be in a city center that has a large and diverse population but that also has nature, or some type of pure natural setting nearby. I'd like all the benefits of city life-culture, lots of different people and ideas, arts, activities, food-along with clean air, water, and a place nearby where I can hike around in peace and quiet, away from people when I need it.

4. Heat and sun. My body does not like rough winters nor can it deal with a lack of light. I need a place with decent weather.

5. Sense of community. People who trust in and use government and charitable organizations as a means of benefiting the greater good. People who treat each other well. People who actually look at each other, acknowledge each other, and care and feel a sense of responsibility for their neighbors.

I'm not so sure this Top 5 list is in order of importance to me. The top spot and order probably depend more on the day of week and time of day you ask me. In any case, at least at the moment, these 5 things are the most important to me.

As an exercise, I'm going to test Buenos Aires against these standards.

1. In my experience, Buenos Aires has it. More than any other city I've lived in, folks here know how to have a good conversations. They tend to be bright, opinionated, civil, interested in chatting, they take time for it, they value it, they're good at it, and they listen well.

2. I really have no idea what kind of spiritual community Buenos Aires has. I've met a number of atheists, one hardcore Catholic, and a number of superstitious Catholics (people with crosses hanging from their rearview mirrors who make the sign of the cross when they pass a church but who probably know little to nothing about the religion.) And finally I met someone who is part of a group that uses a more philosophical text as a means of self and spiritual exploration, the type of spirituality I think I'm more suited for.

3. Buenos Aires has city. But no nature. Tigre just doesn't cut it for me. The fact that you have to take an overnight bus to more or less get into some serious nature is hard for me. Buenos Aires is tall apartment buildings for as far as the eye can see. I feel trapped by the city-smog and hordes of stressed people who flow through it like bad blood through the veins and arteries of the city's streets. And as far as clean air and water. Fogetaboutit. The deisel buses and smokers make it so that everyone living in the city, whether he smokes or not, takes in the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes per day. I expect to go through withdrawal when I move back to the States. And the water, if it is from the Rio De La Plata, as I've been told, cannot be clean. I don't care what type of purification process it goes through. That muddy sludge-shake of a river es un asco.

4. Heat and Sun. Yep, Buenos Aires has it. The climate here is great, compared to what I'm accustomed to in Ohio. The winters can be grim and chilly but nooooothing like winters in Ohio. My main complaint here is that the buildings turn into giant ice blocks in the winter. That is, they collect and give off cold throughout the winter so even though it's 60 degrees and sunny, it feels much colder because the buildings are blocking the sun and giving off cold at the same time.

5. I don't need to harp on this one. Buenos Aires ain't got it. Not even close. Casi nada.

But all in all, I have to give it to the city, it's much more suited to me than I've been claiming. It meets almost 3 of the categories, about half of what I'm looking for. For a marriage, however, I'm looking for at least 4 out of 5. Perfection obviously I'm not going to find. But something with the majority of what I'm looking for surely is out there.

In fact, Denver I think is going to be at least a 3 out of 5.

1. I don't know how bright and interested in conversation the folks in Denver are. Can't give them this one, although I've heard positive reports.

2. I know Denver and the surrounding area has a diverse spiritual community, maybe not as diverse as California, but a quick study has revealed a number of substantial alternatives to the common US religion menu. I will note, in any case, that Colorado has an intense mega church going Christian population. Which I find unsettling.

3. City and nature. Check and check. Big city, arts, diversity, culture, food. Rocky mountain national park. Rated best big city water in the country by Men's Health Magazine. Clean air as a result of natural gas and hybrid buses as well as bike commuters and a large green community and concern for the environment.

4. Heat and sun. It's sunny, and mild in the winter. But not as warm in general as I would like and too much snow. I'll give it a .5 as being better than Ohio but not perfect for me.

5. And yes, it seems to have a strong sense of community. The people are super friendly, the city is clean, there are bike paths everywhere, parks, and a strong and intelligent progressive government.

So according to what I know about Denver, it is at least a 3.5 and maybe more, depending on what I find out about the people.

So I feel bad for knocking Buenos Aires the way I have. It does have a number of characteristics important to me. And when I was walking the streets today paying bills and dodging traffic, I knew I would miss it. I could see myself in the future, bored in the States, yearning to have my adventure back. Desiring again the instability, the movement, the energy, the entropy of this crazy place. I can't say that I'm ever bored here. Even commonplace days are an adventure, sometimes just from the perspective of seeing so many different people. My relationship with this place is surely love/hate. The most intense and passionate relationships are. I expect to be pulled back to this place some day...

Ode To Cecilia

2009-05-31T17:10:00.000-07:00

Around the time I turned 16 I was promoted to the position of Caddymaster at a country club at the end of the street from my parent's place. I had been a caddy for 3-4 years previous. And while I wasn't the best looper out there, I was straight-laced and honest so I ended up with the job. The gig mostly entailed controlling the flow of play on the golf course, cleaning golf clubs, pulling out golf carts, loading golf clubs on golf carts, and doing random things for the members of the country club. A small part of the job as well was managing the dwindling, but substantial caddying program. Included in this was running the caddy training program, administering the exams, grading them, promoting and in some cases firing existing caddies, deciding which caddies would caddy for which members, and making sure caddies got paid appropriately.

My first year on the job was an adjustment. I was an awkward teen and utterly lacking common sense. So dealing with and responding to basic social and other challenges was something that I had to learn explicitly instead of just getting it. I also found it hard to swallow my pride all the time and I was a 5 on a scale of 10 in terms of my ability to kiss ass. In short, it was a role that I was not made for.

At the same time I got the job, my friend Mike started caddying far away at another country club. He had been my closest friend and had also been in contention for the caddymaster job. But Mike had a problem with theft and dishonesty that no one could prove outright, but that many sensed. So when Mike saw the writing on the wall (so to speak) he left to caddy elsewhere. And I was suddenly without my closest friend.

As top caddy-I was very proud-I began to feel a sort of captains or leaders isolation, in which a leader feels lonely because he has to isolate himself from his crew in order to maintain a certain distance and level of respect. On top of that, I was still a kid and all of a sudden I had to act semi-responsible and it wasn't fun.

Caddy school took place in mid to late April. A group of 40-50 kids from local schools showed up. I knew that only 5-10 of them would ever last until the end of the summer. The rest would loop once or twice and then never come back. One who showed up was named Kevin Ostrowski. I knew of him from elementary school. A loud, brash, obnoxious, irreverant, impulsive piece of work. He was everything I didn't want to be. And he thought he was going to caddy.

Caddying is all about self discipline, patience, control, politeness, attention, and keen observation-All the things that Kevin lacked. I did not want him caddying. I didn't want to be responsible for him. I didn't want him anywhere near me. I was going to make it super hard for him to pass his test.

As is the case with the universe....Kevin was the first to take the test. As also is the case with the universe. Kevin didn't miss any questions. The first day he was allowed to come to caddy, he was there bright and early, waiting for me to open up the pro-shop and bagroom. I nodded to acknowledge his presence and hoped that I could find him a loop quickly so that he would be out of my sight. Luckily, the club president showed up and in a request that was unusual for him, asked for a caddy. And so I sent Kevin out with his first loop.

Kevin was not made to caddy or to work much in general. His first bag was mammoth and the man for whom he was carrying it was old and not a great golfer. It must have been a miserable first loop.

When it was over, I heard Kevin say something I've never heard any caddy say, especially not to the club president: 'Old man, you better give me a lot of money because this bag is huge and that wasn't easy'. I couldn't believe it. Stunned. I didn't know how to respond. Would I be fired because I had hired this kid, knowing full well that he was a train wreck waiting to happen on his first loop. But what happened was....nothing. I don't know if the president didn't hear him or just didn't care or liked Kevin's attitude or what. But he simply laughed, gave Kevin 13 or so dollars (which is what he gave everyone at the time for 18 holes) and left.

I was shocked that he had gotten away with it. Appalled. But a part of me was also envious. A part of me thought it was hilarious what he'd done. He was everything that I wasn't, but maybe I did want to be a bit.

So I never did say anything to Kevin about what he said to the club president, nor did I punish him in any way. I think I wanted to see it happen again. He was entertaining. But I never acknowledged that I got a kick out of what he did. Instead, I was extra hard on and made a special effort to ignore him.

Even so, Kevin kept coming back. Again and again. Every morning there waiting. Every morning, I sighed as I walked up the path to the caddyshack, wondering why me? Why did this obnoxious kid have to be there every morning for me to put up with? He talked my ear off. Asked constant questions. Made stupid jokes. Wasn't terribly interested in caddying. Harrased the girls in the snackbar. Harrased the lifeguards. Swung every members' club he could get his hands on. And followed me everywhere.

By August, I had accepted his presence and his help. One night, while he was helping me pick up the driving range and the sun was setting, he said to me, 'Pat, wouldn't you probably say that I'm your best friend?'

I thought about it.... And he was right. I murmured, 'I guess so'. This guy who a few months back I had hated had quickly developed from my worst nightmare to my best friend by sheer force of day to day companionship and loyalty. And he did crazy stuff that I wish I could have gotten away with. I laughed. He did more crazy stuff. And we worked well together.

So I went from a lonely angsty teen to a happy and sometimes brooding teen. All because of my new best friend.

In Buenos Aires, I had a similar experience. In my final year in Columbus I had more or less drifted apart from my Ohio friends. I was working all the time in 4-5 jobs depending on the season and when I wasn't working I was chatting on the internet with my Argentine friends. I had lost the habit of meeting up and hanging out with people in general. When I moved to Buenos Aires things didn't change, even though I had cultivated a number of quality friendships there.

In Buenos Aires, the full force of having been dropped like a cigarette butt by my modelesque Patagonian ex-girlfriend hit me. She did not come back, wasn't interested in talking, and more or less wanted nothing to do with me. So I did what I do best. I buried myself in learning and doing my 4 new jobs. And I spent the rest of my time in my apartment reading, cooking, and occasionally writing. I rarely hung out with my Argentine friends and lived out a somewhat mechanized existence.

While most of my friends became accustomed to my excuses for why I couldn't hang out and stopped trying, one friend persevered, wouldn't give up. She kept calling and texting and calling and texting......Until I finally started accepting. At first because I had turned her down so many times before and I felt guilty. It wasn't her that I didn't want to see. I just didn't want to be out of the comfort and safety of my apartment and I was down and sulking and didn't want to be around anyone.

When I first started accepting Cecilia's offers to hang out, I would greet her reluctantly and would have to force myself to engage in conversation. I yearned to look at the time and calculated in my head how much longer I would have to hang out before I could justify leaving. I only accepted invitations on my terms. We would do exactly what I wanted to do, whether it was eating at my favorite parilla, practicing giving my tour, watching a movie I wanted to see, or going to a museum I wanted to go to. Cecilia was game for whatever and whenever, even though she had to travel and 2 hours round trip to see me.

Sunday was our day to hang out and it became the staple activity of my weekly schedule, my one surebet friend interaction per week. And for Ceci it was the same. She was so loyal to our Sundays that she even came back the week after she had been attacked and robbed while returning from one of our Sunday night parilla outings. When I found out what had happened I felt a mix of guilt and shame for letting her return so late without offering my futon, mixed with genuine concern for my friend and anger at the attackers, something I honestly wasn't expecting to feel. It had been difficult to allow myself to care deeply for anyone outside of family members again. I suffered from a lack of trust and a fear of being hurt. But somehow Cecilia had worked her way into my well guarded heart.

I remember the one night over the Argentine summer in January or February when I had gone from seeing Cecilia in a mechanical way to being genuinely happy to see my friend. I was walking to the Patio Bulrich Mall to see a movie with her (As always with a 2x1 pass that I had saved from the subway) and when I saw her from a distance an involuntary smile formed across my face and I threw my hands up to signal to her that I had arrived. My friend was waiting for me. By sheer force of loyalty, consistency, and putting up with a boring, cynical, ultra-grumpy, and often-times critical me, she had become my best friend. I don't know why she kept calling. I don't know what she saw in the pathetic shell that I was then. But she stuck around and now I care about her almost as one of my family.

Part of my getting better I owe to Cecilia getting me out of my apartment. The other part was likely the passage of time, active reflection, and swimming. She helped me to trust again even when I was convinced that I could trust no one in Buenos Aires. She's as honest and trustworthy as anyone I know.

I should point out as well that Cecilia wasn't as hard a sell as my old best friend (and still good friend) Kevin. Cecilia is trilingual (English, Spanish, and German). She works 6 days a week, from 9am-9pm using all 3 languages in her jobs, she spent a year studying in Germany, she's even tempered, she has good social skills, is super easy to get along with, and she's pretty. Why she wanted to be friends with me even throughout the dark self-pity days is a wonder.

When I leave in 20 days I will miss Cecilia very much. Sundays will never be the same. Who will amble through museums with me, accompany me for parilla, go out for late movies and ice cream afterwards, force me to go dancing de vez en cuando, introduce me to new Latin music, let me practice my tours on her, walk all over town with me even though she doesn't have the right shoes, take long bus rides out to street fairs, or simply put up with me in general???

I only hope that our friendship continues in some capacity after I leave. Cecilia has become something like the little sister I never had. And as much as she hates when I say that, it means a lot to me.

P.S. Please all wish Cecilia good luck as she has her final interview in June for a job with Lufthansa that will allow her to more easily travel the world and Denver, Colorado in particular so she can come visit.

Cordoba II

2009-05-27T11:24:00.000-07:00

We woke late after a good nights sleep and took a long breakfast out on our giant porch. Afterwards, we headed out to spend the day in La Cumbrecita. La Cumbrecita is a small town at the foot of the Sierras de Cordoba (Smaller Cordoba mountains). No cars are allowed in La Cumbrecita which makes it comfortable to walk around without having to worry about being run down (a beautiful thing in light of its opposite in Buenos Aires). Unfortunately, the area has turned into a bit of a tourist trap. While it was once a village where a number of Germans settled after WWII, it is now inhabited Argentine entrepreneurs looking to make a buck off of small time tourism. Which is not to say that the area still isn't pretty. There are beautiful trails leading up into pristine mountains, bakeries that sell Stollen and other German treats, hotels that look like Swiss Chalets, and the people seem genuinely nice. All in all, it made for a pleasant day of ambling around, talking, enjoying the changing leaves, and hiking out to a beautiful waterfall.

La Cumbrecita was my chance to catch up with Dave. Dave was my professor, mentor, and close friend, but we more or less lost contact when he moved out to Los Angeles. Dave and I have great conversations and it's our talks that I've missed the most. In La Cumbrecita, we were able to start catching up in an ideal fall setting, much like the setting in Oxford, Ohio where we spent years rock climbing, running, playing frisbee golf, cooking dinner, and watching scary movies. I felt in my element doing what I love, hiking around in a beautiful setting while carrying on deep and meaningful conversation.

We ended the day by buying gifts of German sweet bread and chocolates for Marcelo's friends and family and afterwards took tea and coffee at a cozy faux German cafe. At the cafe, Marcelo and I carried on what has been a continuing errr friendly debate about Buenos Aires.

It all started on our first day in Cordoba on a hike outside of our cabin. I believe Marcelo asked me if it had been easy to find work in Buenos Aires. I think I responded that yes it had been easy and easy as well to get more work as I proved myself to my initial clients. I believe Marcelo asked why. And this is where I started running my mouth. This is where I should have just said, 'I don't know. I guess I'm just lucky.'

Instead, in keeping with the theme of needing to express myself and my feelings and making bold assertions based on my experiences-instead of telling people what they want to hear-I vomited a few crude thoughts about Buenos Aires. I think too, that I wanted to argue with someone about BA. With the exception of a few, I don't know most of my friends well enough to have a frank discussion about my observations of Buenos Aires. The problem is that nearly every Porteno to whom I've expressed my honest opinions of Buenos Aires has appeared hurt or turned defensive, however diplomatic I try to be. Sometimes they don't disapprove outright but instead through silence, if not a pained or frustrated face. So typically, I keep my mouth shut. But I knew with Marcelo that we could argue about this and could still be friends afterwards. So maybe that's why I took the liberty of going down the path of conflict with him.

When Marcelo asked why it was easy to get work in Buenos Aires, I said something to the effect of, 'I think that just because I follow the basic good business practices of the United States, it sets me apart from the average Argentine worker. That is, I come to work on time, I answer people's emails and calls promptly, I'm prepared, I try to have good customer service, I'm dependable, and I work hard'. Cue volcano erupting. Face anger red. Steam exiting ears. Sirens of intense Argentine national pride blaring from the tops of the Sierras! Cue me, gulping, realizing that I'd just intentionally stepped in the biggest and foulest pile of dog caca known to Buenos Aires sidewalks. And I would spend the rest of the trip and more stepping deeper....and deeper.... and then trying to clean it all off.

Game on.

I won't try to use exact quotes from here on out. It would be dishonest and I want to stay friends with Marcelo (As opposed to having fun misquoting him). The best I can do is give a summary of what was said.

Basically, Marcelo disagreed with me vehemently. He believes that Argentinians are very hard workers with good customer service skills. The concession he made was that Argentinians have a problem with being on-time. But as far as the rest was concerned, he was convinced that I was full of it.

To make my point, I cited my experience with my internet and cable service providers. How at one point after going without service for 2 weeks, having 2 separate technicians come to my apartment and then tell me they couldn't fix the problem, calling the office 5 times, and then going to the office two times, I was finally able to find one person who was able to solve what was a very elementary problem. This is not to mention the attitude I was given when I tried to get help at the office and the fact that the technicians made a huge mess of my apartment and one of them wound up playing solitaire on my computer when he couldn't fix the internet issue.

Marcelo's argument against these types of arguements was three fold: A. He has had more problems in the United States with customer service than in Argentina. B. I was generalizing based on one bad experience. C. He almost always had positive experiences with customer service in Argentina and was almost always able to procure a discount our something free as a result of his inconvenience.

I didn't buy it. I brought up another example of how when my wooden safety and sound buffering curtains broke I called 4 guys. 3 told me they would either call me back or come to fix my curtains and none of them showed up or called me back. It was only on the 4th try that I found someone who responded quickly and acted like he was interested in the fairly lucrative job that I was offering. (This guy is now my friend and English student, Esteban)

Again, Marcelo claimed that I was generalizing based on my limited experience. I went on to cite example after example of what I consider being mistreated by people from whom I've bought things in Buenos Aires, whether it be at the Fish Monger where a woman knocked on my head like Bif in Back to the Future when I didn't respond immediately to her question or at my gym where almost every morning the woman whose sole job it is to buzz me through the turnstyle always makes me wait until she's done texting or talking with a friend on the phone before she begrudgingly acknowledges me and presses the button to let me in (usually takes a minute or two or three). I pointed out how different people were on my recent trip home, how I thought people in the US were kidding becasue they seemed so nice in comparison to how I'm treated in Buenos Aires.

Marcelo countered with his own instances of mistreatment in Los Angeles and again told me that I was generalizing and that he hadn't had any of the types of experiences I'd had.

At one point, I realized that I didn't know if I truly believed everything I was saying to the extent that I was forcing it or if it was more that I had just become super defensive and was basically in a verbal fight. That is, whether I truly cared or not had gone out the window and instead it was all about defending myself from and then defeating my opponent.

Or maybe I did in fact feel very strongly about what I was saying, that it was important to me to have my version of reality validated. And when Marcelo challenged me so strongly, my sense of my Argentina experience had been challenged and instead of accommodating his opinions, I wanted to defend my own. It takes energy to change, to accept and accomodate differences into your worldview. And it's a challenge to the identity, since perception is part of identity.

When someone tells you that you're view of reality is much different than the truth, it's unsettling, shakes you up, and makes you wonder if much of anything you perceive is real. On top of all this, I had a vested interest in my criticisms of Buenos Aires. For one, I'm leaving and I've chosen to leave partly based on my view that it's a stressful and often times mean city. If I can't hold onto this view, then how do I explain yet another move to myself? Another issue is that I had a very serious relationship with a woman here that didn't work out. And I've needed for some ridiculous reason to dislike the entire city as a means of dealing with the breakup. Because I fell in love with the city at the same time as I fell in love with her. The two in my mind are kind of inseparable.

The argument morphed into a much more general one. Me: Buenos Aires Bad! Marcelo: Buenos Aires Good! I was convinced that the root of Marcelo's what I consider to be defensive posture was mostly the result of his national pride. And Argentine national pride is something I don't understand. In my opinion, it's been about as useless as US national pride. It's akin to the pride that people show for their favorite Sports team and rarely translates to progress. I also think nationalism in general is ridiculous. The idea that we should be proud of the country we live in. Why? What purpose does it serve? If anything, we should consider ourselves Team World. Borders are arbitrary lines that we imposed on the world. But the laws of nature and physics and the universe know no borders. And the longer that we feel the need to focus on national pride, the longer it will take to address the world's problems.

So in a sense, someone getting upset at my criticisms of THEIR Argentina is upsetting to me. In truth, Argentina is no more theirs than the US is mine as the world is humans. That we feel a sense of posession or attachment to pieces of land that we have claimed as our own seems a bit childish and egocentric.

Off my soap box....Anyhow, Marcelo claimed that it wasn't just about his pride for Argentina, that he defends any country or place or people that others try to unfairly generalize. And I have to agree that he's right about that.... But I countered anyway with the fact that a lot of my job as a psychologist is to make generalizations based on observations. I agree that it's a fine line to walk when you are making generalizations, but that if we are afraid to make them, we are denying the information that our senses and our brains give us and trading it for fear of offending someone. On top of that, we are ignoring valuable knowledge that can help us understand one another better. Again, this is against my recent self development of trying not to tell people what they want to hear and instead expressing what I think, observe, and feel.

The end of our initial argument came when we compromised on wording. Marcelo pointed out that he wouldn't have come back at me swinging if I hadn't stated my opinions so crudely, if I had instead said that 'Based on my limited experience in Argentina' or 'It has been my own personal experience in Buenos Aires that'. Instead, I said, 'I think that this is the way it is'. I wanted to respond initially that it is assumed that I am sharing my peronal perspective and not Encyclopedic fact when I say 'I think'. But, for the sake of putting the arguement to rest and in the spirit of compromise, I admitted that I stated my opinions carelessly and even in a mean way. And so fizzled out the fireworks of the first show.

Only to be reignited in the cafe in La Cumbrecita at the end of the day. Here's how it went down.
Nidia and Marcelo were excited about getting some type of torta or cake at the cafe. Upon asking for a specific type of cake, the waiter replied that they didn't have that type of cake. Marcelo then asked for another type of cake. The waiter again said that they didn't have that type of cake either. Nidia asked what they did have. The waiter responded somewhat testily that the woman who made all the cakes was sick and that they didn't have any except for chocolate. The waiter's responses seemed rude in general, like he was upset with us for even asking about the cakes or being in the cafe for that matter or having to deal with us. The way that he said 'No' really grated on me. I was a waiter and never treated people like that, even on my worst days in my worst moods. But this was exactly what I was talking about in terms of the customer service in Buenos Aires.

With my foot still in dodo, I decided to go ahead and sit in it. The words drool drivelled from the corners of my mouth about how this type of treatment was typical of my customer service issues with Buenos Aires. Then I followed it up by saying that I didn't know whether it was simply a cultural difference or a difference in my understanding of the language, but that from my perspective the waiter seemed rude. My point being that mabye Argentines are used to talking to each other in that way and it's not considered rude at all. It could easily have been chalked up to my different cultural upbringing.

Marcelo wasn't having it. It had nothing to do with cultural differences. It was instead again that I was generalizing one negative experience on the rest of Argentina. He first defended the behavior of the waiter, saying that the waiter's handling of the situation was justified and understandable, that under the circumstances it was ok for a restaurant specializing in cakes to be out of all of their cakes but one. He went on to point out an issue he has in the United States with treatment at restaurants. Marcelo still tends to eat at the Argentine hour, 10-11 pm or later, when he goes out to dinner. As a result, he typically has to call restaurants in LA to be sure they'll be open until 10pm. Often, he says he will call a restaurant to be sure they're open until that time and they wind up not being open when he gets there, even though they say they'll be open.

I agreed with him that while this is definitely wrong, it is understandable if there are no other people in the restaurant and the restaurant is losing money by being open for just two people. On top of that, almost no one in the US eats so late so it doesn't make sense to stay open so late. I went on to point out how our separate defenses were likely based on our cultural biases and upbringings. Not being open late makes all the sense in the world to someone raised in a culture where they eat dinner between 6-7. Not having certain foods advertised on a menu makes sense to someone raised in a country where it is common for restaurants to be out of or not have on that day items that are listed on the menu. Regardless, Marcelo was not satisfied.

He brought up again my poorly worded opinions about Argentine workers. And I brought up again his defensiveness and unwillingness to compromise and before I knew it we were practically shouting at one another and people in the restaurant were looking at us. At one point, the waiter, who may have been shocked and shaken out of his bad mood by our ferocity, came over to apologize about them not having any cakes (which Marcelo used as further evidence that I was more or less wrong in my generalization). But at that point, it wasn't about the waiter anymore, it was a primitive verbal brawl going from Spanish to English and back.

I can't say that there was any clear resolution to this particular argument. It was Mothers' Day and I needed to call my mom before the call center closed up. And our tea and coffee were done and we had overstayed our welcome in the little cakeless faux German cake cafe.

The end of the argument came down to me claiming that maybe I didn't even believe what I was saying but that I became super defensive when I felt that Marcelo was yelling at me. I told him in shaky Spanish that I don't like when people yell at me. He responded suddenly and caringly that he didn't feel that he was yelling, that to him this was a normal conversation, the type he has often. He then conceeded to have possibly gone from 0-100 in a second and that what seems like yelling to people in the US is a normal conversation level to Latinos.

There were less heated arguments the following day on the long drive back to downtown Cordoba. Marcelo expressed sincerely how bad he felt that I hadn't enjoyed my experience in Buenos Aires and that he wished I had instead stayed in Cordoba. I think he took my dislike and my negative experiences personally. I tried to tell him that he didn't have to take it personally, that it wasn't his fault, that he was in no way responsible for anything bad that had happened to me in Buenos Aires. I also explained to him that I didn't just hate Buenos Aires, that I both love and hate it. I also told him as I've expressed many times in my blog how important a learning experience living in Buenos Aires has been. I would have been more comfortable and happy in Cordoba but I wouldn't have learned nearly as much.

In the end, as I process our arguments, discussions, and disagreements, I see them in the context of the evolving me, the one who now expresses himself instead of telling people what they want to hear. And the result sometimes is the aforementioned. If you stick to your guns, you conflict and you'd better be ready for it. And you'd also better be ready for some damage or distancing from the person with whom you have conflicted. I think it can bring you closer, ideally, but it can also push you apart. And I don't think I know yet how to get closer with someone via conflict. But I'd really like to figure it out.

I guess one question that emerges from this trial of new behavior is, do I feel differently after having held my ground and supporting my view of reality? The answer is that I'm not entirely sure. I think one thing I may feel is a little reluctant to share the brute force of my crude opinions. I honestly don't like the way it makes you feel in the end, like you've showed someone a part of yourself better left escondido. On the other hand, I also feel a clearer sense of definition between my worldview and Marcelo's. The argument drew clear boundaries around us and made me understand and see myself and Marcelo better. In the past, when I simply went along with the opinions of others, I felt more formless, shapeless, without value, weak. And this firmer shape I think is something I need right now, something essential to knowing and being myself, which I think is one key to being at peace or harmony with the world.

Cordoba

2009-05-26T17:13:00.001-07:00

I returned to Cordoba recently to spend a long weekend with my friends Marcelo, Dave, and Nidia. Marcelo is originally from Cordoba but currently living and working as a screenwriter in LA. Dave is my long time friend and former professor of creative writing from Miami University, also now a screenwriter in LA. And Nidia is Marcelo's friend from Cordoba and the owner of a pair of great vegetarian restaurants.

It was a great trip and made me realize that I would have been much more comfortable had I chosen to live my year in Cordoba instead of BA. Cordoba is the 2nd largest city in Argentina, but much much smaller than BA. For me, the best things about Cordoba are that the people seem more kind, the pace of life is less frenetic, you can see the sierras (small mountains) from Downtown, and you can get out of the city to a great natural setting in 30 minutes to an hour by car.

Granted, I wouldn't have learned nearly as much by living in Cordoba. Being comfortable, in my experience, rarely equals learning. But I think I probably would have been more happy and more connected as opposed to a bit intimidated and overwhelmed. Buenos Aires is a place where you kind of always have to be on your game. That is, once you hit the streets, you start moving quickly and must cut through the noisy symphony of vehicles while simultaneously dodging people, taxis, buses, and cars. A lot of times, I don't leave my apartment because I don't want to or am not ready to deal with it all. I never really had that feeling in Cordoba, although downtown can be a little crazy around la hora peco.

My recent trip to Cordoba started with an overnight bus ride from Buenos Aires. The overnight bus experience is unique. I don't like it. But I respect the heck out of the idea of multi-tasking while you sleep. No time wasted. In Buenos Aires, it's a way of life to take overnight trips on comfortable, double decker, plush leather seat touring buses. The prices are extremely reasonable and for a small fee, you can upgrade to a service that includes a 3 or 4 course meal including after dinner drinks.

Once you're on the bus, it's great. You take your shoes off, put your earplugs in, turn the lights out, pull up your blanket, adjust your pillow against the window, and put your seat back all the way (sometimes they go all the way flat). Listo, you go to sleep and wake up at your destination. But before you're on the bus, especially if you're cheap like me, it takes a little more gumption. You leave your apartment in the middle of the night, catch the 152 bus on Santa Fe to Retiro, walk quickly through the 3rd worldish mess that is Retiro Station and then make your way to the Estacion del Omnibus. At that point, you must wait for your bus to pull into 1 of 13 or so parking places. So you're on your toes, walking back and forth from the different parking places as different buses pull in. And even if you think you have the right bus, you have to ask because the same company often makes multiple trips to the same location at the same time. You must also listen closely to the loudspeaker that announces the different buses pulling into the station. Once you find the right bus, you jump in line and try to get into the paradise of the interior as soon as possible because standing in the exhaust filled loading area is nothing if not nauseating.

The trip to Cordoba is about 9-10 hours by bus. I was going not to Cordoba but to a small town called La Cumbrecita a little further West that took about 12 hours total to get to and required a connection in a town called Villa General Belgrano. The trip was relatively comfortable and despite waking up periodically through the night, I was able to get a few hours of decent sleep.

In Villa General Belgrano, I made my connection just in time, as we arrived an hour later than schedule. My bus drivers took the liberty to take long smoke/mate' breaks at every stop along the twisting route. At one point, I asked the drivers of the bus to call ahead to have them hold my bus so that I could be sure to make my connection to La Cumbrecita. Luckily, soon after asking, the bus pulled into the station and I had just enough time to jump off, buy my ticket, and jump on another bus just as it was pulling out.

The bus to La Cumbrecita dropped me off not in La Cumbrecita but instead at the entrance to a Hotel called Hosteria La Demonda. When the driver pointed to my stop, I hesitated before getting off. I was in the middle of nowhere on a dusty road, not at the lobby of a comfortable hotel. The stop was at the sign for the estancia but the estancia was much further up its own stoney road. The area was barren and I hoped that Marcelo, Dave, and Nidia would be there soon to pick me up. If not, it was going to be a long day in the middle of nowhere after having spent 12 hours on buses through the night to get there.

Soon after getting off the bus, I got a call from Marcelo telling me that they were lost. I tried not to answer testily, or to show the tiredness in my voice. I told them that I'd be waiting at the sign to the estancia and that I would keep an eye out on the main road for them.

So I hopped onto the broken stone structure that once held the sign to the estancia. There, I wedged my back against some rocks and pulled out a book to read while I waited. 30-40 minutes passed when finally I heard a shout and then saw a small white VW Gol driving slowly up the path from the Estancia, the opposite direction from which I expected them. I was greeted with hugs all around and I quickly jumped in the car so that we could get on with our plans for the day. In any case, I hadn't seen these guys for years and it was pretty cool to be reuniting in the middle of Argentina.

We drove to a small almacen or general store to stock up on food. Our stop at the store must have been like winning a small lottery for the owner of the almacen. Every one of us on the trip is a foodie and we spent far more than necessary to assure that we didn't go without for the next few days.

On the trip back to our cabin, I saw why it took so long picking me up. The road back to our cabin was awful: steep, narrow, muddy in some parts, and dangerously stoney. There were 3 different points at which 3 of us had to get out of the car so that the car could go down a hill and not have its underbelly torn up by jagged rocks protruding from the road. The 1-2 mile trip took at least 30 minutes and required considerable energy to help our driver, Nidia, navigate the path.

Marcelo had picked out the cabin and I had no idea what to expect. When I arrived, I was astounded by the size of the place. It was more than a cabin, it was a big luxury house in the woods. There were three bedrooms, 3 large full bathrooms, stone and hardwood floors throughout, spa showers, a giant jacuzzi with a huge picture window, a large kitchen, a living room with vaulted ceilings and a huge fireplace, and a large deck with a beautiful grill and a huge wooden table and benches with a beautiful view to the surrounding mountains. The only really weird thing was that all of the furniture was made out of stretched cowhide and gnarly old tree branches. The furniture must have cost a fortune, but it was uncomfortable and unsettling, even for a guy who likes to eat cow as much as I do. Nevertheless, the place was great, in terms of its brute force in quality building materials, appliances, and luxuries. I honestly couldn't have imagined staying at a nicer place.

It turns out that Marcelo was trying to get us a cabin from an adjoining group of cabins but they wound up being too expensive and included meals in the price. We wanted to cook on our own and didn't want to pay that much. So, the owner of the adjoining cabins gave Marcelo the number to a family who had land nearby and an extra cabin on that land for rent. Jackpot. The price was right and the cabin was amazing and plenty spacious for the 4 of us.

It turns out that the couple who rented us the cabin is originally from Atlanta. The father had been raised in Argentina but become a heart surgeon in the states and the mother had been the CFO of a large hospital in Atlanta. They were both retired and had moved back to Cordoba and while they lived in the city during the week, they spent a few weekends a month on this patch of beautifully wooded land just outside of La Cumbrecita. On their land, they built an amazing house for themselves, a house for the father's sister to stay in (the house we had rented), a kids play house (Like a Hobbit hole), a chapel, a soccer field, and a caretakers house. All of the construction was top quality and it was obvious that someone had taken great care in the planning and upkeep of the place.

We were only the 2nd group to have rented the cabin meant for the father's sister who in the end rarely made it out to the house. So, the couple decided to rent it out when they could. They also used the home for music camps in the summer.

Our first night became extremely interesting when after a hike to a nearby stream we encountered the family walking our way with horses in tow. There were 3 fraternal twin boys, a 50 something heavy-set but jolly looking man, and a 50 something fit blond haired woman (an Atlanta native as it turns out). After the introductions, they showed us around the property and explained the aformentioned details. The kids seemed well behaved, mature, and fun. The parents seemed kind and eccentric. I kept trying to peg this family, to better understand them, but they were too complex for a simple explanation.

They lead us back to their own lavish cabin for a tour and snacks. Their weekend place is like something out of Mountain Living magazine or Architecture Digest of La Pampa: Top of the line appliances, flat panel TVs, amazing wooden countertops and tables, a packed wine cellar, and a covered deck with a huge grill as well as a special Chilean convection-type oven alongside it. Basically it was a rustic looking place with all of the most modern conveniences. The place was amazing and I suggested to them that they send pictures of their entire complex to a magazine in the states. They had clearly put a ton of thought and more money than I will likely see in my lifetime into their weekend getaway.

After the tour of the house and a more getting to know you, we were invited to a dinner of fresh lamb cooked in the special Chilean oven that the father wanted to show off. At first, Marcelo being polite and reasonable said 'no no'. I quickly countered with 'yes yes!'. A mistake.

What can I say? I am a lamb fanatic and these people seemed genuinely interesting and nice. And I love lamb and the idea of cooking it in this special oven truly excited me. We talked a bit more, reluctantly but excitedly accepted their dinner offer, and then headed back to our cabin to clean up and shower before dinner. On the way back up to our cabin in the dark, Dave and I talked about how complex and interesting the family was. We were cautiously optimistic that we had found truly cool people and were excited about getting to know them better at dinner. I even remarked to Dave that I thought it was about to be one of the best days of my life...staying at an awesome cabin in an amazing location and cooking up fresh lamb while meeting really cool new people. To me it doesn't get any better. I like pointing out when life is really good and then taking time to chew on it, savor it, and file the memory away for later.

While I cleaned up, Marcelo and Nidia went off to buy desert from the restaurant at the adjacent cabins. Marcelo, always the proper guest, didn't want to come to dinner empty handed and wound up spending a fortune on creme brule type custards as well as chocolate lava cakes with fresh fruit sauce.

We walked down to their cabin in the now pitch black and could smell the roasting lamb smoke pouring out of the cracks in the house. My mouth watered in anticipation and maybe clouded my better judgement or perception as we encountered the first odd happening of the night.

#1: As we walked in the door, the father and the boys were ready for us and greeted us by playing a piece of classical music. The father and two boys on violin and one boy playing piano. The boys were not bad, but the father was swaying intensely, barking out orders to the boys, and playing poorly. Dave looked at me in a way that through the years I have come to understand means a cross between alarm and humor. I didn't much notice. I was more interested in the coming lamb and thought that the recital was more of an eccentricity than something part of a larger odd whole.

As we sat down to dinner, I scouted out the perfect piece of lamb for myself and grabbed a bit of calabaza and salad to accompany. I liked my lips and waited until everyone sat down so that I could tear into my piece. I wound up getting the kidney and various other meaty pieces. The kidney of lamb is delicious and fatty, surely a cholesterol bomb, but one that makes you happy as it kills you. I ate it first and as my eyes rolled into the back of my head noticed that I was very cold. For some reason, the room we were in was so cold that I think I could see my breath. I hugged myself for warmth in between stuffing lamb and salad in my mouth.

The lamb was definitely good, but not the best I'd ever had. The best I've had was in Ushuaia, Tierra Del Fuego all you can eat lamb. Incredible stuff that I'm not sure will ever be matched unless I travel to New Zealand. In any case, I was satisfied enough and ready to concentrate on engaging conversation that luckily Marcelo, the proper guest, had maintained while the rest of us were concentrating on our food.

Weird happening #2:

Marcelo noticed that all the kids had left the table and gone upstairs. He asked what they were up to and the father said, 'They're watching Bill O'Reilly''.

Dave glanced over to me and I did not meet his glance because I knew that I'd bust out laughing if I had. First of all, why were 8 year old kids watching Bill O'Reilly? Second, who has Bill O'Reilly beamed in via Satellite in the middle of the Argentine countryside? Finally, why would anyone watch Bill O'Reilly to begin with??

We were 4 very progressive/liberal whatever you want to label us guests and we were at a dinner table with a family so conservative that the children had left the dinner table to go watch Bill O'Reilly who had been beamed in to their weekend cabin in BFE Argentina. Why weren't the kids watching Disney or heck, even Nickalodean or some type of Yugioh cartoon. Bill O'Reilly? At age 8?

More importantly, what had we gotten ourselves into? We had the rest of the Argentine evening (which can be very long) to talk to these people with whom we likely had very little/nothing in common. Suddenly, we had a structure for understanding them, an organization into which we could fit the pieces to make sense of it all.

After telling us that the kids were watching Bill O'Reilly, the father went on to talk about how he is a conservative Republican who voted for Bush in both elections and who votes his pocketbook, but who is upset that he lost a ton in the stock market during the financial crisis that took place during Bush's presidency.

As the father drank more and more wine, he talked more and more about his political beliefs which made less and less sense as he tried both to be diplomatic, but convicted at the same time which more than anything confused us and made us think that he was just trying to act moderate because he knew we were all lefties.

At one point, I was shivering so badly that I had to get up to stand at the other side of the room in front of the fireplace. The mother, while also conservative but sparingly sober and reasonable, followed me and we had a polite conversation about her kids' education in Cordoba. The rest of the group followed us and sat around the fireplace where the conversation continued.

We felt trapped. The father had become more or less drunk and was talking non-stop, a litany of nonsensical opinions, each one trailing off into a mumbling mess. We had become his captive audience, obligated to listen to him wax drunken about whatever subject came to mind. We had accepted dinner and hospitality and now had to listen to this guy for the rest of the night until we could find a segue to escape.

We wound up leaving as the fire burned down to embers and the conversation finally hit a slight lull. Marcelo, ever the savor, used it as an opportunity to move us towards the door and we cordially said our thank yous, goodnights, we'll stay in touchs, and out into the night to wash ourselves clean of it all.

Back at our cabin, we tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together to understand the family, to draw up a character sketch, to have group therapy before being haunted in our dreams by what had turned out to be an odd and uncomfortable experience.

Here's what we gathered. The father was a heart surgeon who was collecting disability and insurance for arthritis in his hands. He had taken out all kinds of expensive policies in case of this and was now collecting on it as arthritis had developed in his hands. The mother had retired from her job as a hospital administrator. The kids were the result of invitro fertilization and the father had built a chapel on their weekend property to 'some God' in thanks for the children. The family had a ridiculously expensive RV in the US as well as rental properties in Chile, a house in Miami, an apartment in Atlanta, and property in San Diego. They spent most of the year in their house in the most exclusive neighborhood in Cordoba, but travelled back and forth frequently to Atlanta to see the wife's side of the family. The parents, both now retired, were spending their days on eccentric projects like building up their weekend compound, organizing music camps, collecting and drinking wine, taking music lessons, cooking, surfing the internet, and watching Fox News. The father was drinking too much and lonely and in need of people to listen to him. He has poor social skills and invites people over for opulent dinners so that he can get comfortable, drink, and then say whatever he wants to his captive audience. The wife is smart, rational, and diplomatic. She probably doesn't have to stay with the husband as he slides downhill, but does so for the 3 kids and because of all of the projects the two of them are involved in. In any case, her husband seemed to make her feel uncomfortable and it was our sense that she could have done much better. The kids seemed kind, adult-like, mature, disciplined, and fun. It was a shame that they had been indoctrinated into loving O'Reilly to please their father.

In short, we gathered that the family was eccentric, wealthy, and conservative. Almost Libertarian, needing complete freedom, the ability to do anything and go anywhere whenever they wanted. The father had prodigious amounts of energy, money, time, and intelligence, but few social skills. He had projects going constantly and was restless, in need of new challenges and in the absence of his work, had created challenges where there were none. And now, because of his lack of structure had maybe started drinking and eating too much and because he was not interacting intelligently with many people had lost any sort of rhetorical edge he once possessed.

And we had unwittingly fallen into this situation, the guests of a lonely Libertarian/eccentric family that didn't quite know what they were doing in Argentina and despite their homes all over the world weren't ready to settle anywhere, even though they had spent millions of dollars and years in planning and developing their properties.

More on our next day in Cordoba in the following post.

Charity as Cure All

2009-05-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

I met someone during my first trip to Buenos Aires whose world view was, at the time, exactly opposite mine. Without exaggerating, she felt almost no responsibility to anyone or anything. She believed her mission in life was to pursue her own happiness.

Her beliefs both enraged and intrigued me and she effectively shook my worldview to the core. Her analytical mind tore down my somewhat shallow and cliched beliefs and made me feel stupid for caring.

Allow me to elaborate on who I was when I met her...At the time, I was heavily involved in volunteering for progressive political causes. I co-directed a campaign for Ohio Representative, made door-to-door pleas, annoyed more independents via phone than I can remember, gave financial contributions, wrote letters to the editor of Ohio newspapers, blogged, and even refused to buy anything from companies that financially supported the Bush administration.

I felt that fighting the Bush Administration and its supporters was my obligation as a citizen and I took it way seriously. Since the start of graduate school, I remember having a seething anger towards Bush and his chronies. I saw clearly that we had been lied into invading Iraq. He used our need for vengence after 911 to carry out a neoconservative agenda (pre 911) of invading Iraq and turning the Middle East into a Capitalist/Democratic dream in the desert. For anyone who was paying attention, there was never a substantial connection between Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein. Neither was there any reliable evidence of weapons of mass destruction.

The Bush administration seemed to be against everything I held dear. Bush slashed EPA funding, weakened every environmental regulation he could get his hands on, gave the rich gigantic tax cut after tax cut, and thoughtlessly and carelessly signed No Child Left Behind into law.

To me, Bush was the classic rich grinning villain and before I knew it, I was attributing any and all anger, unhappiness, depression, or negative thought to him. It was all his fault.

Granted, if anyone deserved it, it was Bush. In 8 years, he and his buddies trashed our country as if it were his college frat house on a Saturday night. His actions affected me personally, my family, my job, not to mention my country.

However, as I look back on it, Bush was only part of it. Sure, he upset me directly and made my day to day life unhappier than it would have been otherwise. But there was more to it. I had allowed myself to scapegoat all of my negativity to the Bush administration. Dare I say it, it wasn't all their fault.

During graduate school up until my trip to Argentina (7 or so years), I incurred a number of physical stress related maladies. Most of these maladies I attributed to stress caused from my frustration with living in Bush's world. It started with heart palpitations then turned into serious heartburn then gastritis then other more serious digestive disorders. As I look back on this history of stress related issues, it's obvious that the physical manifestion of my opposition to the Bush Administration was anything but normal. I had good reason to be upset, but to the extent that it affected my health and resulted in doctors visits and prescription medication?

I have come to realize that I was either extremely passionate and idealistic about my beliefs or there was something else going on with me. I was outletting my negative emotions on Bush, letting hidden and unrelated issues feed on and combine with anger towards him.

I don't want to completely absolve Bush. His actions were a big part of it. I'm sure of it because I felt much more at peace once the Democrats took back the Senate and House in 2006. And now that Obama is President, it's like Soma for me, dreamy bliss, a warm bath with a New Yorker magazine for me to read as I soak.

But part of it too was something else. Physical manifestations and the angry responses I had toward Bush were simply not normal. The ways I responded and the amount of vitriol I had were I think the products of something else that I wasn't dealing with. I know it because while I now feel pacified by Obama and the direction of our country, many of the same feelings I had during the reign of Bush still exist. Only now I've had to look for different scapegoats. That is, kicking Bush and his bums out didn't fully cure me as I had thought it would. Many of my responses and intensity and negativity still remain and I think that I outlet them now on anyone by whom I feel rejected.

So I guess the lesson is that scapegoating my feelings on a worthy evil, while not the worst practice, does not cure or address the root of my problems.

I recently had a conversation with a friend who provided an eloquent and illuminating example, suggeting that some doctors spend years in Africa treating AIDS patients and doing great work and yet in that time never address their own suffering.

That is, some people engage in charity or worthy causes as a means of curing their own suffering. In the end, they may receive some therapeutic benefit, but never really address the root of their unhappiness or guilt or whatever's eating them. Their choice in charity is a stab in the dark, a drastic step in an attempt to cure a suffering soul. Often these charitable acts-however worthy- don't match up with the true needs of the individual.

And so I've been thinking...About all the other people who outlet feelings and energy caused by hidden issues onto unrelated factors such as their jobs, family, spouses, sports teams, politics, traffic, children, pets... They've convinced themselves that the way they feel is justified by something imperfect in their environment. Some people choose charity and volunteering or exercise while others choose... more dangerously and blame the people closest to them. Put simply, when we feel a certain way, we look to an easy target to justify why we feel the way we do.

Sometimes easy targets are right on. Lack of sleep, changes in weather, allergies. All these factors can ruin a day and make us feel lousy. But if the problem is more chronic and spans through everyday environmental changes, we look to something more stable in our lives to justify our anger, our guilt, our fear etc.

I think in general, it's true that liberals tend to me more depressed, unhappy. They use all the problems in the world to justify their general and vague unhappiness. A liberal might think...Surely I feel terrible today because the polar ice caps are melting and the polar bears are drowning. Ok, I agree, that's terrible and for a sensitive person, the idea could cause some amount of emotional trauma. Regardless, it's still an abstract concept by which few people are directly affected. What's more likely is that someone attaches unhappiness they already have and exacerbates it with news like this.

On the other hand, I think, generally speaking, Republicans are angry, angrier and meaner sometimes than I was on the left. I think they use the 'Bleeding heart' mentality of liberals as justification for their anger and fears. One need only listen to Rush Limbaugh or Michael Savage and the people who call in to get a sense of the way in which they are justifying their anger with the mere existence of Hillary Clinton and gay marriage. I have no idea why or how you could justify your anger with Hillary Clinton. Ok, she's an ambitious woman and maybe part of her staying with Bill was to further her own political ambitions. I still don't think that's enough to justify any substantial amount of anger. And gay marriage. Really? I've never heard a reasonable argument against it, other than it's something different than what people are used to, and people are afraid of change. Does two people who love each other and want to get married really justify seething anger? Anyhow, my political leanings are clear enough.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is an extension of previous posts about self discovery. I think that only through learning about ourselves, facing our pasts, and getting to the core of issues are we able to begin to find peace and I suppose 'relieve our suffering'. I think people, including myself, who take wild thrusts into politics or other worthy causes are mostly picking charities at random, maybe ones that other people have told them that they should care about or that will change their lives and make them happier.

The world is probably a better place as a result of this behavior. In the end, however, people who engage in random charity as a means of dealing with their problems and feeling better could likely have better eased their suffering through Prozac.

I'm guessing that true therapeutic value and nourishment for the soul come instead from a deep knowledge of ourselves and our pasts, followed up by appropriate behavioral responses, whether that means some type of deliberate charitable act or simple lifestyle changes that benefit no one but ourselves.

So I find myself now not as angry with Bush and the Republicans. Don't get me wrong. I still get upset when they mindlessly oppose Obama in lock step, even though he has made genuine strides to compromise, reach across the aisle, and appoint Republicans into positions of power and prominence. But I'm beginning to realize that maybe some of the things that used to upset me aren't issues that I really truly care about. Instead, maybe I was justifying my anger and unhappiness with those issues.

The woman I met during my first trip to BA shook my moral etchasketch. I still don't agree with her way of thinking or behaving and I'm not sure if she knows herself enough to be convicted in this extremely egocentric forma de ser. But she did have the effect of shaking up my identity and getting me to realize that I didn't really care as much about some issues as I thought.

So for a good part of my over year long stay in Buenos Aires, I've felt a general apathy and malaise that I haven't experienced in a long time. To some degree, I have been rebuilding my moral framework, deciding what was truly important to me versus what I had decided to use as a scapegoat for my emotions. And in the meantime, there has existed a vacuum, an empty and kind of sad space where my activism and passion used to be.

These days, I'm happy to say, my passion for certain issues is returning as I begin to learn more about myself. But I think what's more important at the moment, before the step of action and advocacy, is to continue to explore why my physical and emotional responses in the past have been out of line with reality.

Wrapping it Up

2009-05-20T09:54:00.000-07:00

Today, May 20 2009 marks exactly 1 month before I leave Argentina and start long-term life again in the States. I have officially been here for a total of about 1 year 2 months. In this time, I have gone from loving Buenos Aires, despising Buenos Aires, to loving Buenos Aires, to having mixed feelings. I'm currently in the mixed feelings stage. I think I have the city figured out to the point that I make it work, but still don't want to be here long term.

What I mean when I say that I have the city figured out is that I've figured out how to adapt to life here and what the rules and tricks are to making everyday transactions. For instance, I've learned that every time you go to buy something in the grocery store or go to a bank or to pay a bill or to the post office, you ought to have some form of entertainment ready for waiting in a line that can be as long as 30 minutes.

I've figured out that if you don't want to be harrased by the security guards in stores, you need to take your backpack straight to a locker before entering a store.

I've learned that if I'm waiting in line at any type of store or for any type of service, I must wait until the person at the checkout finishes texting his or her friend or finishes the conversation they're having with their friend before they will even acknowledge my existence. I've learned that, 'The customer is always right' is not the mantra of the service industry here. The mantra is more...'When I'm good and ready, I will pay attention to you and not a moment sooner. We are equals and if anything, I am doing you more of a service than you're doing me. And, if there are any disagreements, you can get out of my store. Chau.'

I've also figured out that if you look at a homeless person or make eye contact, they will typically ask you for money or begin following you to ask for money and if you don't give them anything and you have a heart, you'll feel guilty about it the rest of the day. And if you completely ignore a homeless person, deny their existence, you've spent too long in the big city and need to get away.

I've learned that you can't expect people in the city to respond to you in a positive or happy way. If someone is kind to you or smiles or laughs with you in a good hearted way, you're lucky and are having a good day. If not, it's typical. If you come back from some type of vacation and are full of positive energy, the city will likely suck it out of you in about 2 or so weeks time.

I've learned that the Buenos Aires psyche can infect you. The Buenos Aires psyche is one of distrust, impatience, selfishness, and pessimism. If you are here too long, you start to see the world through jaundiced eyes. You overwhelmingly focus on the negative. You consider bad intentions and ulterior motives above all else in peoples' actions. You begin to think everyone is rotten. You think that people who are overly positive or trusting are naieve. You stop caring about your fellow man, the greater good. You shake your head at people who engage in charitable acts or who have devoted their lives to it. You're unhappy, maybe even depressed.

Along these lines I think I've begun to understand Buenos Aires a bit more than before. While I was infected with the Porteno psyche, I along with many other Portenos, believed that the city was out to get me. I was a ball of worry with radar for the viveca criollo in everyone.

I think, though, that the city really isn't as bad as people say it is in terms of people looking to take advantage of each other. I think it's more pandemic distrust than reality.

Granted, there are bad people here and the viveca criollo does exist-no doubt. But what there is more of is fear and Chronica, the 24 Hour Fox News of Buenos Aires that covers every car wreck and crime that's committed. The truth is, I think, that people are overly sensitive to the fact that everyone else is out to screw them. People are hypersensitive to it and so merchants have to overcompensate to show that they are not being dishonest. Portenos in my experience are much more likely to argue with people in the store about the price of something or when they feel that someone is pulling la piel de la vaca over their eyes. Concern about the Viveca Criollo here is similar to the alertness about possible terrorists that we saw in the U.S. after 911. All of a sudden, everyone began walking the straight and narrow because we were jumpy to the point that people began calling the FBI to report Arab looking Italians who were eating kebabs instead of pasta. I think something similar has happened in Buenos Aires. People are so sensitive to being taken advantage of that they begin to fear and distrust everyone. And I was caught up in this fear, cynicism, and distrust for months.

Which is not to say that I suddenly think Buenos Aires is a utopia. I've had items stolen from my luggage in the Buenos Aires airport. My best friend here was attacked and mugged on her way back from my place one night. The family of my former host mother has endured multiple robberies and hold ups among them.

That said, Buenos Aires is like many other big cities. Crime exists. Bad people exist. But it doesn't merit the fear and distrust that people here have....

I'm not sure I understand the origens of the Porteno mentality, whether it's a recent change that resulted from the crisis of 2001 or whether it's much older and dates back to the negative culture of Tango music lyrics. In any case, the mistrust I think in some ways is a self fulfilling prophecy. For instance, I don't know anyone here who trusts the government. For that reason, they couldn't care less about voting or the political process. They have resigned themselves to the idea that all politicians are crooked and that there is more or less nothing that they can do to improve the situation. As a result, politicians here more or less have free reign to get away with doing all the things that people accuse them of because it's expected and maybe even accepted behavior.

It's frustrating to listen to as well since Portenos are so knowledgeable and opinionated about politics and the country and yet, they have been unable to come together at the grass roots level to call for a change, to bring forth an alternative leader to the national forefront, to promote an environment in which an honest and decent politician might have enough support to cut through the corruption. Instead, they wait in isolated disenchantment for a hero politician to save the country and many place the blame for the country's woes soley on the government but place no responsibility on regular citizens for affecting change.

What would the US be today if it were not for grassroots activists crying foul at the Bush administration and supporting young progressive alternatives? Organizations like Moveon.org and Democracy for America that pooled together creativity, intelligence, people, resources, and money to reshape the country via grassroots. I was there and watched it happen, groups that started with 5 dorks in a room-including myself-that turned into standing room only auditoriums of revved up young people. Elections are stolen in my country and we still were able to build an organization from the ground up that eventually kicked the vast majority of bums out and replaced them with what appear to be decent and intelligent people.

I think mistrust and fear here also hobble the country economically. The distrust between people, banks, and other financial institutions disallows loans that generate business growth, increased standard of living, and increased home ownership. Money here simply doesn't move well, largely I think because of the fear and mistrust. The big money is stored up in the bricks of all the real estate in Capital, where all the smart wealth hides it to collect 5 or so % a year. The Argentine stock market is used by few inside the country and at the least sign of instability, money is removed and stocks get crushed. It is only good for short term trades.

Granted, there is good reason for people to be wary of financial institutions. Bad governance and corrupt worldwide banks stole everyone's money here in 2001. But, as much as I hate to say it, unless the two sides mend the relationship, Argentina will never grow economically in the way that its neighbors Chile and Brazil are.

Fear and mistrust also wreaks havoc on every day life at the street level in Argentina. General lack of trust and fear of each other has lead I think to an every man for himself mentality. Rich or poor, young or old, male or female, people here tend not to take care of the city. They litter outright when garbage cans are all over the place, even two steps away. They let their dogs poop all over the streets and don't think twice about leaving it for someone else to clean up. They drive like maniacs, ignore general traffic laws, run down pedestrians who are walking in cross walks even when the pedestrians have a green go signal. They cut people off in the streets whether it be walking or driving, without acknowledging or apologizing to the person they mistreated. They don't greet each other unless they know each other well.

In short, I think mistrust and fear of others has kept people from coming together as a community to support causes that promote general wellfare: clean streets, sidewalks, kindness, looking out for your neighbor, treating each other as human beings instead of cattle, recognizing that they're all in this together and that bad people are the minority and that the city would be much better if people came together to take care of it and each other.

Fear and mistrust also I think infect personal relationships here. This is the problem I find most unfortunate. I have found my friends in Argentina to be very loyal, kind, giving, and concerned. Frankly, I think friendship means more to Argentines than it does to people in the United States. In Argentina, it's not ok if you go a few weeks without talking to a good friend. In the US, it's common to go months without talking to a good friend. No big deal. We've just come to accept it. In Argentina, friendship means true committment, caring, loyalty. If you are not communicating with your friend, it is reason for concern. I think it's great.

And my friends here often contact me when they are concerned that things between us aren't going well or if we haven't spent much time together. I don't find it overbearing at all. I find it endearing and heart warming. It's one of the best facets of Argentine culture.

My point in saying this is that I have recently realized that I allowed my Porteno mentality to infect my friendships. Over the summer, I began to mistrust the intentions of some of my friends in BA. I distanced myself from them. And now after reflection and figuring things out, I realize I was wrong. My friends here are great. They really care. Sure, maybe their intentions in being friends with me weren't 100% pure, but whose intentions ever are? I shouldn't have ever questioned them and I hope they don't lose trust in me. Because if nothing else, there ought to be trust among and belief in good friends. It's a start....

Ya Soy Porteno

2009-05-19T16:08:00.000-07:00

I have a bit of a city hopping issue. Seems I'm never satisfied with where I live. I feel like I'm my mom trying on shoes in a shoe store, finding something wrong with every pair. Too small, not wide enough, no arch support, heel slides out when I walk in them. So she goes from store to store trying on shoes and in the end often never buys a pair. I think I've been doing that with cities. And I'm not sure whether it's the case that I'm picky, that I have commitment issues, or that I've simply chosen places that don't complement what's important to me.

We all start where our parents raise us. For me, that was Bay Village, Ohio. I lived there from ages 0-7 and have fond memories of mainly the summer. I don't remember much about the winter. My winter memories are only snowmen, igloos, and Christmas. Summer on the other hand is bike riding, firecrackers, climbing around in road salt storage buildings, building damns in rivers, fishing in a pond, building a treehouse, drinking cool-aid, jumping off homemade ramps, wrestling, fighting, soccer, swimming, video games... My fond memories of summer should, I think, help me to recognize that I'm not a cold weather person. Anyhow, I also liked Bay Village for the lakefront, the beach, the emphasis on community sports, and the parks and recreation in general. It's a beautiful little city, despite the fact that the people, as I'm told now, are a bit stuffy or yuppy as it were.

At 7, I moved to North Canton when my dad got a job in Canton with some type of company that turned toxic waste into benign sludge (I suppose the question is...what then do they do with all the benign sludge? Harmless sludge sundaes? Sludge and slide? I digress mucho). North Canton proved to be far less fun and exciting. We moved into an aging neighborhood with few kids. I spent most of my days down in our den watching basic cable and dreaming of a time in my life when I would have real adventures like quitting my job, moving to Argentina, traveling around South America, and becoming a carnivore. My memories of North Canton are of a mostly grey, rainy, cold town. The summer was my respite and I have fond memories of working at a country club and enjoying all the spoils of that life without having earned it.

I thought my ticket out of Ohio and boredom would be my first college, the US Air Force Academy. I remember being enchanted by Colorado Springs. In springtime, the mountains shined emerald green with life. It was a fantasy land to me and I would have stayed, if it weren't for the fact that the military and I didn't get along.

I came back to Ohio when I transferred to Miami University's Western College Program (Which by the way was the opposite of the Air Force Academy in nearly every way-I loved it). Oxford is a small college town I never considered staying in-there was no reason. Too small to develop, meet new people, learn etc. It was an isolated academic environment. Great for thinking and studying, but not so good for playing what I consider to be a meaningful role in the world.

Jumping ahead 7-8 years, I was back to Miami for graduate school and then moved close to downtown Cincinnati for my school psychology internship. Cincinatti is a beautiful town with a decent climate. The summers are a bit hot and humid, but the winters are sparingly mild. I loved the hills, solid wood floored/high ceilinged apartments, German influence, organization, and the park system. I have awesome memories of jogging the 10k loop around Lunken Airport all through winter, watching the planes take off and come in and looking out over the wide, chocolate milkshake-like Ohio River. I had runs during which I felt that I was dreaming, like I could go on forever.

The only problem with Cinci was that the people and culture were very conservative. I felt stifled, strangled, alienated. I tried hard to make inroads with the progressive community, but found it to be a small and very marginalized group of not so social people. Not bad people, but just ones that I didn't connect well with and who were a lot older than me. I also felt in Cincinnati that it wasn't ok to be different, that the best thing to be was normal, plain, and boring. And it's no wonder...The majority of people in Cinci were also born and raised there. It's a place without many new people and or ideas coming in and out. Think Procter and Gamble. Big old conservative slow moving company. That's Cincinnati. And I like to think I'm more like Apple. Or if not Apple, maybe like Sandisk or something.

My first job as a full fledged school psychologist was in Reynoldsburg, Ohio, just outside of Columbus. I had committed to staying in Ohio as part of my school psychology internship. The deal was that I would spend at least a year working in Ohio after my internship as a means of paying the state back for paying for my internship. I moved to Columbus because I thought that it would be a more liberal or at least balanced city. That, and it is the heart of the political universe. Since at the time I was obsessed with politics, I decided it would be the perfect place for me.

And Columbus was great for assuaging my desire to volunteer in a politically meaningful way. I wound up co-directing a campaign for a great candidate and guy, Dean Hernandez. But while the political scene was awesome, the personal one wasn't. Columbus is a football and drinking town. I'm a biking/swimming smoothy drinking guy. I found the people in Columbus to be extremely friendly and welcoming. The dating scene was great in terms of quantity of singles. And friends were easy to make. But I simply didn't have much in common with the people in Columbus or the culture. In fact, I can't remember having a really intense conversation with anyone my entire stay there.

So the summer after my second year of work in Columbus, I flew to Buenos Aires to learn Spanish. In class in BA, I met people from all over the world and had the best conversations of my life, outside of undergrad at Miami. It seemed too that almost everyone in Buenos Aires was capable of intense conversation. They listened, were thoughtful, opinionated, educated, and challenging. I fell in love with the people of Buenos Aires (one in particular but I digress mucho mas que aun antes) as well as the place (or maybe the people in my mind were the place). I connected too with the Italian culture. On top of that, I made friends throughout my little Palermo neighborhood.. with the guy at the natural food store, my barber, the folks who ran the corner lunch counter, and my host family. I thought that I had found home. So, after returning to the states to fulfil my contractual committement to Reynoldsburg, I made plans to move to Buenos Aires the following year, to see if it was truly my place, to see if I'd in fact found home, to continue to date BA to see if I we were ready for committment.

Well, as those loyal readers of my blog will attest (You can see where this is going. Countdown to Pat badmouthing Buenos Aires) Buenos Aires has a few skeletons in the closet, as it were. The town is not as pretty when you have to make a living here, when you're not on vacation, and when you're not in love (High 5 you know what I'm talking about to my German friend Maike). So I'm breaking up with Buenos Aires. I still want to be friends. I'll be back here in December leading a group of students from Miami and I suppose I'll be coming back for some time to come. Buenos Aires has left an indelible mark on my soul and identity.

That's why I titled this entry Ya Soy Porteno. Because whether I wanted to or not, I've adapted to the city and become something of the average citizen here. There's a part of me that is much more direct, assertive, selfish, honest, forceful, quick thinking, resourceful, impatient, and heartless. Certainly I'm missing some Porteno adjectives, but I think that's a good start. And the part of the Porteno mentality that I like is the honesty, directness, and selfishness. These are forms of being that I felt guilty about in the past that I now realize are-to a point- human and healthy.

In Columbus, I was much more like water, going with the flow, not trying to rock the boat, trying to please everyone and avoid conflict. I think that if I were to go back there and show my Porteno side, people wouldn't recognize nor like me. Which is not to say that I've become this mean, selfish Dick Cheney like monster. But rather, I say what I think more now, am a bit less patient, and assert my needs more than in the past. In a sense, it's a relief to me that I don't have to counter the new parts of me with the old image that people knew in Columbus.

My concern now is that, for the same reasons I'm leaving Buenos Aires, I'm not going to fit in in Denver. My experience in Denver is that while it's a biggish city, the people there are really nice. Granted, I think it's a great thing to be nice and I wish that it were more acceptable in Buenos Aires-the meaness is one of the reasons I'm leaving. But I'm worried now that the meaness and directness have found a home in me. That I like how direct and maybe rude people are here. Maybe the brutal honesty and directness are something that has unconsciously connected with me, despite the fact that I've ostensibly rejected it or at least feel as though I ought to. I'm worried that how nice people are in Denver will seem false and insincere, and that the people won't really be telling me how they feel. And I'll maybe fall into the trap of not feeling as though I can tell them how I feel. Once again, I'll feel repressed and will spend my days on instant messenger chatting with my Argentine friends or maybe Skyping once I mule them all down laptops with cameras. Maybe I'll lose myself once again. Regress.

I'm worried too that in general Denver will be another bad choice. It has many of the objective components of a city in which I think I could connect. Progressive people, universities, clean water, clean air, mountains, lakes, proximity to many national parks, large Hispanic population, day drive to Mexican border. The only things I think it might be missing are people interested in having great conversations and a warm climate (although it's supposed to be mild in the winter).

I'm concerned that I'll feel the desire to jump again to another city, that I won't be able to commit, that I'll be perpetually city jumping, looking for the perfect shoe...When maybe it's not the shoe-it's me.

The Question Part Deux

2009-05-14T14:19:00.000-07:00

So my brother Kevin might be more sad about me leaving Buenos Aires than I am. For him, it's cool to have a brother living in Argentina, just as it's cool for me to have him living in Stockholm, Sweden (not to mention the fact that he's about to publish his first book and has already attracted an impressive following).

So why am I not sad about leaving?

I suppose that although I'm not sad, I'm really not sure what to feel at this point. All I know is that the big city is not really for me. As I've said over and over again, I like Buenos Aires in January and February when everyone is gone. The rest of the year it's stressful, with occasional holiday respites.

I know that I will miss what the city has taught me. For the first time in my life, I haven't modelled myself or my actions from anyone else. In Buenos Aires, I started a new life and had to rely on myself to build my personality anew. In doing so, I realized the shortcomings in my previous role models, or at least that they weren't perfect. I also realized that I don't have to be perfect, that self development isn't always about moving in the direction of a perfect self, but instead about coming to know oneself(or maybe soul) better and fitting your life to your true self. That is, for most of my life I think I've been trying to fit two size too big Nike Air Jordans to my feet when really what I've always needed was an obscure and cheap pair of Saucony Jazz's with Doctor Scholl's insoles.

Back to the idea of my newish self... Buenos Aires has helped me to be more confident in almost all respects, with the exception of talking to women (I digress). I'm not sure if this confidence comes from knowing myself better, or that I haven't looked to a model for guidance, or if I take life and people less seriously, or if I have a bigger picture perspective, or if I feel more empowered because of what I've done here and therefore am not intimidated easily, or if I've learned to be more assertive and confident after living in the big city. Who knows.

So my point in stating the above is that I like what this experience has done for me, even if I haven't always liked the experience. It has been a challenge, exciting, nothing if not an adventure. And while I may not feel sad right now, I am worried that I will lose what this experience has provided. I'm afraid I'll lose the empowered part of my personality that allows me to tell people what I'm honestly thinking and feeling as opposed to telling them what I think they will want to hear or providing the response that will result in the least conflict. Ok, granted, sometimes you can't always do that, but I think you ought to be able to say what you really think the majority of the time and save the white lies or untruths or pleasantries (whatever you want to call them) for when they are more or less absolutely necessary. I think we lose ourselves when we don't tell people what we're honestly thinking and feeling. We become a reflection of what other people want instead of a projection of who we are.

So I'm afraid I'll lose this aspect of myself. In truth, I'm not sure I like this aspect of myself. It certainly results in more conflict and less kind feelings towards me and less opportunities for friendship. What it does, however, is bring me closer to me. It also, I suppose, brings me closer to people with whom I genuinely connect instead of those who are attracted to their own reflection or my generally passive and non-combative nature.

Ademas, I'm afraid that when I go back to the States I'll miss the instability, challenge, and adventure of this life. My apartment here is like a nice canvas tent. My bed is a glorified cot. I haven't figured out how to turn on my wall heater (Update 5/15/09 success! I'm not a total idiot). The oven is on its last legs. And my furniture is a 2 on a scale of 1-10 in terms of comfort. The effect is that it makes my life more simple. It also doesn't allow me to get too comfortable. It keeps me on edge, moving, thinking, getting out into the city, working at my computer instead of watching an endless stream of movies I've already seen.

Being here also is an adventure in terms of my perpetually changing job situation. I've had all kinds of experiences here. Jobs I would never have had in the US. For instance, I recently fell into teaching Spanish to the former ambassador to the UN from Columbia. So cool. And I didn't even try for it. It simply came by way of a recommendation from another job. At this rate, if I stay here next year I have no idea what might come my way. In the United States, I know more or less exactly what I'll be doing day in and day out, 8-9 hours a day at least. Here, I work nowhere near that many hours, but still get by without breaking into savings. Essentially, my job and life are unstable in BA, different every day of the week and changing in shape almost every month, usually a combination of giving tours, teaching English, preparing a student for kindergarten, teaching English, History, and Science to Elementary Grade students from the U.S. I'm never quite sure what I'll be doing the following month and I'm never too busy, but somehow if I do a respectable job with whatever I'm doing, I garner enough recommendations to find another job and always have my needs and many wants met.

In the US, on the other hand, I typically worry about keeping my job, making ends meet etc. Even though I earn enough to support a family of 4. I guess my ease of mind here has to do with the fact that I won't be here long term. I'm not a legal employee, I have no state retirement, I have no job secured health insurance. I'm more or less on a year long adventure hoping nothing crazy happens, that I make it through ok so that I can jump back into the comfort of my old life with new skills and without too many scars. How would I feel if I were here long term? Would I handle it differently? Would I be more stressed?

I think I would almost certainly change my life if I were going to be here long term. But I'm not quite sure why. I'm healthier than I've been in years, emotionally and in some ways physically. I have good cheap health insurance. My standard of living is high not because I have lots of stuff, but instead because I don't work much and have the money to travel on occasion and eat pretty much whatever I want. My jobs are fun, varied, and fulfilling. My mind is active. My personal development has been rapid and illuminating. The only unfortunate and, for me, unsustainable part of my life here is the big, dirty, crowded, mean city. If I continued to live here, I would move to a less crowded city where it is easier to get away to nature on the weekends and where the people are friendlier, like Cordoba. The other issue here is my lack of a partner. I have some good, loyal, fantastic friends in Buenos Aires, but haven't found a right woman yet. Which is not to say that I couldn't find one in Buenos Aires. It's just that it's not easy in the big city and I stink at it in Spanish. It took long enough for me to talk to women in English. Learning to do it in Spanish has, errr, not been successful. Add to that the different culture of dating as well as different rules for engagement and I am, well, useless.

So I have my little year and some months adventure down here and I jump back to the US with a good stable job in hand and I return to being a comfortable and fearful wimp who hunkers down on his soft leather couch and watches movies on the weekends and fills the week with the drudgery of work, gym, and a little tv before bed. Great.

If I return to the above, I'll surely miss BA. I'll most definitely be sad that I left. I'll feel that I left my life in Buenos Aires and returned to a coma-like cocoon. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life doing what you're supposed to do: Buying a house, preparing for retirement, staying in shape, eating right, taking preventitive measures against age-related diseases. Life could easily pass this way, without stopping to look around more, doing what I'm supposed to do.

And if I don't want to stagnate? If I don't want to jump back into comfort? How do I do that? The answer is... I'm not entirely sure. I worry or think anyway that I may have to get away every now and then, like I'm doing now, to be sure that I maintain my current frame of mind. If I find myself stepping into old habitos, maybe I'll plan a summer trip to a new Spanish speaking country. Or maybe I'll take a year and go off to some place like China or Vietnam. But can I continue to develop without plopping myself into stressful and challenging places? Can I maintain my form of being and learn even more about myself, continue to connect with me while I'm stationed in one non-overtly challenging place?

What I can say is that I'm going to try. And to some degree, I think there's no going back. I think there are some components to myself that, now that I have uncovered them from the junk that had been obscuring them, I can never deny again.

I wound up taking a job as a bilingual school psychologist in Aurora, Colorado, a suburb just to the East of Denver. I took a job that does not pay as well as others. However, the job is as a full-time bilingual psych working primarily with Hispanic students and their parents and teachers. I wanted this experience so that I could build off of my time in Buenos Aires and to further improve my Spanish in a functional way. In addition, the school district in which I chose to work is extremely diverse and has a very large Hispanic population. If all goes as planned, it will be something between living in the US and another country, an intermediary step on my way home from Buenos Aires, working in Spanish all day but living in English.

I've also chosen a part of the country with which I'm unfamiliar. I've spent limited time in Colorado and the West, but from what I've seen it's beautiful country and in proximity to all sorts of amazing state and national parks. In addition, there is a strong alternative spiritual community in Colorado as well as a focus on the environment, with bike paths on all major roads as well as clean air and water.

But none of this answers the question of what I will specifically do to continue to develop, to continue to learn more about me. I will likely need to take at least a few concrete steps to ensure that this process continues. The following are ideas:

1. Continue the blog. The blog will likely become more boring and might suffer even less readership, but so long as I'm learning and articulating and reflecting and developing, I suppose that's all that's really important.

2. Continue to pay close attention to self. I learn about myself when I have the patience and state of mind to take note of details. For instance, I learned in BA that in the Spring and Summer, I become argumentative, ornery, and impatient. I often separate from my mild mannered friends, temporarily severing relationships until the fall when I settle down and am more patient, peace loving, and focused on compromise. It took me over 29 years to articulate this. I'm hoping that with more attention to myself, other discoveries won't take nearly as long. I also hope that I meet other perceptive people so they can give me feedback or point out things about me that I haven't been able to see. For example, I recently reunited with a great old friend who I openly asked to help me with providing feedback and career counseling based on what he knows about me. It was refreshing to have the perspective of such an intelligent and perceptive friend who more or less selflessly had my best interests in mind.

3. Learn what's important to me. I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of any specific God. I simply wasn't provided the tools to do so. That leaves me with uncertainty about my existence. Maybe I'm here for a reason, maybe not. So what gets me out of bed every morning? If not the hanging fruit of afterlife or the desire to please God, then what? This is something I'm going to have to figure out as I learn more about me and the way I interact with the world. I've identified recently that I really like to help people. I like to see them smile. I like when they are grateful. I like when I do something for them that maybe someone else couldn't. I especially like connecting with people through words. I like helping them talk through psychological and philosophical difficulties or conflicts or just ideas in general. I think that, for whatever reason, it was something I may have been made for. I feel as though I am connecting with harmony when I connect with people on a deep level through words. I feel the same when I help people work, talk through, and articulate psychological issues. It's a sense that maybe suggests that I have found my place in the world, as if my true self has been temporarily fit into the universal puzzle.

4. Make more deliberate decisions to reflect what's important. So once I decide what's important to me, if that ever happens, I'm going to try to make better decisions to complement my meaning. I spend an inordinate amount of time reading the news on the internet every day. I would say 80% of this time is wasted. Granted, I do learn some important stuff and I can't say it's not enjoyable and it is spontaneous. But, it doesn't give me the sense of fulfillment that doing good work or writing a chapter of a book or writing a solid blog entry does. I also want to begin to make sure that my money is spent on stuff that directly reflects what's important to me. I swam for 6 months, 4-5 times per week in an oversized bathing suit that fell off my butt after every lap. I refused to buy another while I spent money frivolously on stuff that wasn't nearly as important to my health or happiness. I felt ridiculous when I finally realized this, that swimming was a priority in my life but I had not supported it at all financially, with the exception of my gym membership. Along those same lines, during my recent interviews and travels, I've become acquainted with the YMCA system in the US. It turns out that the Y is much nicer than I had imagined. And I love the idea of a community coming together to create a center where people can meet and stay fit in a clean and safe place, even if they don't have a ton of money. It's something I've decided that I'd like to support charitably. I think it's one of the first charitable ideas I've come up with myself, as opposed to having people tell me that I should.

5. Relax, maintain perspective, don't let people trick you into taking stuff too seriously. People at my old jobs would get terribly worked up about stuff that just didn't matter all that much. And as much as I would try to avoid the stress, it would infect me too. I've got to find a way to avoid the hysteria and the generally fearful attitude from which I kind of fled when I came down here. If I find myself wrapped up in it, I'm going to have to find a way to mediate or change it. But I can't accept it. Hysteria and stress are toxic.

6. Make connections with like minded people whom you connect with while you are being yourself. I have the bad habit of making friends with people whom I don't really connect with but who become friends with me because I tell them what they want to hear or because I'm non-confrontational. There are times when it's necessary to be non-confrontational and to kiss butt, but NOT when you're looking for a friend or partner with whom you'd like to have a lasting and meaningful relationship.

7. Find and commit to a weekly spiritual reflection of some sort, perhaps aided by other articulate people who are searching out the same. Sure, I could reflect or meditate by myself each week, maybe just by continuing this blog. But it'd be nice to share the experience with other like minded people. Others could also provide motivation, consistency, and structure to ensure that the process of development had as much chance of continuing as possible. Further, it's hard sometimes to notice details about myself. Harder sometimes than noticing things about other people. For this reason, having others to help me learn about myself might be more effective than going it alone.

8. Write more. My method of self expression is without a doubt words. The more I express, the better I do it, the more I learn about myself, and how to articulate what I'm thinking and feeling. Sometimes I have difficulty sitting down for long periods to begin and sustain the writing process. I like to walk and be active and can't concentrate for stretches in front of a computer unless I'm highly motivated to do so. One method I'd like to try in an attempt to write more is to buy a recording device into which I can dictate and then transcribe later. Then, in theory, I can walk through the Colorado Rockies or the Canyons of Utah and capture my thoughts in the process. Later, I can eat a long dessert while I transcribe, correct, and shape as I go.

Any other ideas for helping me to continue my process of self discovery and spiritual development would be much appreciated in the comments section.

Update Tandil

2009-05-06T16:58:00.000-07:00

After the visit from Bob and family came Libby. Her flight got in way early on a Sunday. So early that my cheap trasero hired a car to take me to the airport to meet her. I had originally planned to get up at like 4:30 am and then go wait for the #8 Red bus on Avenida Rivadavia. Fortunately, common sense got the better of me. I reasoned to myself that I'd be lucky to catch the number 8 Red bus that early in the morning and on a Sunday no less. Even if I could catch the bus, it'd be a long, miserable, tiring journey and I'd be in a rotten mood to meet my sister who had paid an arm and a leg to come see me. So I called a car to take me to EZE.

Libby arrived bright eyed and ready to tackle the city. I was ready for a nap. After a short wait we jumped on a bus and I made a seemless transaction with the bus driver to pay for myself and Libby. I acted nonchalantly about it, but was hoping that Libby had seen how street savvy her little brother had become.

On the bus, Lib jabbered excitedly and asked un monton de questions while I tried to feign interest in the surrounding landscape. The trip back from the airport, while once exciting, like driving into an amusement park as a kid, has since become a time for reading or sleeping if possible. The landscape is flat with a bit of farmland, a bit of wasteland, and the increasingly big towns leading up to the big city. Libby asked a number of questions about buildings and signs and the general layout. I wasn't able to answer many of them. I think I had simply never considered much of what she was asking. My brother Kevin asked similar questions, about landscape, trees, buildings. Not being able to answer their questions and realizing that I had never considered what they in their first 20 minutes were considering made me feel like I was not paying attention, like I have been too wrapped up in myself to look around me and consider the world. Or that maybe I simply haven't been very perceptive and was not getting much out of my experience compared to what they were sucking out in a short time. It also made me realize that maybe I think about and consider people much more than my surroundings.

Libby and I jumped off the bus about 2 or so miles from my apartment. While it's not much for me, the walk's distance prompted Libby to ask 'are we there yet' as many times as her 4 kids do on a trip from Hiram to Cincinnati. She only told me this when she was back in the US, but she hurt her foot badly that first walk on the first day. I think because she had somehow decided that leather Jesus sandals would be sufficient for the city. Anyone who has walked on the torn up/patched up/neglected/in constant state of repair sidewalks and streets of Buenos Aires knows that you better have running shoes with support or you're asking for it. And Libby did hurt herself pretty bad, earning one of those conditions with a name like planto-fashee-itis, which sounds like her foot mutated into a football sized mushroom, but really means that she pulled an important muscle.

To make a longish and not terribly interesting story a bit shorter, Libby and I ate our way through Buenos Aires for a few days. Big surprise:) Filet mignon, facturas, media lunas, tiramisu, flan, bife de chorizo, helado, empanadas, pizza, milanesas. Yum, yeah!, we're fatter, happier, and artery clogged for having done it.

The highlight of the trip was a truly crazy little excursion to Tandil, a small town in the Pampa of Argentina. My brother Kevin and I pioneered the Tandil experience during his trip and so I was ready to go back with my slightly less adventurous and creature comfort loving sister.

Unfortunately, I had to work during much of Libby's trip and it wasn't easy to find much time to get out of the city, especially when she was only here for 6 days total. But, we figured out a way to make it happen. Lib and I left completed our trip to Tandil in about 25 hours total. Here's how we did it.

At midnight on a Tuesday we left the Retiro bus station. We did our best to sleep on the bus and arrived in Tandil 5 hours and 15 minutes later. Sleep deprived and ornery, we shuffled into the downright cold bus station, used the bathroom, waited for the tourist information station to open up, and then with maps in hand started out in the dark walking toward the center of town. I could tell Libby was pissed at me. She was clearly wondering what the @#$% I had gotten her into, why she was in the middle of some crappy little town in Argentina before sunrise. I did my best to lighten the mood by cracking jokes and pointing out morning song birds and truth be told, Libby's attitude changed for the better pretty quickly.

Upon making it to the center of town, we stopped in the church on the main square. Not because we're very religious and wanted to start the day with a prayer, but because it was the only place open so early and we were shivering badly and needed to warm up. We hung out as long as we could and then some type of mass or prayer session started up. When our sense of feeling out of place overcame our cold, we left and circled the town square until we found an open cafe.

We warmed up a bit in a British-inspired cafe with tea and coffee and when the sun was up, started out to see a giant statue of Jesus for which Tandil is known. For whatever reason, Tandil is a religious pilgramage mecca especially during Easter or La Semana Santa as the week involving Easter is known in Latin America. It's common for people to travel to Tandil during the week before Easter and to perform the stations of the cross surrounding the giant stone statue of Jesus.

Libby and I hiked toward the statue just to see it and to see what other hiking we might be able to do. After an anticlimatic meeting with the stone Jesus, we noticed that trails leading behind the statue seemed to lead up a pretty sizable granite hill or sierra as they are known here. Needing some good exercise, fresh air, and a view of the city, and because it was there, we hiked and in some parts scrambled up. It was a fun and only slightly dangerous scramble that ended in a beautiful view of city as well as the surrounding farm land. We sat for over a half hour chatting and taking in the fresh air.

On the way down from the stone sierra, we stopped at a grocery store for kilos of dulce de leche. Everything seems to be significantly cheaper in Tandil than in Buenos Aires, especially food. In many cases, food is half as expensive and better in Tandil than BA. So, we ended up buying about 8 kilos of dulce de leche for gifts for family and friends. It didn't occur to me until after the buying spree that Libby was going to have an old swimming back problem and that I alone would be carrying all 8 kilos as well as our almost 4 liters of water. And we had a long walk ahead of us not only to the restaurant where we had planned to each lunch, but all around town that day until we arrived back at the bus station at 6pm. Nice.

I should mention too that one of the reasons I like making the trip out to Tandil is that the people there tend to be truly kind in comparison to the people in Buenos Aires. When Buenos Aires is crowded with people, I typically have, as Libby can attest, anywhere between 3-5 stressful transactions per day and usually with people from whom I am buying things or doing business. It's as if they are doing me a favor by taking my money. In Tandil, it's the opposite and I don't even get the sense that people are being nice because they want my money. I actually think they're just being nice for the sake of being nice or it's the culture. Truth be told, Tandil doesn't have all that much going for it landscape-wise. It does have some rolling hills, but there are many more pretty landscapes in Ohio. What Tandil does have is genuinely kind people, great and cheap food, homemade cheese and dulce de leche, leather goods, parilla tools(grilling implements), knives, and spiritual significance. For me, these characteristics are enough to make the 5 hours bus trip to get away from Buenos Aires.

One big reason I choose to take Libby to Tandil was to eat at an all you can eat buffett called Lo de Martin. I first ate there with my brother Kevin upon recommendation from my Argentine friend Esteban. Most buffetts, I admit, are pretty gross low quality filler canned boxed processed food nightmares. No es asi con Lo de Martin. Lo de Martin is a buffett where the majority of foods are made fresh. There is a meat station, a pasta station, a fish station, a milanesa station, and a dessert station, each with a chef like guy standing behind the counter ready to take your order. Lo de Martin was the first place where I was able to try both lamb and suckling pig, to the horror of my vegetarian and more humanitarian older brother. While I tore into new meat experiences, Kevin slurped down a fresh plate of gnocchis followed up by plates of cheese and salads and then a huge assortment of Argentine desserts. My first experience at Lo de Martin was my 30th birthday lunch. It made me happier than any one lunch ought to.

So a big reason for returning to Tandil was to return to this restaurant. Who you might ask travels over 5 hours by bus in the middle of the night to a small bufu Argentine town for an all you can eat buffett? My sister and I do. We are unrepentantly food obsessed and Lo de Martin was our spiritual pilgrammage. It did not disappoint.

I tried hard not to talk up Lo de Martin. I didn't want Libby to have expectations for it that would be hard to live up to. I held in my enthusiasm as much as possible (which is not that much), and we strode in tiredly at about 1:30pm, weighed down by dulce de leche and super hungry from not having had much for breakfast. Upon surveying the surroundings, Libby was quickly impressed. She admitted that it was like no other all you can eat buffett she had ever been to and proceeded to order plate after plate of lamb, beef, blood sausage, specialty meats, cheeses, salads, pastas, and then a huge plate of desserts. I don't think the smile left her face the entire meal. I know it didn't leave mine. Happiness is lunch at Lo De Martin's. And all for 29 pesos or about 8 bucks for an all you can eat gourmet meal.

Fat, happy, and refueled, we left my favorite all around restaurant in Argentina to buy gifts before running back to the bus station to catch our bus back into town. Libby was floored by the assortment of cool leather gear and bought more than I've ever seen her buy in any one shopping session. Her buying even inspired my buying. I realized after I had bought my leather parilla tool case that while it was a cool gift, part of why I did it was because I was tired and caught up in the euphoria of Libby buying stuff. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad now I have it, but I wasn't thinking rationally and I'm not sure she was either.

After checking in at one last leather goods shop to find a big piece of leather for my dad's art show project, we hustled back to the bus station just in time to use the bathroom and catch our bus back to Buenos Aires. The bus pulled out at 6:15pm and arrived in BA at around midnight. The trip back watching the sunset was truly beautiful. One of the best sunsets and views of La Pampa that I've ever witnessed. I drifted off to sleep while Libby stayed up to watch La Pampa and then a terrible Owen Wilson man-on-dog movie that they showed on the bus.

As we arrived in BA, the city was gridlocked in a mass exodus of people leaving town for La Semana Santa. People here leave the city whenever they get the chance. And that means almost everyone. The bus stations were so busy that we couldn't get anywhere near them and we were consequently dropped off at a nearby gas station. Again, we were going to take a city bus back to my apartment, but considering the late hour and our exhaustion, I hailed the first secure looking cab I could and Libby and I were beamed back to my apartment before midnight. The cab ride was quite possibly the fastest in my life. The driver was over 70 but drove as if he had the testosterone level of a 16 year old high school linebacker. He must have been taking viagra for drivers because this guy was not only fast, but he was clearly really good. Nuff said.

The rest of Lib's trip was somewhat like the beginning. I had work to finish up and needed to prepare to come home to take part in job interviews, which I will blog about later. On the afternoon that we took off, we hired a car together and left the city behind. It marked the end to my last long stretch of time in Buenos Aires. I'd go home, find a job, return, sell off my stuff, wrap up my work, prepare for the trip I'm leading down here in December, hang out with visiting friends from LA, and then give up the keys to my apartment and head to my parents to spend the summer with family.

Was I sad to know that the experience was almost over or what was I feeling? I guess I didn't know what to feel and I still don't. I'm too busy experiencing and doing to feel or to know how this whole thing has impacted me or how I will look back on it. For now, all I know is that I'd like one day to be able to make sense and meaning out of everything that has happened here. I'd like to be able to honestly identify my thoughts and feelings about Buenos Aires and so long as I do that, I'll feel satisfied with myself. I think too often we say what we think we are supposed to say, but not what we really feel. We say, yeah, it was an awesome experience, best thing I've ever done. Maybe we say it because that's just what people do and because the people who asked don't really care about our response anyway; they asked because they thought they were supposed to ask, because it's polite conversation protocol. I think I've been responding to people this way most of my life, telling them what they want to hear, but not expressing my true self. So my point is that one day I'd like to cut through what I'm supposed to feel about this experience and get to the truth. Maybe I'll realize it was a misguided adventure that resulted in a year lost of my life and career. Maybe I'll realize it opened my eyes to all kinds of new possibilities. Maybe I'll realize that it was just another weird twist to a life with a pattern of weird twists. Who knows.

Update Ushuaia

2009-05-03T15:53:00.000-07:00

Now that everyone has all but forgotten about my blog due to my errr, infrequent posts, I figure now is as good a time as any to resume. Maybe since no one is paying attention, I can write something terribly revealing and embarrasing. Or maybe my blog will transform into a personal journal of sorts as I complete this adventurous stage of my life and move on to one a bit more stable and well, boring.

My last post was March 6 and I feel that before I delve into a reflective psycho babble post (Oh yes, I have one brewing), I should tell everyone what I've been up to. I'm a bit short on plot, right?

Well, after the whirlwind visit with my brother Kevin came the whirlwind and slightly longer visit from my brother Bob and his family. The 5 of us ate our way through BA for a few days and then flew down to el fin del mundo, Ushuaia, Argentina's Southern most city at the entrance to Antarctica.

We stepped outside of the Ushuaia airport and were attacked by winds so strong that I was blown around like an empty trash can. We had to yell to hear each other and even then it was hard to hear anything but the wind. I gave up on talking, resorting instead to silently following someone's lead while focusing the bulk of my energy on shivering to stay warm. We stood around helplessly, somehow hoping irrationally that a cab would sweep down from cielo and whisk us away to our cozy cabin where we could regroup and map out a plan to confront the city.
And after we were ignored by a few passing cabs for God knows what reason, a young cab driver finally did stop to pick up our sorry shaking corpses. We wound our way away from the airport and up a bumpy road toward a mammoth glacier oozing down a central valley in the Martial Mountain Range. A look back gave us a better view of the airport and helped us to understand why the wind. The Ushuaia airport is situated right at the water's edge of a bay on Cape Horn. I've heard stories of boats passing through Cape Horn's storms and some boats that didn't make it. Now I understand the fuss.

The town of Uhsuaia grows out of the rocky cracks of life between an unforgiving wind battered bay and steep, rocky, jagged mountains. If God created this world, he, she, it must have started at the South Pole with crude tools, like a chisel and hammer. And God must have been young because Ushuaia has all the emotional characteristics of youth. It's loud, impulsive, unpredictable, forceful, impressive.

Ushuaia started off as a prison town and later became a naval base. Sort of like Barrow, Alaska, the place where commanding officers threaten to send the out of control hot dog pilots in every Top Gun type movie. There's a ton of international tourism, but only within the last decade and it's still not as well visited as Calafate, San Martin de Los Andes, or the Barialoche area. The one touristy street, San Martin, is surrounded by serious grit. The towns ancestry, military and, I assume, prison worker or inmates is apparent. For a place so windy and cold, the homes are a disaster-flimsy corrugated aluminum shacks. The roads and sidewalks are in careless disrepair. The schools bare years of graffitti over graffitti. And the prices of food, goods, and services are in many ways higher than most towns in the US, despite the fact that the 3.70 Argentine pesos = 1 US Dollar and despite the fact that the average Argentine middle class wage is about 450 US Dollars/month.

Why do people live here? I wondered to myself as I walked around that first day. Don't get me wrong, I never felt that Ushuaia was an ugly place. It's almost wordlessly beautiful and enchanting. But it's so unforgiving in almost every sense. The day's climate typically is some combination of sun, warm, sleet, snow, and lots of wind. In any order. You feel almost trapped by the imposing mountains in the background, bunched up against the Cape Horn. Surely the Argentine government must have thought this the perfect torture for prisoners, to be all the time stood up against a wall of mountains and subjected to battering from the Cape Horn weather machine.

As we settled in, I began to understand why people stay in Ushuaia and which types of people thrive. Here's a list of the highlights:

1. Martial Glacier. This is the glacier that I mentioned which is such an amazing background or framing that God could have vomited at the base of it and the cumulative beauty of the scene would be unchanged. We hiked up the glacier two times. The first, we didn't make it. We ran out of both water and energy and the altitude was too much. Not to be deterred, we went back for a second attempt on our last day, after a lunch that I will describe in another highlight.

This time, I made it and Bob and my nephew Alex, to his credit (a tough little guy), almost made it. Again, we ran out of water, but I felt drawn to the ice and til mass. I rarely stopped for breath, worried I'd lose momentum and quit. I hopped huge cracks in the bedrock, trudged through the snow, slipped on steep ice patches, scrambled and climbed up sheer ice and rock passages until before I knew it, I was on top of the beast.

Standing on the giant that the first day I had seen in the distance and thought that I would never have the guts or desire to hike up to. I turned around and the slope down was more than intimidating. I thought back to when I was a kid. I used to climb up trees and then would freeze up and freak out because I was too afraid to get down. But now I couldn't have my brother Matt call the fire department. The only option if I couldn't make it down the glacier on my own was to wait for a rescue team.

I seriously wondered whether I could do it without incurring at least some serious bodily injury. Stupid. What had I gotten myself into. Sometimes I push myself so far so fast that I don't realize what I'm getting into (Thank you to the friends and family who know me well and are now laughing and saying duh). I was light headed, out of water, tired, and not thinking so clearly. I sat down to catch my breath and steady myself. Looking out at the view from the glacier I knew immediately it was one of the most amazing scenes I'd ever witnessed outside of postcards. I could see for miles and the bay opened up on all sides, framed by steep mountains on both sides, the outlines of Antarctica possibly etched in the misty distance. It could be argued that the view was worth the risk.

The best way back down was to use my head, take it step by step, decision by decision. The trip up was completed in haste, like a body builder muscling through a swim. The trip down wouldn't have the benefit of strength so I'd have to replace it with grace, technique, and intelligence. I mustered confidence and started out, mentally evaluating the choice of almost every step and sketchy passage. The best path and the best way to move on that path. I followed tracks from a professionally guided group that had descended before me. And in the end, much more slowly than I had ascended, I safely completed the descent.

And it occurred to me after I'd made it down that heaving myself up the Martial Glacier was one of the most stupid things I'd ever done in my life. But I also realized that sometimes you have to do things like that to feel alive, to show yourself that you're still physically capable, and that you can overcome scary challenges if you slow down and use your head.

I don't know if I'd do it over again. But the truth is that I've been feeling kind of old lately, like my body isn't what it used to be. Making it up that glacier reminded me that I'm ok.

2. Penguins. Seeing penguins in Ushuaia ain't cheap. But it's simply something you must do. You sit on a bus for a few hours, walk through the historically significant Haberton sheep ranch (now a cattle ranch and tourism income source), and then take a 10 minute zodiac boat out to the windiest and coldest little island you can imagine. Upon stepping onto the barren patch of penguin island Earth, you pull every strap of your gortex coat tight and still shiver. And oh yeah, there are surreal little black and white birds all over the place. But if you look at the penguins wrong or even if your shadow scares them, the island's female keeper (a beautiful young woman with frostbite scars on her face and by the looks of it blind in one eye) will berate you until you feel 5-years-old.

You walk around for half an hour, try hard to realize that you're doing something really cool, take pictures, and then get back on that zodiac and head back to the ranch to warm up on tea, cakes, and cookies. On the bus trip back, you stop to see trees that have been wind blown in one direction so much throughout their development that their branches are stuck permanently like medussa's locks in a gale.

But the part of the experience I enjoyed the most was talking Argentine history and politics with the keeper of the island. It was hard not to be intrigued by such a confident, rugged, and intelligent person who, despite her physical scars, had such a powerful soul. She shined so bright that after talking with her for a short time I no longer saw her scars. I wanted to hear her story and so I gleaned it through her opinions, personality, and explanation of her country and city's history and politics. We chatted the entire trip back, her educated Spanish vocabulary oftentimes too much for me to follow. And by the end of the experience, I was glad I'd spent the money. My soul and intellect had been fed a Thanksgiving feast. Sure, the penguins were cool, but the person who showed them to us for me was the highlight.

3. Speaking of Feasts.... It's all about the Fuegian Lamb. Es decir, Lamb from Tierra del Fuego. If you are in Ushuaia, you must drive 20 minutes out of town to a tourist trap. A place built so that you can sit and eat above a rushing mountain stream and after your meal walk through a Siberian Husky breeding center. Las Cotorras is known for its all you can eat lamb, cooked all morning crucifix style around a wood bonfire. It ain't cheap, but the lamb comes out to you on your own personal mini grill in a steaming stack surrounded crudely but tastefully by potatoes and parsley. The meat is effortlessly tender, the fat so flavorful it will make you cry, and the skin crispy and chewy goodness. When you finish, they bring you more. You keep eating until you get sick. Then you go climb a glacier to work it all off. I think I have just described my version of heaven.

4. Tierra del Fuego National Park. Our second to last day we drove our rental car, after much bickering with ourselves and Garmin over directions, to Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego. The first trail we chose was my choice. The description was 3 or so miles straight up a mountain. It claimed to be an 8 hour round trip. The difficulty rating was high and people without proper physical stamina and equipment were urged not to try this trail. It called to me. It's like when you tell a kid not to, it makes him want to do it even more.

No way a trip that short could take 8 hours. No way. They must think I'm some type of 3 pack a day Porteno. I swim 4-5 times a week and eat super healthy. No way 6 miles round trip was going to take me that long.

A half our into the hike, I started to believe the trail description. It was the toughest trail that I've hiked in my life. Unrelentingly straight up with slippery roots and rocks and poorly marked in some areas. Alex and I took the lead and after about an hour and a half made it up to a clearing, a bald rock face overlooking a beautiful vista of the park. We sat down on the rock and enjoyed the view and snacked, thinking that we had made it to the top. That wasn't so bad, I said in a still winded voice to Alex.

Soon after, while looking for a private place to answer the call of nature, I noticed that the trail continued. I was interrupted by two hikers who were speedily making their way down the path. I swore, pulled up my zipper, and acted as though I were exploring the path instead of err...and asked them how much further the trail went. They pointed to a mountain top far in the distance, one well beyond the tree line and still snow covered. They told me that they made it another mile and a half, but had turned back because it was too much. And then I knew for sure that the description of the trail was accurate. Sure, it was short in distance, but going straight up takes a lot out of you. And there was no way that I was continuing up that mountain. I was out of water and more importantly, unmotivated and deflated. I returned to Alex and told him the news. He was also disinterested in continuing and so we waited for Bob and Jennie to meet us at the clearing and then hiked back down (during which time I slipped on a root and fell flat on my face).

The rest of our experience in the Park was far more pleasant. For a while, we sat at the shore of a glacial lake, enjoyed the silence, and looked out to a stunning view of the lush deep green steep mountains.

We finished the day with three short hikes. Hikes with soft moss paths that muffled our steps and soothed our overworked legs, like walking on clouds in a dream. One trail took us to the edge of the park where it opened up to the South, island after island that leads out in a chain ending at Antarctica. Just as a friend described, it pulls you in its direction. You want to keep exploring, to see more, the next island and the one after that. It seems to get more peaceful and enchanting the further out you walk, until you're stopped by a crude wire fence indicating the start of a nature preserve....

On the plane leaving Ushuia, I couldn't really decide if I'd make it a priority to come back. I felt as though I wasn't done with the place, like there was more depth, a new perspective to be learned. I wanted to hike more through the mountains, learn to grill lamb, fish in the Cape Horn, sail and island hop around the entrance to Antarctica, delve into the history of the place, put the pieces of the puzzle together that were only beginning to make sense. I admit to only having been a tourist in Ushuaia. I did everything tourists are supposed to do. Some places are no more than tourist traps. They are more or less void of history or background and you can suck out of the place its value via the cliche tourist experience. Ushuaia is not one of those places. I think living there would reveal much more....

The Challenge

2009-03-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance to the readers of this page who are more interested in my every day goings on as opposed to spiritual development/self-analysis/psychobabel. Consider yourself warned. This entry is another one of those...

My guess is that a lot of friends and family back in the states are saying right now that I'm 'finding myself' in Argentina. Some are likely saying so sincerely and others might be doing so smirkingly (but endearingly). Maybe there are conversations in which people say 'Pat is off finding himself in Argentina'. Fair enough. I'd say that's accurate.

My concern is that, at least in the United States, finding oneself is seen as a hippy sort of thing, or something that clueless people do when they have no direction. Sometimes it's used as a blanket response we use to describe what people who aren't doing anything are doing. Oh, they're just finding themselves.

But have most ever considered what it actually means?

I had the vague notion when I decided to come down to Argentina for a year that I was leaving to find myself, despite the fact that I had plenty of practical reasons to come here. I knew I wanted a spiritual component to my journey but I had no idea what it would be, how to articulate it, or how to structure it or go about finding what I was looking for. I just had a vague notion that something was missing, I hadn't been as healthy as I wanted to be. Also, my life direction had been changing so rapidly in the years leading up to my decision to move that it was obvious that I hadn't much of a clue or control of my life.

In any case, after months here of free association reflection, I think I have finally figured out what finding yourself means. And it's not hippy or new age or embarrasing.

So to me anyway, finding yourself means learning about and knowing yourself so well that you're able to decide how you need to position yourself in the world in order to be in harmony, in order to be the person and do the things that make you content and happy. Like a surfer riding a wave effortlessly as opposed to one who is tossed around like drift wood.

How many of us can say that before we went to college or chose a profession or chose to get married and have a family that we really took the time to reflect on who we are and whether those decisions were in harmony with our true selves? As for myself, I believe that some of my decisions have been lucky and that most have been flippant. The decision to become a school psychologist I believe was lucky. As a freshman in college, I really liked psychology and so I decided to become some type of psychologist. Luckily, this interest stuck while most like it have faded.

Most of my decisions, on the other hand, have been more or less grasping for direction and opportunity, or following momentary interests. My decisions have largely been based on economics and convenience and have been removed from the context of myself.

Now is the first time that I can remember honestly thinking...What do I really want to do? How do I truly want to spend my days? What are the characteristics of my personality? How do those characteristics match the life I've chosen? How can I change my life to better fit my personality, propensities, biology.

So I'm over 8 months into my trip and I'm just now defining the question or framing the mission. Have I managed to figure out a little bit about myself in the meantime as well? Yes, I think a little, but it's only a start. It was hard to find the answer to a question I didn't know.

So yesterday a friend and new reader of the blog challenged me....He said, Here you are this guy who is introspective and who claims that he's made all these personal gains in Argentina and now you're going to leave for the stability of the U.S. as well as your old job and ego. Aren't you worried you're going to undo all the work you've done? Why do you want to go back to the way things were if you're claiming that this has been such an important experience? Don't you want to keep moving forward with your personal development?

I considered it quickly and knew he was right. Returning to my old lifestyle and way of thinking will be retreating from the learning process. Hiding myself through material and psychological ego (Nice stuff and my job title) will only make it harder for me to know me. What I need is a way to continue my path toward self understanding when I return to the states. I need to resist the temptation to put on the comfy cloak of ego so that I can maintain a high level of self awareness and express myself.

30

2009-02-26T13:21:00.001-08:00

Thanks to everyone who wished me a happy 30th birthday last Monday! I had no problem with the idea that my birthday might fly under the radar this year, but no such luck:)

So I suppose I should ruminate on having turned 30. How my life has changed. If I feel different. Plans for the future. Insights. Etc...

In reality, birthdays and the years are arbitrary dates on which we have chosen to celebrate or reflect on the passing of another year. The only real cosmic significance of my birthday is that in the time that I have been alive, the Earth has spun in an eliptical orbit exactly 30 times around the sun.

At any rate, we've made meaning out of birthdays and years and 30 especially is supposed to mean something, right? 30 is supposed to mean that I've grown up, I'm an adult. I should be settling down now, married or on my way, starting a family, established in a job with upward mobility. Something like that.

I guess that I've chosen at least a slightly different path. I suppose I'm grown up but I haven't settled down, I'm nowhere near married (and even further from having a family), I gave up my good job in the States, and my future is at present very uncertain. Next year I will likely end up in Ohio, North Carolina, Colorado, Georgia, or (if the economy continues its nosedive) back in Buenos Aires. While none of these is a bad option, it certainly is a sign of someone whose life is in flux, who has not settled, who has options but no clear and definite path. Que se yo.

So the question is, do I feel pressure to conform? Is it weird to have brothers and sisters and parents who were all more or less married with children by this age? Do I feel the pressure of being the only member of my family without a spouse and kid(s) ? Do I feel the need to reenter the rat race, to stake out my piece of the American dream? Am I worried about becoming 'that uncle'? (That is, the unreliable youngest who never married nor settled) Or just what's going through my head now that I'm 30?

Of course I didn't feel different from one day to the next. One day I was 29 and the next I was 30. But what do I feel and what am I thinking in general now?

One thing that I'm learning is that a lot can change in a year or in a short period of time. You can have say 3 years of relative stability during which you change very little as a person and then one year in which your life turns in a very different direction. The two life events that affected me the most were going through basic training at the Air Force Academy and moving to Argentina for a year. Both events have played a formative role in my personality and the direction of my life. And both events packed the life changing value of any other 5-10 year span.

As a result of my time in the Air Force Academy, I gained a new motivation and ambition to test my limits and consciously shape and form my future. I went from being an unmotivated and occasionally delinquent adolescent to being (after an embarasing first semester) a curious and driven college student. Were it not for the Air Force Academy, I don't think I would be as educated or learned in general. The experience woke me up.

Argentina on the other hand has quieted me, taught me how to relax, made me sharper, smarter, more direct, and competent. I've also learned to be more patient here and have improved my communication skills. I've begun to see the world as an Argentine and come close to gaining a new identity as a Porteno (although that's nothing to brag about). I've learned the value of defining life without work. I've altered my goals from all concrete to include more overarching themes and guides. That is, I used to have goals such as 'Complete a novel', 'Learn Spanish', 'Achieve Doctorate', 'Spend a year in another country'. Now my goals include: 'Do what makes you content or happy', 'Learn more about yourself so that you can figure out what type of life and career will make you content and possibly happy', 'Take time to connect with people', 'Make your family a priority'.

But that's all good stuff. Buenos Aires has also made me less innocent, less trusting, less confident in the goodness of the world and the motivations of people. I often catch myself becoming ultra critical of almost anyone or thing that crosses my mind. My mind seeks out inconsistencies and weaknesses, any reason not to trust or to be wary. It's almost as if the big city has infected me with this world view as a means of survival. I hope to shake out of it when I return to the states, but my guess is that it will linger for a while.

Another 30 thought I've had is the recognition of a pattern in my life. I have a tendency to become very passionate about something for a year or two and then to move into a period of unrest and then relaxation followed by the emergence of a new passion. I can remember the pattern of passions in chronological order: TV, Basketball, Golf, Reading, Psychology, Writing, Politics, Stock Market, Spanish, Argentina. The passions come and go and leave me more knowledgeable, but I haven't been able to focus on any one thing for what most people would consider to be a substantial period. Do I want this to change? Is it ok? Does it make me happy to be this way? I haven't yet figured out the answers to those questions.

And as far as pressure to conform to the standards and norms set by society and my family. I guess I do feel some pressure to settle down. If I felt no pressure, I suppose I'd continue to wander and try out new living arrangements throughout the world. But in addition to the pressure to settle down, I also have a wholly personal desire to find home. I want to have some place where I can truly feel relaxed and gain a level of low stress that I haven't felt since I was a kid. I'm talking quiet, soft couches, stocked refrigerator, friendly and trustworthy neighbors, safe neighborhood, good weather, garden. I think my life has been in maybe too much flux for the past few years and my body and mind are ready for some much deserved relaxation and settling. Don't get me wrong, I think I will always yearn for learning experiences like Argentina, but I'd like them to be tempered by occasional stability and the option of comfort too. Having my cake and eating it.

But I don't feel any pressure to have a family. I work with kids in my jobs and have 9 sobrinos. If I find the right woman, I'd be happy to start up a family, but if not, I could be happy single.

I think a lot of 30 year olds who aren't engaged or married begin to come to terms with the idea that they may not have the spouse, 2 kids, dog, and picket fence version of life. You slowly become satisfied with the idea that it could be just you. And all of a sudden, it's ok if there is no one else. (That said, I would like a black cat named 13, a garden, and to walk pound dogs a few days a week. And I would also like to try out some type of loosely affiliated religion like Quakerism in which I would have a weekly time of reflection or meditation.)

I do, however, feel some pressure to return to my career. I would like to feel a sense of meaning greater than myself again. I've been quite wrapped up in 'me' in Buenos Aires and while I feel like it's necessary and very enjoyable, I don't want to make a habit of it. And I'd like to return to having a bit of ego again. Going without ego and having to reestablish ego has been a fun challenge and I'm not sure that I ever want my ego fully back again. I think I am a better person without it. However, not having much ego for long periods of time can be stressful and stunting. I think I may need a bit of ego again to have the confidence to move forward with future goals and to maybe live up to my potential, and er to have the guts to ask someone out on a date.

The thought that I'll conclude with is that I think that I'm moving in the direction of becoming a university professor in school psychology or educational leadership. That is, I will likely wind up going back to school for a doctorate of some sort. I loved teaching university students as a graduate assistant and according to the feedback I received, the students enjoyed it too. I dealt with no behavior issues and almost every class was an opportunity to have an intense and fulfiling class discussion. Sincere, honest, and intense communication is quite possibly my favorite activity in life. Teaching at the university level has been the only job I've had that's allowed for this on an almost every day basis.

I also think that I've learned enough about myself to know that I could be very happy with the lifestyle of a professor. I'd have plenty of independence, time for my daily swims, intelligent interactions with students and colleagues, time to myself, and most importantly... freedom to be myself. I think I could be very happy growing old into professorhood, writing articles about democracy and education, child development, and public schools.... eating well enough, and of course coming home to my black cat named 13, garden, and walking a pound dog a few times a week. Granted, I'll never get rich and I'll likely never achieve any sort of fame, but I think I could be very content and maybe continue to travel regularly too..... I think it sounds as if I've just turned 60 instead of 30.

Of course I've probably had more general thoughts about turning 30 but the aforementioned have been on my mind lately. And if you're wondering what I did on February 23rd? As it turns out, I was lucky enough to have my bro Kevin in town and we spent the day in the Argentine countryside (A town called Tandil). Kevin and I hiked 16 kilometers in the mountains, ate at an obscenely good all you can eat buffet, sampled local cheeses, and slept in a quiet cabin outside of town in the pampa. I couldn't have asked for much more.

Ego

2009-02-17T14:54:00.000-08:00

The city has been a delight to live in for the past month and a half. A good chunk of the population took off for the beach, not to return until March. The effect was like replacing the screw down lid of a pressure cooker with a normal one. The city is still stressful, but the teeth grinding intensity of before more or less evaporated with the heat. There are less cars and taxis, less stress, less trash, less noise, less pollution, and thankfully less Porteno mentality.

With the summer, people have loosened up a little. They're talking to each other, smiling occasionally, treating each other maybe normal instead of with contempt. And so I've thoroughly enjoyed el verano en la ciudad. Swimming, eating out at my favorite parilla, going to museums and street fairs on the weekends, watching movies, sitting out late at night at cafes on the street. I'm still working a bit, teaching English and reading a few times a week, but the work is nothing stressful. Life is really good....Depending on how you look at it.

When you come to a new country, you often give things up: Your title, your career, your educational achievements, your established personality, your material posessions. I'm not a school psychologist here (I don't even work legally). My Spanish works but I don't come off sounding very learned or intelligent. I sold my car and most of my material possessions and have not replaced them. I have no established personality or reputation nor any recognizable signals to people that I have value.

I came to this realization during a conversation with my friend Cecilia. She asked me why I hadn't dated much or tried dating while I've been down here. I hadn't really considered it until she asked me. But I think my response was accurate. I said, 'Creo que no tengo mucha confianza aca. No tengo mi titulo. No tengo mi idioma. No tengo cosas. No tengo mi carera. No tengo familia. En EEUU la gente me da importancia porque soy un psicologo. Aca, no. Aca, Soy Pat.' Translation: I don't have as much confidence here. I don't have my title, my language, my stuff, my career, my family. In the United States, people gave me a degree of respect automatically because I'm a school psychologist. Here, I'm Pat.

So that's a bit dramatic, but it's true. A lot of what I worked for and built up to in my life was stripped away upon coming here. It's just me again and few of the protections, comforts, and ego of before.

Once again, I have to earn respect, confidence, trust, love. In the United States it was easy and I had grown lazy, allowing my achievements and reputation to replace my everyday actions. Here I haven't had that option.

The result is that I act much differently here than in the US. I am more consistently kind and generous. For instance, I cook for my friends almost every time we get together. I think I want to show them that I do in fact have some value, that there are reasons to respect me despite the fact that I don't sound very intelligent in Spanish, despite the fact that I don't have a respectable or stable career here. I also have to earn trust. For all the people of Buenos Aires know, I could be lying about who I was in the US. Everything I say could be made up. So, I have to actually BE the person that I claim I was in the United States instead of just giving people my card.

Absolute honesty has become very important. I make it a point to be as honest as possible with people in terms of money, details, information, or even stories I tell. I also take more time here to listen to people and to try to help out emotionally.

Being stripped of my ego was not something I consciously prepared for or realized that I would have to encounter upon moving down here. But I think I wanted it.

Things in the U.S. had become a bit too easy, too comfortable, boring. I wanted a bit of adventure and to be tested again, to be forced to learn quickly, to be renewed. But I also wanted to get rid of almost everything and see what would happen. I had been drifting in this direction throughout my stay in Columbus. Each year I moved to a cheaper and smaller apartment and got rid of more material possessions. In my last few months I was living in the tiny office of a friend before moving to Buenos Aires. I had also been learning survival skills, like how to start a fire with a bow or hand drill. And I'd been reading survival novels like Robinson Crusoe and Life of Pi. I had the primitive basic human yearning to connect again with basic caveman type stuff-survival.

What better way to do this than by moving to a developing country without first having a job, place to live, health insurance, family, or language. This experience I think is what I'd been building up to. I wanted to know what it was like to live very basically, stripped of both physical and symbolic ego.

So now that I've been here for almost 8 months straight, 11 months total, how do I feel? In a word, liberated. I feel more free than I have since I was an undergrad. I am more healthy, centered, and focused. I see the world much more clearly again. I feel as though I can give to people again, that I don't need to take and instead am stable enough (during communication) to not project my needs, problems, ambitions.

I think I know now too what it means to be content. I'm not sure I'm happy. I've always been a bit wary of happiness, never quite trusted it. It seems too fleating and ephemeral. But contentedness I can accept. I've realized that material posessions and the protections of money and status and education.....They alone don't result in contentedness. In fact, having given much of that up for the better part of a year, I am much more content. I've been forced to come alive again, to be all of my accumulated education, knowledge, wisdom, life experience. And with being forced back into an intense live-in-the-moment reality has come health, focus, clarity.

I've learned too that life doesn't have to be work. The first thing I did when I came down here was to throw myself into 4 jobs. Working a ton has always given me a sense of comfort. Ever since I started my first paper route when I was 10 I can remember the sense of comfort it gave me to have my little aluminum fort knox piggy bank stuffed with money. Since that point, my life has been defined mostly by my work. Or, at least, I only felt comfortable when I had consistent work.

Now, I have less work than ever and after the initial freak out of 'what do I do with myself and how do I make meaning without work?', I have settled into a routine of making meaning out of things like pleasure seeking, living in the moment, and personal development. I visit museums, eat out, spend time with friends, experiment with cooking, swim, write, read, concentrate on being a good friend and family member. The lesson: Life can be pretty darn good without work. I'm really starting to enjoy it.

Sure, lots of people don't have this option. They have families and responsibilities etc. Yes, it's easy for me to say, I have just myself to worry about. That's true, but I think there are a lot of people out there who could work less. I think we work so much and don't do what we really want to because we're afraid (I also think a lot of people have no idea what they really want to do or have never taken the time to sincerely consider it). We're afraid, as I was, of facing a life without work. What do I do? What will my life mean? We're also frightened by a society that tells us we need all kinds of stuff we don't need. How do we get this stuff? We must work work work and the worst thing we could do is to not have work or to lose our jobs. I also think we're afraid of not having comforts and protections like life insurance, cars, car insurance, prescription drugs, extravagant foods, big homes, nice well kempt yards, security systems. What would life be like without security, comfort, and stuff? My experience after having experienced both ways of life (stuff and ego versus less stuff and less ego) has lead me to the conclusion that I overwhelmingly prefer the latter to the former.

So why am I coming back you might ask? If I'm so zen here, if things are so good with my new bohemian lifestyle, what is it that's tugging me back to the U.S. Why don't I stay down here and continue to live out what has turned out to be a very satisfying life?

Sometimes I ask myself this when I'm enjoying a beautiful 5 dollar porterhouse steak at my favorite restaurant while reading The New Yorker. I do fear coming back to the United States. I don't want to get caught up in the race to accumulate stuff, work too much, get stressed out, sick, and addicted to prescription medication. I'd like to continue this healthy lifestyle. However, I also feel a need to be with my family, to give something substantial to the world, and to start a business of some sort. These things I find very difficult to do here and I think I will need them for long term contentedness.

I think I will also need, however, to get away from the United States occasionally. I will need every now and then to take a summer or maybe even another year to give up the things that I've accumulated so that I can recenter again.

So I need a plan for when I return to the United States, to live what I've learned about life here. I've got to foresee the pressures that I'm likely to encounter and figure out a way to live life there to some degree how I've lived it here. More than anything else, I need to understand that doing what I want to do is more important than making money. And maybe in the end if I'm happy doing what I'm doing, I'll wind up making more money anyway. I think sometimes the world works that way.

In the meantime, I'm already missing Argentina. For the first 6 months or so here, I was ready for the experience to be done, to go home. Now I'm not exactly looking forward to leaving. 3571 Paraguay 7B has become home.

Then again, the masses haven't returned to the city yet. When they do, I'm almost sure that I'll want out again. That said, I am predicting that my attitude and preparedness to leave Argentina will change by mid March, 2 or so weeks after school starts and everyone returns from vacation.

The Final Asado

2009-02-10T11:28:00.000-08:00

One thing that has been on my mind lately, almost as much as the economic crisis in the states, is the drought in Argentina. Buenos Aires and La Pampa have endured an over year long drought that has resulted in water shortages, poor crop yields, and worst of all from my vantage...over a million head of cattle have died because the pastures on which they feed are drying up.

The Argentine way of raising cattle, grass fed and free range, is the right way. I won't argue that it's environmentally friendly, but it's better at least than the filthy feed lots in the states. And the resulting taste of Argentine cows is a thing of beauty, something that makes me feel thankful for every day I have here. As ridiculous as that sounds, it's true. When you're passionate about something, you're passionate.

Along with my passion for Pampas meat has come a passion for preparing it the Argentine way, the asado. I have been training under the tutelage of my former host father, Guillermo, for months now.

He taught me how to buy meat, which charcoal to use, the difference between using wood and charcoal, how to build a fire, how to light the fire, when the coals are ready, how to spread the coals around depending on which cuts of meat you're cooking, how to clean the grill, how to use excess runoff fat, where to put the meat on the grill, how to cut the meat before putting it on the grill, the different points at which to flip the meat, and finally, the order in which the meats come off the grill to serve and how they are cut and presented. Guillermo has been my Yoda of Asado.

One thing I never understood, however, was why Guillermo seemed to be possessive of his parilla or grill. Every time I tried to do something myself, he would insist on metaphorically holding my hand while doing it. I've had the desire many times to tell him that I know what I'm doing and that I can do it myself, but I try to be polite and so have held back and accepted his micromanaging approach to teaching me. It wasn't until in San Martin de Los Andes that I finally understood the origins of this parilla possessiveness.

As I mentioned before, the hostel at which I stayed in San Martin had its own parilla. Upon first look at the parilla, I was a bit disappointed. It only faintly resembled Guillermo's parilla and consisted very basically of a large warped concave metal grill, a concrete surface, and three walls enclosing it. The area around the parilla was littered with trash and was not at all ideal for the process of making asado. No matter I told myself. All I needed were the basics. When I returned to the states I would build a glorious parilla. But the Puma Hostel in San Martin was a good place to hone my skills on a very basic apparatus.

I made asado 3 times in San Martin. The first was a success, but was easy as I cooked more chicken and sausage than real meat cuts. The second asado was a personal asado in which I cooked up rack of lamb for myself. The last asado was a biggy: Chicken, tira de asado, vacio, morcilla, trout, provoleta, onions, and calabaza (butternut squash). We held this particular asado 2 nights before we were to leave San Martin and I prepared a day in advance by collecting wood from the forest 1 km away. I wanted the coals to be straight from wood as opposed to charcoal because I'd heard that it resulted in better tasting meat.

Because I was going to be arriving late from an adjacent town, Villa Traful, I had to relinquish the buying of the meat to a 30-year-old Argentine guy named Hernan. We'd met Hernan at our hostel a week before and one of our female group members took a liking to him so he'd been hanging around ever since. I talked over with Hernan the type of meat we wanted for the asado and judging from the conversation, I could tell that he'd do a good job of buying. The only problem was that he equated buying the meat with the honor of being the night's asador (grill master).....I quickly and quite immaturely shot this dream down. I let him know that making asado was quite possibly my favorite pass time and that I had already spent hours collecting dry barkless kindling from an apple tree in the forest. In other words, it was to be my asado. He'd better not start the fire. And if he did, I might just throw a 2 year old tantrum. And so I began to understand Guillermo....

I spent the day of the parilla exploring Villa Traful with a few friends, but I have to admit that during the hikes I was thinking and planning for the evening. What construction of fire would I make to prepare the coals: tee pee or log cabin? What order would I put the meat on and how would I distribute the coals? How would I cook the trout and would it be too delicate to flip? Nevertheless, I was able to enjoy Villa Traful and live in the moment... but the moment I was back in San Martin, I felt an urgency to return quickly to the hostel to ensure that I had both claimed the parilla for the evening and started the fire by myself.

We ran into Hernan and Erica(the budding couple) on the way back from the bus station. Hernan was carrying a bag of charcoal in one hand and the meat in the other. He was excited to show me the meat cuts he'd bought: Tira de asado, morcilla, and vacio. He pointed out the parallel lines of meat and fat on the tira de asado as well as the bright blood red of the meat. He also explained how he had bought it all at Pil Pil, the butcher shop (carnicerea) that I had recommended to him, which had been recommended to me. He had done well. And even better, he was not home before me to intercept my plan of starting the fire.

As Erica and Hernan left for a Fruit/Vegetable stand to buy veggies, I walked impatiently back to the hostel and back to the parilla. There waiting for me, undisturbed was my lena, or wood, with tape around it that I had labeled with my name (What kind of geek labels wood that he collects?). I quickly began building a log cabin fire with a solid log base and plenty of tinder underneath to ensure that it would only take one match to light.

Exito or success. One fosforo (or match) later and the log cabin was roaring a good six feet into the air. Hernan approached from the hostel and said astonished, 'Mucho Fuego!'

'Si', I responded with an ear to ear grin.

And then he started with what would shortly have the two of us in clear conflict.

'Hay carbon en el fuego?'

He was asking me if I'd put charcoal in the fire. No, I hadn't put charcoal in the fire. I was planning on putting a little in, but I was letting the fire grow strong before doing so. Before I could respond, Hernan was putting large chunks of charcoal on my beautiful flames. I was not pleased, but I said nothing. I thought to myself, 'You should share this experience. Maybe Hernan likes it just as much as you do. Let him be part of it.'

And so I held my tongue while Hernan added piece after piece of charcoal to my fire and then manipulated the charcoal continuously with one of the long iron parilla tools, similar to what you might use with a chimney. I hoped and truly thought that Hernan would leave the asado, would play a bit and then return to Erica, with whom he seemed so smitten and vice versa. Yes, go find Erica I thought. And leave me with my love, the parilla.

But he didn't. He kept fumbling with the fire and 15 minutes later, unable to control myself, I snapped.

'Hernan, el fuego esta bien. Para para.' (Hernan, the fire is ok. Stop!)

I immediately felt badly. What happened to letting Hernan share the experience? Something in me wouldn't allow it. Hernan looked hurt. He made one last poke with a long iron tool, put it down, and sulked away back inside the hostel.

In the meantime, my team of meat cleaners and veggie prep chefs was bringing out the raw ingredients, grill ready. The coals were bright red and so I began distributing them under the grill to warm it up.

At the same time that the meat came out, the hostel's dog followed and began whimpering for snippets. No amount of commands in English nor Spanish seemed to make any impact on this dog. In addition, she ignored my attempts to pull her away by the collar. She would not be deterred. (Later I learned that the owner had her on a diet because she was 8 kilos overweight. However, this only made her crazy for food and the hostel guests more or less gave her whatever she asked for-except me.)

With the grill red hot, I began placing the cuts. The tira de asado, rib bones down. The vacio, fat side down. Both the aforementioned in areas with plenty of coals underneath to ensure that the thickness of the cuts would be penetrated by enduring heat. The chicken I also put a great deal of coals under. Chicken requires a good deal of heat and you can cook the heck out of it because of all the skin and fat. The morcilla or blood sausage is more about warming it up and so I placed it on a cooler area. It's precooked and there's no real reason it even needs to be on the parilla, but better the grill than the oven or microwave. Then I put the trout on skin side down and hoped it would not tear or get stuck to the metal. I finished with the veggies, placing them wherever I could find space. They were not the focus and some would have to wait until the meat came off. And all the time, Adela the dog watched patiently from a not so distance.

A few minutes after placing the meat, Hernan returned. He seemed to have forgotten my previous berating and I was happy that it hadn't impacted him terribly. It would have upset me if I were him, but apparently he saw it differently. He wanted to take a picture of us at the parilla, but after doing so, I saw his hand return to the iron parilla tool. Hernan was back at it, pushing the coals around under the grill and placing more charcoal on the coals that I kept in reserve in the corner of the parilla for preparing more coals. After a few minutes of painfully watching him, someone called him back to the hostel and for this, I was thankful. For a few precious moments, the parilla was mine again.

Soon after, however, Hernan was back, and with doubts.

'Patrick. Debes poner mas carbon en las brasas, no? Hace un poco frio la parilla, no?' The truth was that he was right. The wood coals that I was relying on had died out and become cold and needed to be replaced by new ones, but I couldn't for whatever reason bring myself to agree with him.

'Esta bien,' Hernan, I insisted. And then I decided to just have it out with him, to be honest with him about my wishes for the evening. 'Mira Hernan, esta es mi parilla, mi fuego. Tenes que dejar mi parilla. Ya se que soy muy joven, muy imadura en este sentido pero es asi. Yo quiero hacer todo asi que anda! Por favor.' I told him in spitting Castellano that it was my parilla, that I knew I was being immature about it, but that that was the way it was and that I wanted him to go, to leave. He kind of smiled and laughed in response and I only half returned the smiles and laughing because really, I wasn't kidding. This was my piece of art, my project, and I didn't want assistance. Gone were my thoughts of diplomacy and maturity, replaced more by a desire to hog the pure pleasure of the creation myself.

Hernan left once again, this time kind of confused and bewildered.....But 5 minutes later he was back. Again, he made the recommendation to put more coals under the grill. I think for him, it had turned into a matter of....This Yankee thinks he knows how to grill but he's not doing it right and he had the nerve to tell me, born and raised in Argentina, making asados all my life, that I didn't know what I was doing and that I should leave....

My response was to repeat what I had said before. I was done with Hernan. He had distracted me enough and I felt that my focus was no longer on the process, but instead on my resentment of his trying to take the experience away from me. Hernan left again, this time for good.

The delivery of the asado started ok...I brought out the morcilla first, as you're supposed to in a traditional asado. You can't mess up morcilla. So far so good. Then I came back with some tira de asado. While the first piece to come out was more or less well done. The second, not so much.

Hernan pointed it out to me. 'Patrick, perdon pero es un poco crudo'. He was saying that it wasn't cooked. I walked over to him and squinted in the dark to see that he was right- blood red and raw on one side. Damn. He was right: I should have had hotter and more coals under the grill. I insisted that I take the meat back to continue cooking it. I ran back to the grill and stoked the fire in the corner with more charcoal and then put more coals under the grill, hoping to cook the tira de asado more quickly. In the meantime, the dog was now pacing and whimpering for a piece of the cooked meat.

I pulled the trout off the grill next. I was able to successfully flip it and tried a piece. Tender, juicy and delicious. Success. I delivered the trout to happy customers. Returning to the grill, I pulled off another strip of tira de asado and delivered it. This strip was rare, but edible and the hungry table put it down quickly. Next, I brought out veggies and provoleta cheese. And then some chicken thighs. Lastly, I cut off half of a portion of vacio that had been cooked through. The other half was too thick and would require more time on the grill. After I delivered the vacio, I took some time to sit down with my group and enjoy some of the meat for myself. After 10 or so minutes, the grill called to me. There was still chicken breast and a large hunk of vacio. I felt that the vacio ought to be ready, but when I returned to the parilla, it was nowhere to be found.

Puzzled, I looked around to see if Hernan had taken it off the grill, but he was back at the picnic table, had never left. Scanning all corners of the dark backyard of the hostel, I quickly found the culprit, Adela, in the corner where the two fences meet. She was clearly guarding something, licking and pulling off chunks. I walked closer and saw her with the beautiful remaining piece of vacio. 'Adela!' I screamed.

While I was enjoying the fruits of my labor, the dog had jumped up onto the red hot grill and stolen a pound of juicy vacio.

Horrified and literally in shock, I ran back to tell the group who erupted in laughter. I was glad they thought it funny because I felt a sense of guilt as the asador. How could I not only have delivered raw ribs, but also have allowed the dog to eat half of one of the best cuts of the night! Hernan was smiling.

After admonishing the dog more, I pulled the remaining chicken off the grill and returned to the table to finish my meat. Some members of the group had put a piece of vacio on my plate because I hadn't tried any and so I dug in, feeling defeated and suddenly not so hungry. At this point, my job as the asador was more or less done. All the food had been delivered and the remaining meat and chicken were balancing nearby in case anyone wanted anymore.

The only one who did want some more was the one who had had too much. Upon reaching for another piece of chicken, I again found Adela quietly and contentedly licking the remaining chicken breasts. She had eaten a pound of meat and was not done.

I freaked out again. Demon Dog! I thought, Possessed Wicked Creature! What was wrong with this dog? The group laughed, but I felt like a failure.

In the end, it was clear to me that I got what I deserved. My obsession and posessiveness with the parilla, my immaturity, my unwillingness to take advice all came back to haunt me. I'd served half raw ribs and let the dog eat and ruin a good portion of the meat and chicken. The night was not a complete failure, but for me, it felt like it.

I could see Hernan lying down to sleep with a grin on his face thinking of how sweetly justice had played itself out. My only consolation was that he would be going to bed hungry:)

(This blog entry is dedicated to Guillermo, my yoda like mentor and friend. I promise from now on Guillermo to understand your relationship with your parilla.)

Patagonia

2009-02-04T13:01:00.001-08:00

So I finally got my vacation. I'll be honest. I don't work terribly hard here so I didn't really deserve a big vacation. It was a vacation, however, not just from work but from the city as well.

Before my trip to patagonia, the name 'Patagonia' to me meant a high quality, but far too expensive clothing brand. Frankly, I'd never known that a corresponding place existed. I thought Patagonia was kind of like Haagen Das, a name created for the way it sounds with no real meaning. But let me reassure you that the Patagonia region of Argentina does exist and it is every bit deserving of its name.

For months, my yoga instructor friend Erica and I have been rounding up people and making plans for a 2 week trip to San Martin de Los Andes, a smallish city in the Cordillero region of Argentina's Patagonia (And very close to the Chilean border on the West Side of the Country). At one point, I more or less dropped out of this planning process and Erica took over. All said and done, she had rounded up 6 other people, booked us a room in a hostel, and made sure we all bought roundtrip bus tickets.

When the time finally came for the trip, I have to admit that I felt a bit of anxiety. I was going to spend 2 weeks sharing one room and bathroom with 5 other adults, 4 of whom I didn't know very well. This would have not been a concern for me during boyscouts or during college, but I have since become a wimp in terms of my travel and comfort preferences. That is, I like my own space and a bit of luxury. Sharing a hostel room with 5 other people is neither comfortable nor luxurious. Cozy is a better description.

The bus trip down was not so bad. It took about 21 hours to get from Buenos Aires to San Martin de Los Andes, but it didn't feel nearly that long. The bus was comfortable, the seats ample, and we were provided with pillows, blankets, and plenty of food and drink to keep us happy. I slept pretty well overnight and a few hours after I woke up, we were at our destination.

The day we arrived in San Martin was a bit brisk and windy. The landscape was beautiful, but it was somehow both cold and hot at the same time. The sun was powerful and bright and capable of burning, but the wind made you wish you had a scarf. Not exactly what I had expected and not so comfortable.

Fortunately, as the week progressed, the weather improved. It turned hot and sunny during the day and just cool enough in the evening to allow for great sleep. On top of that, through meeting and talking with other people in the hostel, our group was introduced to a slew of fun and inexpensive ideas for day trips. The following is a picture summary of more or less how we wound up spending our time:

1. La Islita (the little island) This is a little island that took an hour of hiking through the mountains to reach. It's both within Lanin National Park and on Maipuche Indian land, which resulted in a 2 peso entry fee. But the beach was every bit worth it.

The beach itself was a bit rocky, but the water was crystal clear, pure, and cold, but not so much that you couldn't swim out to the adjacent island. It was one of the most beautiful beaches I'd ever seen with green mountains surrounding on all sides and snow covered Andes in the distance.

The walk to and from the beach was surreal. There were cattle, turkey, chickens, and lamb roaming more or less wild. I guessed that the Maipuche owned all of this livestock, but allowed them the freedom to roam the land and herded them in somehow as needed.

2. Yuco

My group told me one day that we were going to Yuco. I had no idea what that meant. I found that it meant that I was going to be woken early from a great sleep to board a dusty old diesel leaking bus that shuttled us out into the middle of nowhere. The group (or a few err very organized and err assertive women) had begun to play a dictatorial role on the trip. That is, every day, we were basically told what we were doing. I didn't mind this as most of their suggestions were great and better than I could have come up with. On top of that, they planned it all out, let me know how much it was going to cost, and coordinated everything.

After an hour on the rickety bus, we were dropped off on the side of the road near a trailhead. We wandered sleepily down a long slope and after about a kilometer found a beautiful and private half moon beach on a lake surrounded by snow covered Andes on all sides. It was again some of the most beautiful scenery I'd ever witnessed. What was best is that we had it all to ourselves. Gone were the hordes of stressed out Portenos, taxis, buses, diesel, smog. The water was glass and you could see clear to the colorful rocks and preserved logs underneath as seen in the above picture. It was a silence, a stillness that I'd been yearning for after months in Buenos Aires without a break. It instilled in me a sensitivity that I haven't felt for maybe years. I wanted to be quiet and walk very lightly so as not to disturb the peace. Some members of the group I think felt uncomfortable in the silence and tried to fill it by talking loudly and joking around. I walked away from the group along the beach and around a secluded bend and just sat on a rock in the sun with my feet in the water looking out across the breathtaking stillness. I sat that way for almost an hour and a half and then, after feeling as if I had slept for a full day, I returned to the group to eat a snack.

I spent the rest of the day reading the New Yorker with my legs dangling in the water from a secluded spot along the coast. At one point, I decided to try to swim in the water after watching my friend Axel do so. Before I entered, my muscles and bones felt stiff and I was a bit tired. I questioned whether I really wanted to do it. But once in, I felt alive. The water was cold, but refreshing in a way that I've never been energized before. I swam under to look at the colorful rocks, able to open my eyes and see as clearly as if it were the YMCA pool without having to worry about burning chlorine. I tried the front crawl, the breast stroke, I dove down and up like a seal. And the view in the background every time I raised my head was a dream of mountains and snow. Instantly, this activity had become my favorite of all time, better than golf or mountain biking or hiking. It was like falling in love when you thought you'd never fall in love again. An utter surprise.

When I emerged from the lake, I let the sun and wind dry me off. The best way to describe how I felt is Younger. My muscles and bones were no longer so tight. In fact, a giant condor landed on the other side of the beach and upon seeing it, my body responded by sprinting out after it, so quickly that I felt at least 10 years younger, with capricious energy to spare (not that I'm so old man, but I can tell a difference from age 19. I'm more conscience of the way my energy and body are used).

We stayed at Yuco until after 9pm. It was a long day and we'd all gotten too much sun, but at the same time we realized that our day at Yuco was magical, that we might never again have the opportunity to spend the day at such a beautiful place and have it all to ourselves. We collectively agreed that we would never forget this gift.

3. Villa L'Angostura

Villa L'Angostura is a town 3 hours South of San Martin. The bus trip was long, rocky, and dusty, as there are no paved roads between these cities. I had heard that the town was beautiful, but didn't know what to expect or how it could be that much more beautiful than what I'd already seen in the past few days. Once again, however, I was taken aback by the breathtaking beauty of the place. Villa L'Angostura is a smaller town than San Martin and there are 2 major beaches along the main road out of town, as well as an adjacent forest of ancient Arrayanes trees. I didn't have time for a hike out into the forest, but I was able to enjoy the two beaches. Somehow, the water in these lakes was even more pure than in the San Martin area. You could literally walk out to a pier with 10 feet of water below you and see down to the lake floor as if the water were a spotless blue green window. What's more is that the mountains in the background were even taller and with more snow pack than in San Martin. The scenery there was a serious 1 up on San Martin.

Unfortunately, after a half dip in the water at Villa L'Angostura , I had to head back to the bus station to catch a bus back to San Martin. I will, however, be back.

4. El Mirador

El Mirador is simply a look out point at the heart of a 10K round trip walk. The hike up is exhausting, but the view is-you fill in the blank. I don't care how many times you look at a view like this. It never gets old and I don't think it ever fails to quiet and nourish the soul.

The remainder of the trip was more of the same. One day we went to a town called Villa Traful, which is the smallest nearby town, very frontierish and rustic with it's own Mirador which is beautiful, but not quite as beautiful as the one pictured above. In Traful, I ate my first trout dinner. The trout was fished fresh from the adjacent lake and was cooked in butter and fresh herbs. So good that I happily ate skin and all.

On another day, we walked another 5 or 6 kilometers to a beach called Catrita. This particular beach was crowded with people, almost a resort of sorts, but the water was still clean and much warmer and so I swam more on this day than any other.

Another highlight from the trip was a mountain bike excursion up to the base of Cerro Chapelco, or the local mountain for skiing. It's almost 20 kilometers of riding straight up and then the same trip back down. My friend Axel mentioned that he wanted to do it and not one to back down from a challenge, I said that I'd join him. I secretly hoped he would forget about the whole thing, but one Sunday, he insisted we go for it....And so we searched around town and found the one shop that was still open to rent their beaten up mountain bikes to us. I was skeptical about my mountain bike's ability to make it more than a mile. The back rim was horribly bent, the tires wouldn't hold much air, and the bikes were cheap to begin with. But Axel was insistent that we try.

So, with plenty of water and snacks we started the ascent. The idea was that we would stop at various checkpoints to take a break and then decide if we wanted to continue. As it turned out, both of us refused to admit that we were too tired to continue and so we more or less vomited ourselves up the mountain on our shoddy 'Bronco' brand bikes. Arriving at the top of the mountain, triumphant, sweaty, smelly, and dust covered, we took pictures and then headed back down quickly because it was significantly colder up there and we weren't prepared for it.

The trip down would have been blissful if not for the fact that high speed made it that much more apparent that my bike was ready to disassemble. The back rims curvature was that much more noticeable with increased speed and so my descent was an exercise in doing what I could to make sure the bike and myself made it to the bottom in one piece. While the ascent took 2 or more hours, the descent couldn't have been longer than 35 minutes, and that with a stop for pictures. Axel and I ended the day by rewarding ourselves by going out to eat at an all you can eat meat and salad buffet that was actually very tasty.

And that brings me to the topic of food. My goal during the trip, food-wise, was to try trout, deer, and Patagonian lamb. Mission accomplished. I ate trout 4 times. Once in Villa Traful. Once I grilled it during an asado. And twice I got it for lunch from an upscale to-go place. My conclusion. Trout is tasty. I've pan fried a whole butterflied trout the last 2 nights in Buenos Aires in my apartment.

I meant to try deer in the form of a steak, but was never able to make it to the restaurant that specializes in it. As a result, I was only able to try smoked deer, which in any case, was very good, but for me not very distinguishable from beef.

Lamb I love. I first tried lamb at a restaurant called La Casona, which was a restaurant in the first floor of a house built during the original construction building boom of the city in the 1800s. The lamb was cooked with Rosemary and while there wasn't that much meat, I ate every last fiber. It was that flavorful and tender. Lamb I can easily distinguish from beef. I think it tends to be more tender and the flavor is a bit more subtle. The following day, having a new found hunger for lamb, I collected wood from the forest and later bought a 1 kilo rack of lamb with a lamb kidney attached. I was told by the friendly butcher that the kidney is a delicacy, but it looked in its crude state like a ball of cartilidge and fat. I grilled the lamb about 45 minutes on both sides and then tore into it ravenously at the picnic table under the hostel's cherry tree (which i will mention later). Again, for a kilo of meat and bones, there wasn't actually much to be had. However, the meat at the end of the ribs was delicious and the part covering the ribs was fatty but tasty (called a matambre cut). The surprise was the kidney. Just as I thought, it very much was a ball of fat with some meat inside, but the truth is that it was soft and full of flavor that flooded my mouth and warmed my insides. Mmmmm. Lamb kidney. Everyone should try it (Folks with high cholesterol excluded).

Another reason I came to love San Martin is that fresh fruits grow from trees and bushes throughout the city. Cherry and plum trees are on every street in the city and apple trees are not difficult to find either. Patagonia is in La Zona de Frutas or the part of the country where fruits are grown. So it's a great fruit growing climate and the cherries and plums that we ate every day were testament to that.

One cold and rainy day, my friend Axel and I decided to climb trees throughout the city to collect cherries and plums from which to make desserts. After 2 hours of work, we had filled two large grocery bags. From this fruit, I made 5 deserts: Cherry tort with a crushed cookie base and topped with a thickened cherry sauce and fresh whipped cream, cherry crisp, oatmeal plum bars, sweet plum sauce for ice cream, and a cherry-cream cheese cake.

I cooked a ton on the trip in general. I grilled out 3 times including lamb, provolone cheese, veggies, tira de asado, vacio, morcilla, chicken, and trout. I made 6 pizzas one day for a total of 13 people. I made homemade gnocci for 5 one night. I also made a giant chocolate chip cookie for a birthday. A full fat cheesecake. And finally a giant oatmeal cookie. I will mention too that meeting women in a hostel is very easy if you know how to cook.

In the following entries, I will tell the tale of one night of grilling out as well as the overall sensation with which Patagonia left me. It's too much for one entry and this one is getting long and rambling. But please do read on!!

New Year's Eve

2009-01-10T05:32:00.000-08:00

Since I blogged about Christmas Eve and Day, I think it's appropriate that I describe the New Years celebration here as well.

As in many other countries, New Years here is celebrated with fireworks. From what I've heard, I'm fairly certain they are illegal here....but, the law is more or less disregarded (just as in the states I suppose).

There are two or so weeks of fireworks in Argentina. You begin to hear them in the streets a few days before Christmas. Then at 12, everyone lights off fireworks to mark the beginning of Christmas Day. In between Christmas and New Years, you hear a smattering of fireworks in the evenings and then at Midnight on New Years Day, people light off their remaining fireworks which mainly consist of roman candles, rockets with white trails that bang! once they reach a certain height, and rockets that blossom into an array of colors.

Apart from fireworks, New Years is a time to make asado or to barbecue. Out with the nasty mayo filled salads of Christmas and in again with my beloved meat and assorted cow parts.

My former host family asked if I wanted to join them at a New Year's Eve asado at their friend's house in the now swanky and touristy Palermo Viejo neighborhood. As I've expressed too many times, asking me if I want to go to an asado is a rhetorical question. The better question is, what would I have to be doing in order to turn down or not accept an invitation to an asado? So as I was saying...At about 10 or so PM on New Years Eve, we piled in the 10-year-old pristinely maintained Renault and made the 10 or so minute journey to the adjacent barrio.

The house in Palermo Viejo is three stories with a clear glass domed roof which you can see out of from the base floor. Outside on the ground floor, there is a couryard with a beautiful brick and stonework parilla. Upon walking in and greeting the throngs of family members, I made my way to the parilla and the asador (grill master). The asador was the father of the family and from what I'd heard, he takes great pride in the art of grilling. I knew upon meeting him that even if I weren't able to connect with anyone else that evening, I would have fun talking this guy up about grilling techniques.

By the time I laid eyes on the grill, the asador was more or less allowing the meat to finish off very slowly. The grill was covered, every inch with all of the best cuts of meat and on a separate side of the grill segregated by a brick wall were a few butterflied chicken sections.

The grill master was only too happy to answer all of my questions about his parilla and technique. He made sure that I was aware of how exactly he was cooking the parts requiring the most skill, such as the chinchulinas and mojellas (sweet meats). We then moved on to talking about his house: Three floors, an ivy covered courtyard with a beautiful parilla, exposed brick walls, beautiful wood floors, immaculately maintained. He had bought the place 15 years ago before Palermo Viejo became the trendiest part of town, at a time when it was filled with autobody shops and not much else. Since then and despite the financial crisis of 2001, his investment had more than doubled. He is now in the process of trying to sell his place and in fact almost completed the transaction when the latest financial crisis hit and his buyer backed out. Nevertheless, it is only a matter of time before he will have a new buyer-the location makes it a gold mine.

His plan is to move to a cheaper and more up and coming part of town to do the same thing again. He described how in Argentina you can't trust the retirement system and that you have to therefore invest for yourself. In Argentina, the retirement system(their social security) was privatized during President Menom's tenure (1980s) and just recently nationalized and in the process, tons of money disappeared... So intelligent investors put money in ladrillos (bricks), or real estate.

In AR, people have learned that the only safe investment is Apartments or homes. The stock market here gets crushed every time people get skiddish or foreign investors pull their money out. It cannot be relied on for anything but a quick trade. Nor do people trust the banks who have participated in numerous coralitos, or more or less telling people they can't take their money out of their accounts while it was being devalued by the government. So, the only thing Argentines can have some amount of control over is real estate and if you have extra money here, that's the mattress underneath which you hide it.

At a little after 11pm, we sat down to dinner which consisted of green salads, a pizza I'd made, and the constant flow of different cuts of meat from the grill. Because I had mistakenly mentioned that I liked chinchulinas and had never tried mojellas, I was given a string of crispy intestines probably the size of my own as well as all the prized neck glands. I accepted them graciously and I actually think that the rest of the family members were jealous that I had gotten all of the mojellas but they consoled themselves by telling me that there is a ton of cholesterol in this part of the cow...To which I replied, 'I will die happy then!'

And so I ate for about an hour straight and at that point, a family member next to me grabbed my plate along with the rest to clear the table for dessert. Truth be told, I wasn't done eating, but I realized that what she had done for me was a blessing. It can't be the best way to start the new year with over a kilo of meat and other weird organs in your stomach at midnight.

A few minutes before 12, we began hearing the pops of fireworks. The asador and father of the family beckoned everyone up three flights of stairs to the roof where we waited until midnight and lit off our rockets and roman candles. The father of the family gave me a roman candle to shoot off, but Guillermo, my host father, grabbed it from my hand, thinking that I didn't know what to do with it. Guillermo only means the best for me, but sometimes he treats me as if I were brain damaged or from Mars. For instance, Guillermo has tried to tell me more than once about how cork is used in wine bottles instead of plastic, as if I hadn't learned when I was 5-years-old what a cork is. By the same token, Guillermo didn't think I'd ever shot off a Roman Candle so he grabbed it from my hands as he probably thought I would shoot myself in the eye with it or something.

Anyhow, once done with our brief fireworks show, we headed back downstairs for a toast to the New Year as well as dessert after dessert followed by a birthday cake for the mother of the family whose birthday was coincidentally on the 1st of the year. After all the cake, we sat around and talked well into the morning. I chatted with 4-5 older extended family members about comparisons between AR and the US-always dangerous, but fun territory. By the end, I think I had somehow convinced them that I was sponging off AR, that I was a freeloader. This was not my intention, but in telling them that I was not interested in being certified to be a school psychologist in AR, they construed that as me only wanting to hang out here and not contribute at all to the society. In reality, I contribute quite a bit. I buy private healthcare, have an expensive gym membership, go out to eat 2 nights a week, buy lots of food, give tours, teach English, work with tourists, and direct tourists to spend money in certain places. I think I pull my weight in AR, despite the fact that I am not working constantly here. But my arguments were lost on them. And by the time I left at about 4 in the morning, I was as good as Bolivian or Paraguayan-a freeloader. Oh well.

Despite the bad taste in my mouth, I had enjoyed the conversation. It was lively, loud, playfully argumentative....Very Italian. And at the end of the night, before making the trip back, I had an opportunity to talk with the stunningly attractive oldest 20 something daughter of the family. Argentine women are generally very very pretty, but this girl was one of the prettiest I'd ever seen. I knew that without a doubt she had a boyfriend. Girls that pretty always have boyfriends....But that didn't stop me from talking with her a bit. We chatted about her learning English and how she's going to school to be an orthodontist and about the possibility of doing an exchange program in the states. I didn't make any outright moves to get her phone number or anything like that and a few minutes into the conversation, everyone started heading toward the door so there was no time even to have much more of a talk.

The evening ended with me being dropped off at 4am by my sleepy host family in front of my apartment. I slept in until about 1 the next day and then stayed in bed reading until 3 or so pm. New Years Day was nothing but rest and reading.

La Navidad, 10-9

2008-12-27T09:51:00.000-08:00

A continuacion.....Christmas in Buenos Aires started out with sleep......I finally got to bed at about 5am after a long night of chatting with two Swedish guys, a Brit, and a Dutch guy about comparisons between soccer and religion. I don't want to get into this topic because I don't think it's worth a blog entry, but I will say that when someone truly loves something and is invested in it, it's hard to get them to see any other viewpoint. So convinced was one of the Swedes that soccer is equivalent to religion that he almost came to shouting when I told him that his argument was seriously flawed. It was much like trying to persuade an evangelical Christian that other viewpoints of Christianity exist or that certainty is impossible or that one has to accept some very hard to swallow ideas and contradictions in order to be Christian in the way that evangelicals practice.

Anyhow, the discussion ended amicably and while the Swedes and the Brits left to find a club in which to dance, the Dutch guy and I went home to our respective apartments and slept. On Christmas Day, I slept in until about 12:30, skyped with my parents for a while, and then returned to bed to read the New Yorker in the semi-dark with the fan on me the entire time (these days it's always 90 or so degrees here. I ain't complainin). At 2:30pm, I received a call from Guillermo, my former host dad, inviting me over for Christmas Day lunch at 3pm. I should have realized that 3 meant at least 4. Most Argentine's will tell you to come an hour or two before they actually mean it. After 9 months total in the country I still haven't figured this out. I got there at 3 and no one else had arrived yet. I was more or less the first.

So, for about an hour or so, I hung out, doing what I could to help with setting the table and chatting with the foreign houseguests as well as Argelia and Guillermo. The food on the table was leftovers from the previous evening. Nothing new except for some empanadas that had been pulled from the freezer. I was concerned about the safety of some of the mayo filled salads that had been sitting in the heat for so long before being refrigerated the previous evening, but they still smelled ok. However, being the obsessed foodie that I am, I was a little let down that there would be no new food on Christmas Day. Christmas day was more or less sloppy seconds, leftovers and people tired and groggy from Christmas Eve, the big celebration in Argentina. We unenthusiastically scooped down some sustenance and the real treat was when the British woman staying at the house brought out two English Luxury Puddings, Mincemeat in a Jar, and some type of vegemite type nasty yeast spread supposedly high in B-Vitamins. My day old cookies were also brought out.

After lunch, the Swedes came up with the idea of playing soccer in the adjacent school park that actually has a somewhat nice, albeit concrete, football arena. Having nothing better to do and intrigued by the idea of playing soccer on Christmas in Argentina, I joined.

What began with a friendly game of kicking a ball around turned into a full field high energy game against 5 Argentine guys. Being the most tenderfoot and more or less completely in the dark about the rules and techniques of soccer, I played goalie. I did know how to sacrifice my body and follow the ball and throw it or pass it to an open teammate. The rest of the team consisted of the two Swedes (who had played on an amateur team together and won a national championship), the Dutch guy, and the British guy. It must be very important in Europe to know what you're doing with a soccer ball. All of these European guys seemed to have a strong basic grasp of the game. And it was a good thing, because the middle aged Argentine guys were also very good, looked as if they'd been playing their entire lives.

The game got off to a bad start, for us. I was being scored on left and right and we couldn't get close to the goal. At that point, my European friends found their strides and scored a series of goals to bring us within a few points of winning (10 goals). At around the same time, I realized that it was better to watch the ball the entire time than to avert and shield my eyes like a wimp when the ball was kicked on me. What I'm trying to say is that I got better as the game went on.

In the end, I was able to save 3 attempts on our goal and then one of the Swedes scored and we triumphed over the Middle-Aged Argentines, 10-9. We shook hands and then took pictures of each other in our moment of triumph. Argentina may have won soccer in the olympics, but by God, we beat a few middle-aged guys on Medrano Street on Christmas Day-Barely.

After the game, I returned home to try to skype my family once more before the day was done. This was about 8 or 9 pm, but 3 hours earlier back home. I should have predicted that in the moment when I most wanted to talk with my family, my internet would be down. Of course it was. Internet and services in Buenos Aires are....how to put it...unreliable. In any case, I enjoyed a leisurely end to Navidad here by reading up a bit on the internet and cooking up some desert.

All in all, Christmas here was easily anticlimatic and maybe even a bit boring, save the soccer game. As I said before, it's not so much a big deal here. Christmas Eve steals the show and Christmas Day, like the food served on it, is leftovers.

La Noche Buena

2008-12-25T16:26:00.001-08:00

A number of friends and family seem curious about what happens here over Christmas. Later in the week I'll post some pictures of the festivities, but for now, I'll bore you with my ramblings.

I'll start off by saying that there are less Christmas decorations, preparations, and music here than in the states...Possibly by a factor of 3-5. Don't get me wrong, Christmas/Holiday decorations are common, but simply nowhere near as deafening as they are in the states. They also rarely played Christmas music on the radio and on the TV there weren't many Christmas or Holiday movies. Almost no one here has a live tree and decorations for trees consist almost entirely of silver or gold orbs, not the kitchen sink type ornaments that we throw on ours in the states. Gift giving is also limited in Argentina. Kids here tend to get one or two gifts. Argentines also don't do much shopping until the last few days before Christmas. There isn't nearly as much hype leading up to the actual day. No black Friday. No door buster specials. Granted, there were some gimmicks and attractive sales at some stores in the mall, but nothing like the constant barrage of propaganda in the states.

I'm guessing that the reason Argentina doesn't celebrate or get into the holidays like we in the states do is that they are a smaller consumer market place. Let's face it, we have a ton of decorations and music in the states largely because retailers want to sell us stuff and we want to buy it. Strip the holiday of this element somewhat and you are left with.....Argentina.

And so it all started on La Noche Buena or Christmas Eve. In Argentina, Christmas eve is much bigger than the actual day itself. I'll give you a play by play of my experience here on Christmas Eve....The night before Christmas Eve I had a holiday dinner at my favorite parilla. I wound up munching on kidneys, chinchulinas (grilled intestines), and tira de asado (ribs) until about midnight and didn't get to bed until about 3am. The next morning I woke up at about 7:30 with the best intentions of going for a swim. I groggily stuffed my equipment in my backpack and began the walk to my gym. About a 3rd of the way, I realized I was far too tired and exhausted and meat hung over to either make it to the pool or swim once I was there. I decided instead to do my shopping for the day which consisted of picking up baking supplies for the cookies I had planned on making for the evening. Slightly after 8am I entered my local Coto supermarket and was amazed at the full parking lot. The interior was no less busy with people hurriedly filling their shopping carts full of Pannetone and Hard Apple Cider (here called Cidra). My new found city instincts quickly cut through my meat induced coma and told me that I had better make this shopping experience a quick one so as to avoid the long lines at the registers.

I was able to move through Coto efficiently and was off to my next task of finding molasses for ginger bread cookies. Argentines don't know what ginger bread cookies are so I decided to introduce our tradition. A friend told me that I could easily find molasses in the health food stores here and while that might be the case, none were open on Christmas Eve. Slightly defeated, I returned home, dropped my groceries at the door, and went back to bed. At 12:30, I woke up to prepare to teach English at 1pm to my now friend, Esteban. Yes, I kind of worked on Christmas Eve, but since it didn't really feel like Christmas eve anyway, it was no big deal. The class went well enough and afterwards, I grabbed a quick bite to eat and then began a long hot day of baking cookies (I'm kind of embarrased to have put that into words). I planned to make four different types of cookies to take to both my friends at one gathering and my host family later at another. Over the course of the next 5 hours, I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies, raisin pudding filled cookies, peach oatmeal fruit bars, and molasses cookies. By about 8pm, sweating profusely in the 90 degree heat combined with that of my oven, I finished.

The first stop was the center of town to a friend's swanky apartment to more or less say hi, drop off my gift of christmas cookies, chug down a glass of malbec, and then run back home to get ready for Christmas eve dinner.

Upon hitting the streets, I noticed a sense of calm and almost goodwill had passed over the city. It was quiet, there weren't many cars, people were smiling as they walked carrying food to the homes of friends and family throughout the city. In the subway, I had the pleasant surprise of a free trip, maybe to celebrate the holiday. Exiting the subway, I realized that I didn't know as well as I thought I did where I was. I asked the nearest guy I saw where Riobamba street was and he kindly directed me there and then patted me paternally on the back. Weird.

The stop at my friends apartment was short and back out on the street, I hopped on bus 152 on Marcelo T. Alvear street and started back towards my apartment. For some reason, again, complete strangers were striking up pleasant conversations with me. Somehow, there actually was a type of Christmas spirit (as cheesy as that is).

A quick stop at my apartment and a 4 block walk later I was at Argelia's carrying a mountain of cookies and a few gifts for the family. Past the ante-room in a semi-open air courtyard Argelia, my former host mom, had setup a giant table filled with a garden of various salads, plates of pork, and matambre (meat stuffed with eggs, spices, and other assorted vegetables.)

Dinner started at about 11:15 with a toast of Malbec wine (brought by the various European travelers who were staying at my former host family's place). There were a total of 25 or so people at the giant table including Argelia's brothers and their families as well as Argelia's parents.

The real festivities started at about 5 minutes to midnight. At this time, Argelia's youngest child, Maria, ran to the rooftop to look for Papa Noel (Santa Claus). At about the same time, fireworks exploded all throughout the neighborhood to celebrate the approaching holiday. Uncles were then dispatched to point out where in the sky Papa Noel could be seen. The uncles, however, seemed to always be able to see Papa Noel while the kids always seemed to miss him. A few minutes after 12, the kids returned to ground level to find that Papa Noel had somehow magically entered the house and scattered presents throughout.

At this point, gifts were torn into and in 5-10 minutes it was all over and we were back at the big table with flutes of sparkling hard apple cider toasting the arrival of Christmas Day. After the toasts and the dessert, we headed up to the rooftop to get some fresh air and had a rousing discussion about the role and importance of soccer and sports in the world. At about 4 am, some decided to try to go out dancing (Christmas Eve is a very big dancing night here) and the others (myself included) decided to go home to sleep.

For details of Christmas day in Argentina, read on in tomorrow's entry:)

Moral Atheism

2008-12-12T16:02:00.000-08:00

I'll begin by saying that Portenos (People from Buenos Aires) relate to Buenos Aires as an abusive father. It's ok for them to speak badly about it, but it angers them to no end to hear other people criticize the city. One of the first questions that you get from Argentines is, 'Do you like Buenos Aires?' or 'Do you like Argentina?' If you answer yes emphatically and then provide sincere reasons why, you have made a friend. Say no, and you have the opposite.

People from Buenos Aires want to hear, love to hear that you love the city. Why? I have a number of ideas or hypotheses, but can't be sure.

Nationalism and patriotism here do not extend much further than world cup, olympic, or barrio soccer. The vast majority of people have no faith in the government, don't trust elected leaders, and don't really believe that democracy works. How then or why would they have any pride in their country if they are unwilling to believe in their democracy? I'm guessing that most Argentines don't have any other choice than to live here (for financial, familial, and language barriers). And it must frustrate the heck out of them sometimes. But, if someone from another country tells them it's not bad, but instead great! Then it makes them feel better.

When Argentines hear that I am leaving come the summer of 2009, they get a hushed look on their faces, almost seem hurt or left behind or....they realize that I've realized what they figured out a long time ago: Buenos Aires can be a fun place, but in many ways it is a mess and not the healthiest way to live.

Telling a Porteno that you are going to leave is almost like telling a loved one that you are separating with them, leaving them alone to deal with 5 crazy kids, clean up a mess while you go back to an easier, more stable place. I believe that I have lost at least one conversation partner after trying to have a frank discussion with her about why I could never settle down in Buenos Aires. Even though my conversation partner had once lived in San Diego and readily admitted how much more stable it is in the states, she was still hurt by the idea that I was leaving and she tried hard to convince me to stay. I almost sensed a jealousy, as if she had wished that she too were still in the states or could return to live there or in Europe, some place where things were a bit more stable, predictable, comfortable. A place where she and her family could have more opportunity and at least feel a sense of control over their destiny.

I long to have frank discussions with Argentines about comparisons between here and the United States and other countries. With many folks, it is nearly impossible. I can make maybe one critical comment about Argentina in a conversation and must cut it off at that. Any more and I am met with sulleness or hurt feelings.

When the shoe is on the other foot, I have to admit not loving when people criticize the United States. However, I think I'm far better at being objective about my country. I'm not running for office. I feel no need to say I love my country. It's a pretty good place, but we've got a lot of work to do. We're the richest country on Earth and yet we haven't figured out how to care for our citizenry nor provide them with affordable higher education (Among a gazillion other issues these days). Sure, it's a stable place where the people tend to be good hearted and to care for one another but we've got a long way to go.

I do my best to accept criticism about the states, but also to help people from AR and other countries form an accurate picture of them. I'm more interested in searching out the truth than defending my country out of some type of functionless national pride. I think patriotism is better when it is critical. If you truly care about your country, you are critical of its weaknesses so you can get better. Nationalism without a critical edge favors a superficial sports team sort of pride as opposed to the confrontation of reality.

Returning to the idea of Portenos having no faith in their government, elected leaders, or democracy. I believe that this lack of faith in the country's leaders and the government in general translates into a general distrust of society and community as a whole. That is, Portenos as a culture, on the whole, don't believe in the idea of working together for the common good. As a result, it is every man for himself. Every family for theirselves. Want to help someone? Want to look out for people other than yourself or your family. That's nice....But you're weak, stupid, naieve. You won't last. Good luck. The predominant mentality here is that if you want to survive BA, you'd better wise up, Ojo, watch out for yourself because nobody else is going to watch out for you.

And that is why I say that there is a moral atheism in this city. An illness. It's as if people in the city don't see each other, like they are blind. They almost refuse to acknowledge that others exist. They have learned that they need to barrel through life and look out for number one, in spite of the other blobs of flesh and bone whom they pass everyday. The illness is a lack of feeling. A lack of responsibility for anyone else or their community. The lack of responsibility makes people think that not only is it acceptable for them to do what they have to do to survive, it is necessary and weak and stupid not to.

This Porteno big city attitude infects almost every area of life here. You see it in the dog poop littering the sidewalks and streets, the grafitti all over beautiful buildings, the taxi, bus, and regular drivers that would sooner kill you than slow down to allow you to walk across the street even when you have a walk signal. You see it when old ladies who could be your grandmother cut in front of you in line at the grocery store or when you try to swim laps at the pool and the guy behind you tries to swim past you and in the process crashes into someone else who is going the opposite direction and then proceeds to drive you into the lane marker and then doesn't even apologize. Breathless run on sentence, I know.

The thread in this story that you can follow again and again here is lack of concern for ones neighbor, lack of responsibility to others or the community. I have no responsibility to anyone. I can throw my cigarette wrapper on the ground without thinking twice. Not my problem. It doesn't matter if I flick my cigarette and it hits someone else-they don't exist to me.

Of course I am generalizing. Of course there are exceptions. Of course there are good people here. I feel bad writing this because I have so many good friends in this city. But the truth is...And I cannot sugarcoat it anymore. A moral illness exists in this city. I'm not sure if it's a top down governmental thing or whether it's a grassroots illness that has affected the government. In any case, it exists.

My greatest fear is that I will adapt to this lifestyle. Bucking this system, trying to care about people in spite of the prevailing culture makes you feel alone, stupid, taken advantage of. It's stressful. Not fun. But I refuse to change. I don't want to return to the states with an every man for himself mentality. To me, it's not worth living if you have to live that way to survive. It's soulless. I look forward to returning to a place where I don't feel foolish for caring about other people, for supporting a sense of community, a concern for my neighbor. I hope there is a place in the states where I will feel this. But while I'm here, I'll continue to battle against the prevailing culture.

Spring and Swimming

2008-12-05T15:45:00.000-08:00

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.

Election 2008 II

2008-11-18T16:29:00.000-08:00

A number of friends and family have commented to me about how I've yet to blog about Obama's victory. First, I'm flattered that people are still reading my blog. I'm doubly flattered that people care what I think about Obama winning.

That said, I'm happy to throw in my two cents.

I know enough about politics to know that just because someone gets elected president doesn't necessarily mean that everything will change. Moving a president's agenda forward requires either a very well orchestrated dance or a forceful jamming home of legislation, the latter having been perfected by the W. Bush administration.

Obama has intense plans for the future requiring extremely difficult legislation. He will have the advantage of a supportive Senate and House (though not quite fillibuster-proof), but he will have to fight some of the most powerful lobbies-the healthcare industry, the fossil fuel industry, and the military industrial complex- to achieve his goals. Further, he is taking the reins during the greatest financial crisis since the great depression. Given the right ideas and execution, he is poised to be a modern day FDR, putting people back to work repairing the infrastructure of our country, leading the world forward with advances in alternative energy, and providing healthcare to all those who are either too sick, poor, or middle class to afford it. By the same token, if he fails in execution and is mired in scandal or conflict, he could be the next Hoover.

What I feel about Obama's victory is not excitement nor relief....but hope. I realize that just because Obama has been elected doesn't automatically mean a happy ending. The agenda he has for the country is at least rigorous. As a nation, we have been eating donuts since the Carter presidency, or the last time that a president asked us to sacrifice. I have the feeling Obama will want to put us on a diet and make us all start running laps. That is, all this change won't come easy. We've got serious work to do. The Chinese and Japanese aren't going to give us the money to fund all of these wonderful programs. Weaning ourselves off fossil fuels will not be extremely uncomfortable. Removing funding from underperforming programs will not be pretty either. In short, to accomplish his goals for the nation, Obama will likely make changes that affect each and every one of us.

At first, despite whether or not a change is in the grand scheme of things a good thing, almost everyone has difficulty adapting. U.S. citizens are not accustomed to sacrificing. It's been a while. Can we do it? Of course. Has it been a while, maybe since Korea or WWII? I'm too young to be able to say it authoritatively, but history suggests it.

My concern is that people will at first reject the changes that Obama makes, that the daily discomfort and change in peoples' lives and routines will be too much. I think people in the U.S. have become accustomed to having it very easy, not having to deal with change or disruptions, always more or less landing on their feet, despite temporary setbacks.

The fact is, though, that for significant change to take place, people will have to put up with momentary and in some cases extended periods of discomfort as we push towards a new stasis, a new form of being. Obama will have to prepare the nation for this discomfort. He will have to ask the country to sacrifice, to be patriotic not just about going to war, but about achieving important domestic goals as well. If we honestly want to make progress with domestic programs, we have to transform from a country of patriotic warriors to a country with nationalistic fervor for assuring that our tax dollars do the greatest possible good for the greatest number and the country as a whole as well. We must be able to believe in and trust our government. We must be better watch dogs. We must all take more personal responsibility for our government. We must be our government.

I personally am sick of seeing the greatest number of my tax dollars go to wars and the military (though I certainly value their role). I'm disgusted by the fact that we're the richest nation on the planet and we don't yet have healthcare for all our citizens. I can't understand how we've allowed college to become so expensive. I'm annoyed at how we've ignored our potential to continue to power our economy forward while at the same time increasing our national security and decreasing our dependence on Middle Eastern oil by investing in alternative energy technology. I want us to change from a country of people who are only patriotic about war, to a country of people who are patriotic about improving life at home.

I think Obama shares this vision. More importantly, I think he possesses the strength, energy, passion, chutzbah, and rhetorical skills to carry us from this mess to a better place. I think he is smart enough to know that he must prepare people for the sacrifices that they will have to make, for the unsettling changes that are sure to come. I hope that he is able to convince people that the effort will be worth the final reward.

But most of all, I hope the people of the U.S. still know how to sacrifice. I hope we truly are the greatest country on Earth. I hope that we have the willpower and strength to adapt, to hold onto our place in the world while we evolve into something better.

Election 2008

2008-11-16T16:42:00.000-08:00

In 2004 and 2006, I was a responsible citizen. I volunteered full time for political candidates (in addition to my full time school psychology internship in 2004 and school psychology job in 2006).

In 2008, not so much. This year, I spent the months leading up to the election in a self-centered/reflective state in South America. On election day, I woke up late, ate a large breakfast over the course of 2 or so hours, and then swam the breast stroke for 2 full hours in one of the two beautifully maintained resort pools at my brother's Florida condo complex. When I finished with my leisurely swim, I walked over to the hot tub and spent the next half hour watching the clouds move slowly by while contemplating how much my life had changed in the past 4 years.

I had the best intentions. My plan was to fly back to the states, meet my brother's new baby Nick, and then try to volunteer for Obama as much as I could before the election and on election day. To my credit, I tried to contact the Obama campaign previous to flying to Florida and did not receive any sort of response. However, I know from working on campaigns that if you really want to help, you have to physically go to the office and jump in. No one is going to waste the time to roll out a red carpet. So the onus was on me. I got lazy and let election day come and pass without doing anything save wearing my Obama/Biden shirt during my bus and train trip from Miami to Deland, Florida.

So while I let the jets of the hot tub massage my shoulder blades, I considered the vastly different place I had come to in my life. Not too long ago I had been an obsessive and tireless volunteer for progressive political candidates and election day was therefore like Christmas only filled with work until the polls closed. 2 years later, I had burned out maybe? I considered it...How could I have changed so much in only two years?

As I look back on it, I had always planned to stick around in Ohio for at most one more election. I suppose what happened is that I decided to cut my plans short. As I've said, I never really liked politics. I only got into it because I felt an obligation. For a long time, there were far too few people speaking out against Bush, opposing him in general, or working to elect progressive leaders. At the time, I felt a personal call to action.

When I travelled to Argentina the first time, something changed. I stepped back from the U.S. political scene and felt for the first time like a citizen of the world instead of just the U.S. And so, all of a sudden, the squabbles between the Democrats and Republicans seemed ridiculous as viewed from afar. The content was not ridiculous. Far from it. But the way in which the conflict was carried out, with talking points, soundbites, and a lack of critical thought on both sides....was moronic. This is not to say that I quit my involvement in politics because I felt smarter than politics or better than politics. I think I instead suddenly realized the futility of my passion. And I became more interested in the bigger picture. I started to think more about Argentina and South America than I did the states. I began to pay more attention to Argentine newspapers than I did to papers in the states. I spent most of my spare time chatting with my online conversation partners in Argentina. Last year, in my head, I was already in Argentina, though my body was unhappily in the states.

When I moved down here, after a few months, my heart and mind moved in the opposite direction. I began following the election and most of the news in the states very closely, realizing through the financial crisis the importance of the states: we're the dog that wags the tail. I lost interest in the politics of Argentina. And I felt a renewed passion for politics in the states. But a quiet passion this time. Maybe a more grounded passion.

I felt ok with the idea that I would not be in the states to help with the election. Sure, I was shirking my civic duty. However, I packed many years worth of civic duty into 2004 and 2006. This was my election year off. Further, it was clear that Obama had almost all of the fervent support he needed. So many young people had stepped up to help him. My sense was that if he could win, he would have the money and volunteers to do so. My fear was that he couldn't win because he is half African-American. Or, the election would be rigged so it wouldn't matter.

So I think this time around, I didn't feel the pull or call to volunteer. And I'm in a selfish but necessary place in my life in which I'm powering up for my next stage, my next move. I'm physically and spiritually renewing myself to be involved in some type of new cause or project, whether it be a new job, family, house, business or all of the above.

In the end, the aforementioned is more than anything a big excuse for why I did next to nothing to help Obama become president. I needed to explain it to myself, to see it in words, and to know how I could be in such a different place in my life this time around. Nevertheless, to all those who did pour their hearts out and literally damage their health (Thanks Ed!) to get Obama elected, I thank you heartily. I'm thrilled about the idea of returning to a country led by such a thoughtful, inspirational, and intelligent guy. A truly sincere thank you!! More to come on my thoughts on an Obama presidency in the next post.

Culture Shock and Megatlon

2008-10-18T17:47:00.000-07:00

(Aside: As I write this at 10pm on a Saturday night, the mouth watering aroma of my neighbor's barbecue (here called 'asado') is wafting up to my open door and tempting me to eat a second dinner of free range Argentine beef).

By now, if you've kept up with this blog, you've followed an often exhausting account of the differences between Argentina and the United States. In a class I took on my way to earning my TESOL (Teaching English as a Second Language) certification I learned that one of the stages you encounter after moving to a new country is culture shock. First, you experience a euphoric stage where everything is new and exciting, fresh and fun. This is followed by more harsh realities, or frustration with a culture that is much different from that which you came. Friends, I am stuck in a morass of culture shock.

After culture shock, you are supposed to enter a stage in which you begin to accept the new culture and become comfortable with it, to internalize it. The problem is, I'm findingit difficult to give up my grip on what I've come from. I can't accept that things are better done here. Lastly, I don't want to change my idea of the way things ought to be.

The problem is that if I don't move into the next stage, I will be stuck in culture shock and will therefore be frustrated for the rest of my trip. It would be much better if I viewed Argentina as a challenge or a game with rules in which I should engage. At the moment, I am chafing against it, like a rusty knife trying to slice a ripe tomato, I'm making a mess of many of my interpersonal interactions.

Take for example a recent experience.....(I'll start with background) In the Miami International Airport before my trip I made out a list of goals I wanted to accomplish or things I wanted to do in Buenos Aires. The list basically included all the things I wasn't doing in Columbus and reflection-based activities important to considering my next step(s) in life. I also wanted to find ways to relax and stay in shape.

Last week, I took the opportunity to revisit my goals and to my surprise, I found that I am actually pursuing most of the goals I had set for myself. The only goals I had not begun to address were those related to staying in shape, yoga, and swimming. For this reason and because I have been seeking out a place of peace and tranquility in the city (as well as somewhere air conditioned in the summer), I decided to splurge on a 6 month pass to one of the best and most pretentious gyms in the city, MEGATLON.

I visited Megatlon once and was attracted to the clean smell and feel, the 4 floors of activities, the uncrowded pool, and all the classes that were offered as part of the pass. After a week or so of pondering the idea and struggling over the high cost, I decided to go for it (after both making a list of pros and cons as well as reassessing my goals for this trip. I know, I am cheap:)

On the 20 or so minute walk to the gym, I equivocated even more about my decision. What else could I do with this money to enrich my life? Would anything else make me as happy? Should I be saving the money instead? Could I take a vacation worthy of saving the cash? Will I need it in the lean months when I'm not working? If I don't get the membership, will I wind up paying the same amount of money after coming down with some type of medical ailment as a result of allowing myself to get out of shape combined with eating my weight in steak every week? Welcome to my mental world.

After arriving at Megatlon and being pacified by the very kind and attractive attendent, I wound up very happily handing my money over. The smell of the chlorine reminded me of the Bay Village pool (My first memory of a summer pool in a Northern Ohio suburb), breaking my teeth on Now and Later candies, and jumping off the high dive for the first time. How could I not get the pass?

But soon after handing over the cash, the problems began. There were more fees and I hadn't brought enough money to cover them. There was a separate fee to have a card made for me. And I needed to get a checkup from a physician that ran about 12 dollars and would include a heart scan of some sort. Another issue was that the physician wasn't there and would only be in on Monday and Tuesday. However, I was told that I could use my pass until Monday by presenting my receipt in the meantime.

Before leaving, I looked over the receipt and asked the attendant to be sure that I was in the computer. I have learned in Argentina that you need to check everything twice, that folks here have a culture of (I'm not going to sugarcoat it) stealing from other people. It's called viveza criolla. Many people here think that if they can steal or rob people in an intelligent or clever way, they deserve or have earned the money that they've stolen. That is, they feel that if they can get away with it, it proves that they are more intelligent than the person from whom they stole and are therefore deserving of the money. This may explain why almost every foreigner I know who has come to AR has had something stolen, including myself (2 MP3 players and a memory card for a digital camera). It explains why my Argentine friend Erica recently had to called a second plumber to fix her water heater since the first one didn't fix it but instead stripped it of its expensive parts and replaced them with cheap ones. It explains why everyday tourists in the center of the city are the victims of elaborate and clever scams that typically result in pickpockets and long days waiting in the US embassy for new passports.

Anyhow, I was concerned that all the money I had handed over would be stolen, that my information wasn't in the computer, that my receipt would serve no purpose, that because I didn't have a card yet, there would be no record of my having paid. Would this thought ever have crossed my mind in the States? No. Unfortunately, however, thoughts like this now cross my mind every day and have turned me at times into the sort of pessimist I never wanted to become. On one hand, I know for certain living in Buenos Aires has made me more street smart, less trusting, more grounded. But this all comes at a price. There is something beautiful and light about being innocent. It's liberating and it allows you to live and risk and trust. When you live in a giant city with regrettable cultural undercurrents, you change to protect yourself.

But as usual, I digress....Luckily, when I returned later that night to use my receipt, it was accepted and I spent a blissful hour before dinner finding my freestyle stroke again after almost a year out of the pool. I took time to glide underwater slowly and to enjoy relative weightlessness. I was so happy that I had purchased the membership and looked forward to more days of aleviating the stress of this teeth grinding city.

The following day, emboldened by the previous afternoon of bliss in the pool, I returned early in the morning before breakfast. I was looking forward to starting the day off with an invigorating 30 or so minutes of lap swimming in the pool followed by a shower. The problems started at the front desk.

There was a new cadre of employees standing behind the desks in the morning. I flashed my receipt as before, but this time it didn't work. The woman scanning passes looked quickly and then said 'No'! Argentine women tend to be very direct. To people from the states, they seem very impolite, but to people in AR, it is normal. I still am not used to it, especially early in the morning so immediately, I was taken aback and frustrated. In defense, I rolled my eyes and laughed. This is how I respond to most of my frustration in Argentina. I know it's not a smart response at all, but it's better than getting angry.

I knew that there was going to be some type of problem with the pass that I'd just bought, that somehow it wouldn't be so easy. Trying to accomplish nearly anything in AR winds up being difficult in one way or another (at least for me in comparison to the States). It would be too easy to simply buy a gym pass and then expect to be able to use it in peace, especially after having paid a ton of money for it. In the states, if you pay a great deal of money for a gym pass, you expect to be treated very well as the client of an exclusive health club. In Argentina, however, it is not a culture of customer service, no matter how much you pay. I should have understood this before buying the pass. That is, employees in AR will always consider themselves in a position to argue with you. The idea that the customer is always right or that you ought to treat the customer well doesn't really exist. Instead, a culture of arcane and beauracratic rules dominate the work ethic of most employees. They pay attention to exactly what they're told to do by their bosses and little to no sense of customer service skills are instilled.

When I laughed in acknowledgement to myself that my theory about AR was again unfortunately proven correct, I could tell it automatically made the Megatlon attendant angry and defensive. My laugh to her meant, 'this is so stupid, you are so stupid, Argentina is so stupid'. Argentines deplore criticism of their country by foreigners, especially people from the states. They know we are frustrated by their rules and beuacracy. I suppose I wasn't really laughing at this women, I was just laughing because I knew that my whole idea of having a gym membership that would allow me tranquility and comfort in a big dirty city would not be as easy as I had hoped, despite all the money I had spent, despite all the money in the world. There would always be someone to mess with me, to make it more difficult than it had to be.

The point is that my laughing made her want to oppose me more, to find a reason then to keep me out of the gym. As a general rule, Argentines are contrarians. That is, they say the opposite of what you say as a dynamic of discussion. Also, they tend to like to argue and seem to thrive on conflict, like Italians I suppose. I on the other hand dislike conflict. I can do it, but it stresses me out.

So the Megatlon attendant and I were at an impass. I handed her the receipt and said, LOOK! I paid a ton of money yesterday to get a 6 month membership here. What do you mean I can't use the gym pass? She said in response...But you didn't pay, then she shook her index finger at me(an Argentine gesture that I dislike with a passion) No!

I said again, Look at the receipt, I did pay.

She turned the receipt over and saw that I had paid and then shook her head again and said, but you don't have a card.

I shot back, I can't get my card until the doctor checks me out and he is not here until Monday so I was told that could use this receipt in the meantime.

She said, No! You haven't paid for your card or the doctor.

I returned, but I can't get the card until I see the doctor and I know better than to pay for something before I receive it so I am waiting to pay for the card and the doctor on the day and at the time that I receive the service.

She frowned and after another helpful Argentine behind me agreed with me, she finally relented (after telling the helpful Argentine to go in before me. She was upset that he was helping my case and wanted him out of there. It often happens that other Argentines will get involved in arguments even if they don't have to. Like I said, they seem to like it. Luckily, other Argentines often come to my rescue to help me get through these types of incidents. There are some great folks here and some really regrettable ones, which is true everywhere but here they are more polar opposites).

After this stressful exchange early in the morning, I spent 30 minutes in the pool trying to work out the anger it caused me. On the way out of the gym, I said thank you as sincerely as I could to the attendant, hoping to change her attitude about me, but knowing by her cold response that our relationship would never be good, despite my best efforts.

And on the way home from the gym, I still couldn't shake the stress and anger. Not just from this incident, but from the cumulative effect of the stress of the city and the fact that things like this happen almost every day in Buenos Aires. It is no doubt culture shock and I am fighting for control, for my idea of the way things should be. But I can't control it or anything here and it drives me crazy and so I am always a full vessel and the cultural challenges I face every day bubble me over.

When your attitude is bad or you are in a bad mood, you are more likely to spiral down, to encounter other roadblocks, to respond worse to other challenges. It is like I'm an ice skater in the olympics and I've fallen after a relatively easy jump and then I've allowed my disappointment and frustration to infect the rest of my routine and now I'm falling and flailing on every big jump, making a mess of the ice.

In the end, I know it's not Argentina's fault. I chose to come here. I can't expect this place to make sense to me, to yield to my will, my need for control. I have to instead accept it, know that I cannot change it, and find a way to play the game and succeed. I need to change my attitude to see it all as a challenge, a learning experience, an exercise in adaptability.

A lot of things here may not make sense, but then again, a lot of things in life don't make sense. But we still have to play the game, to abide by the rules, to jump through the hoops. I guess I'd just gotten so good at the game I had learned to play in the states. Then I traveled to a new place and all the rules changed and I now I stink at life and it's depressing:)

But just as in Ice skating, I think the judges pull for the underdog. That is, if you fall early and then are able to overcome your lack of confidence and pull out some amazing jumps and have a flawless routine after that, you wind up scoring big points. Or, if you're Tiger Woods and you go 5 over par after the first round of the Masters, you can still come back, with the right attitude and without allowing what happened before to infect the rest of your game. Just as in sports or other games, it is mental energy and endurance that will allow me to survive and thrive in this experience. And if there is any silver lining in the constant culture shock that I'm facing here, it is that I am increasing my ability to be patient, adaptable, and that I am learning sustained mental endurance, new rules, and to succeed in a super-extended game. I imagine many great projects in life require this type of endurance: marriage, raising a family, running a political campaign, starting a business etc.

For now anyway, I'm beginning to understand that I can't go to bed tonight and put the chess board in the box and forget about it. The pieces will always be waiting for me in the morning, right where I left them, waiting for my next move.

Update

2008-10-13T07:57:00.000-07:00

As the U.S. moves into fall, Argentina is fighting to give up the mild but dreary winter. Some mornings are sunny and warm, but by the end of the same day it's windy and or rainy as a front overtakes the city and ushers in a string of dark 50 or 60 degree days. Having replaced two U.S. summers with mild Argentine winters, I've begun to realize that this lifestyle (Spending U.S. summers in South America) is untenable, at least for me and at least for more than 1 year straight. Sun is important. Heat is important.

Aside from weather, my life has changed in other ways. As much as I tried to branch out into other types of work, I have been pulled back magnet-like to my profession. For whatever reason, tourism is not what it used to be here and as a result, I have had little business giving tours or writing for the tourism website. This has upset me since I spent so much time studying and practicing for this position. Granted, I learned a ton about Argentina in the process, but I'm not convinced that the time couldn't have been better spent. I feel as though the company that I signed on with was has been disorganized, overdemanding, and dishonest. Granted, there are factors like the recent economic crisis that I'm sure they didn't bank on. In any case, they overestimated the amount of work they'd have and as a result, I have more or less lost the vast number of hours I invested in them..

I've replaced the tourism job with two new small jobs. I was referred by the mother of the family from San Francisco to another family from the states who owns a luxury trip planning company in BA. They have two trilingual children who attend school in French and Spanish, but not in English. So, the parents employee me to increase the reading level of the older of the two children, both in fluency and comprehension. They also want to improve his writing skills, especially spelling as his current English spellings are a comic combination of Spanish and French. Right now, I'm starting with direct intervention through the repeated reading technique with curriculum-based assessments (Back to school psychology). The job is a no brainer, something I've been doing daily for the past 4 years. And the 7-year-old I work with seems like a really good kid. The added benefit is that the apartment in which I teach is absolutely beautiful, on the 17th floor of a building in Belgrano that looks out over the city as well as the Rio De La Plata. The view is truly amazing and as I administer the reading probes, I have plenty of time to steal long gazes from a vantage to which only the very fortunate are privvy.

I stumbled upon another job in the last week. There is a bit more of a story to this one...In BA, everyone has heavy wooden curtains over their windows to shield from noise and light and some think wrongly that they also protect against burglary. In any case, both sets of mine broke on the same day that I bought spice plants for my balcony, a beautiful sunny 80 degree day. As a result, I couldn't get out to my balcony to repot my plants and my apartment was rendered completely dark. As is the case in BA, I called 3 different guys before one of them decided that he wanted some money and came to my apartment to give me an estimate to fix the curtains. I had planned on getting multiple estimates but when a week had passed and the other 2 handymen had not called me back nor come to my apartment as they said they would, I decided that I'd lived in the dark long enough. I called back the one guy who gave me the estimate and agreed to pay the quote he'd provided. In the process of fixing the curtains, we got to talking about a number of subjects including his interest in learning English. He kept returning to this subject so finally I told him that I'd teach him. I told him to think it over, gave him my card, and told him to call me if he decided he was interested. A few days later, he did call me and we set up 3 hours of classes/week.

So now, my work schedule consists of teaching English at Hewlett Packard, teaching the guy who fixed my curtains, teaching multiple subjects to 2 kids from San Francisco, and teaching reading and writing skills to a trilingual 7-year-old. I'm happy with my work routine and all this direct instruction is no doubt good experience for my career. I continue to teach English in exchange for yoga lessons so now at least two of my students are beginners and I am getting more intensive ELL teaching experience.

For whatever reason, be it fate or lack of effort, I have not succeeded in branching out in terms of different career experiences. I think, however, that I enjoy the independence of teaching, the hours, the meaning and genuine contact with people. I suppose I've decided to some extent that I'm disposed to the education profession in this form and that it suits me much better than sitting in an office all day.

One of the ideas I wanted to explore through my experience in BA this year was whether I wanted to work in the education profession for the rest of my life. I'm still not sure I do. However, I'm more convinced than I was last year that I am at least well disposed to this profession and that it is comfortable and meaningful to me.

I've been talking with folks here too about how meaningful my general experience in BA has been to me thus far. I maintain that I've learned more here in the past 4 months than I learned in Columbus in the last 3 years. I feel as though I'm in kind of a spiritual orbit of my life, a parallel universe in which I'm looking in at my life from the outside, reflecting and sorting out. It's like when a computer runs for months and then all of a sudden tells you that it has to do a scan to check for errors in the system and then it asks you if it's ok to correct those errors. I think right now I'm in the midst of a semi long-term computer scan.

At the moment, I feel a great urge to jump back into my life as a school psychologist in the states, to be near my family, to go to fall football games, to drink apple cider, to carve a pumpkin, to buy halloween candy, and to spend quality time with my niece and nephews. And I'll get my wish in about two weeks when I visit the states for a week and a half. However, I know that I need more time in Argentina, that there is still much more to learn about myself, that I still have a lot of growing to do.

Some of the things I've learned thus far may seem simple and obvious but require an experience like this to truly internalize. I've realized that my family is a good and close one and that if you're lucky enough to have a good family, you should make an effort to be close to them and value them. That said, I'd like to be in the states next year somewhere in proximity to my family. And I have a dream now of buying a small cottage or house on Lake Erie in Conneaut, the long time hometown of my mother and grandparents. It's a quiet town that lost its industry and has since been forgotten by the world. But its stretch of beach and parklands is beautiful in the summer and has a great rootbeer float stand adjacent to the beech. My family needs a place to meet and spend quality time together in the summer. We have no summer house like many families and once my 95 year old grandfather dies, we will have lost our connection to this town that holds so much meaning to all of us. So the dream is to save up and buy a summer house here that all the family can use in return for some type of improvement, some type of investment like retiling the bathroom or buying a piece or two of used furniture. I'd like to have a grill, picnic tables, beach toys, a sailboat, and a closets full of games and toys for kids. As cheesy and domestic as this all sounds, it's a revelation that I've had while in BA that family and my emotional connection to them is one of the most important things in my life. As such, I should do something to honor them and enrich all of our lives. This sort of plan is even more important in light of the fact that we are now scattered all over the world and need a place for everyone to come back to in the summers.

I've also learned that the big city is a place to which I don't connect well. Buenos Aires is great when you are in love, but it transforms into an entirely different reality when you're not. In love, the city is charming, aesthetically pleasing, has great affordable restaurants and bars, and fantastic nightlife to indulge in romance. Out of love, Buenos Aires becomes extremely stressful. The thought of walking out into the street requires mental preparation. Every trip during the week is a battle against hordes of people to get to a destination on time. The subways and busses are crowded and hot, the pollution is lung blackening, the noise is repressive, the people are on-edge, the drivers are literally crazy, and the ethical standards of the people are often deplorable (whether because of culture or relative poverty).

Of course, there are a lot of great things about the city and the specific people I've met and with whom I've chosen to make friends. However, I've realized that instead of big city, I'd rather live in a more natural place with mountains, fresh air, lakes, proximity to the ocean, rivers, forests, hiking, big sky, wildlife. Some of my best memories were living out in Oregon and spending my days hiking up different mountains in Smith Rock State Park and writing journal entries.

The city has been and will continue to be an important developmental and learning experience for me. However, it is not where I would like to end up. I need more nature and peace and outlets for hiking, biking, and clean exercise.

Another thing I've learned is that you can't run from your problems. You just can't move to the other side of the planet and expect things to magically improve. Often times, the issues are instead intensified because all of a sudden you not only have a clearer vision of your life, but you also become very stressed and have almost no support to deal with your issues. Moving away to run from your problems actually becomes a way of forcing you to confront your issues in a very extreme and stressful way. Whatever issues you have in your life seem to become much clearer when you are stressed out and alone. For that reason, this trip has been exactly what I needed at this point in my life. My last year in Columbus I felt listless, spiritually muddled, confused about my next step or direction, confused about my priorities, confused about my meaning. I have not answered all of these questions or resolved all these conflicts, but after the stress and loneliness of the big city, I have certainly conftonted these issues and am well on my way to coming to sensible conclusions.

So while I feel the draw to come back to the states to smell the soggy leafy fall air and to hear the sounds of the football games on Friday nights and to taste the first apple and pumpkin pies of the season, I know I need to be in Argentina longer to learn more, to be sure that the decisions I make for next year are objective, what I really need instead of being clouded by past issues or confused motivations. The most important thing for me to learn about here is what is important to me, what are my priorities, what do I need to be happy or content. Once I learn more about myself, I can make deliberate decisions to complement my true needs. Without this understanding, I will continue to find myself making decisions whose outcomes don't fulfill my life. With a better understanding, I hope to move towards a sense of inner peace and contentedness that will allow me to settle contedly into my 30s.

To Plan or Not to Plan

2008-10-06T15:15:00.000-07:00

In Argentina, people consider me very organized, a planner. Here, I am one of the most punctual, future/goal oriented people that most of my Argentine friends know (And that's not always a compliment, it's actually more of a criticism, confusing and annoying to Argentines). In the United States, I'm not considered disorganized, but I'm certainly not the most organized nor am I the most goal oriented or punctual person. In fact, among the folks with whom I went through grad school, I was easily one of the least organized.

So, the context of our countries has a lot to do with who we are. A related example is that when I went to school in Bay Village, Ohio in first and second grades, I was placed in all average elementary school classes. I even remember thinking and accepting at that time that I was just average academically and that I should probably concentrate on some other facet of my life as a means of excelling.

Upon moving to North Canton, OH, I was placed in all of the advanced groups. Suddenly, because of a change in context, I had become smart. My identity shifted from a rough and tumble academically average kid to a more cerebral and precocious one, simply because my context changed and my sense of identity changed with it. In Buenos Aires, the same is currently taking place, but instead of turning into a more plan oriented person (As I have been reidentified by Argentines), I am deciding whether this is the best way to live my life. I am beginning to think that I am too organized, too plan and future oriented. I wonder if I have been making poor life decisions as a result of my planning a year or at least months in advance. Have I been locking myself into unnecesary decisions? Have I not been living in the moment or enjoying life as much as I might otherwise? What are the consequences of this way of doing things?

To begin to address this topic, I'd like to discuss why this difference between Argentines and people in the US might exist to the degree that it does.

In Argentina, there is some type of crisis,whether financial or governmental, about every 10 years. As a result, Argentines have had to become very adaptable people. Chronic inflation, the dirty war, military coupes, bank crises, the drastic devaluation of the peso, and coralitos have taught Argentines that putting too much confidence in future plans is not worth it since future crises are likely to destroy their plans. In response, Argentines have become expert at spontaneity, quick thinking, adaptability, making-do, being happy with what they have, living in the moment, and concentrating on things that really matter like family and friends. On the other side of the coin, many neglect the future, fail to plan ahead at all, place very little importance on the future, and let their emotions and feelings rule the moment (not to say that this doesn't occur in the U.S. perhaps for the same or different reasons).

There is some question as to whether the government and crises in AR have lead to the 'live in the moment' attitude of the people or whether the inherent culture and mentality of Argentines is simply reflected by their government- The chicken or egg argument. However it happened, Argentines don't spend much time looking to the future and they think it is weird and a bit unsettling and maybe even disagreeable that I do.

This cultural disconnect has shaken me and made me reconsider my planning habit.

I think it is part of the American dream to plan. We are culturally inundated with the idea that if you work hard enough, do what you're supposed to do, save for the future, invest, one day you will achieve the American Dream of economic prosperity. We are taught that we can do anything we want to if only we put our minds to it. Our society tells us that we must have goals and direction, that without them we are drifting like so much floatsam and jetsom, without real purpose and without motivation to jump through the many hoops that life puts before us.

Argentines respond to the above mentality with the question why? Why do you need economic prosperity and to why must you achieve concrete goals? What are they for? What purpose do they serve? What's the point?

Many would say that they have different types of goals such as 'to enjoy life', 'have fun', 'do what they want to do'. And when they tell me this, it makes me think....Why are my goals more concrete and material? My goals are more about specific achievements like publishing a book, learning fluent Spanish, starting a business, becoming a PhD, teaching at the college level. By contrast, Argentines seem to have goals that are more like guiding principles, but not concrete ends. Their goals can be achieved or completed every day. Mine require me to work for the future, to constantly look forward. Neither goal is better or worse I suppose, but their way of looking at life seems to be more liberating than mine. Mine traps me in a direction and disallows me from feeling contentedness until I complete my goals. Theirs allow continual enjoyment and contentedness.

And so, I am the uptight American while they are the free flowing liberated Latinos.

I wonder to what extent I do try to exert too much control over my life, to what extent I put too much pressure on myself, to what extent I don't allow myself to have fun and be happy. I wonder if the goals that I set keep me from being happier. I wonder if the goals I set disallow me from changing my mind depending on how I change day to day or what I feel from one day to another. But, I also wonder if my sense of committment to people and ideas is admirable. I wonder if one day I will receive an end reward that is much better than the momentary day to day pleasure of Argentines. I wonder if this same concept, this mentality has kept their country from pulling itself out of the constant morass in which it seems to be stuck. Is this the same reason why the United States has been by contrast successful and relatively stable, albeit neurotic and disconnected?

In the end, a simple maxim (while boring, overused, and wimpy)-moderation-is probably the best way to go. There is definitely something to be learned from the liberating live-in-the-moment mentality of Argentines. I could definitely benefit by liberating myself from my ambitions. After all, you can't necessarily justify denying yourself happiness all your life when you might not even complete your goal or if you're not enjoying the process of attaining it. I could benefit by a bit more spontaneity, accepting that it is ok to follow a feeling or passion as opposed to following a completely structured path toward a goal. The process must be enjoyable and goals don't always have to be concrete-they can also be about enjoying life and doing what feels good.

All that said, I think back to the famous psychological study....Preschool kids are presented with cookies. The teacher says that the students can have the cookies at the end of class. Some of the kids end up disregarding the teachers instructions and taking the cookies before the end of class. Another group of kids waits until the end of class to get their cookies, as instructed- a study in delayed gratification. The kids are followed as part of a longitudinal study and many years later as adults, their lives and habits are analyzed. The kids who couldn't delay gratification, who took the cookies before their time, were most more likely to be working low paying jobs, on public support, or even in jail. On the other hand, the kids who were able to delay gratification were more likely to be professionals: doctors, lawyers, teachers.

Returning to the idea of planning, I think I would like to live in a country that plans, that delays gratification (although I think the U.S. has recently been more lucky than it has forward looking) and call me uptight and repressed, but I also want to be and I suppose just am one of those kids who waits for the cookie. I have to say, though, that living in AR is making me consider the value of occassionally enjoying the reward before I'm supposed to....

Argentina Thoughts and Comparisons I

2008-10-05T07:01:00.000-07:00

One thing that I've learned about myself is that despite my efforts at not acting like a money grubbing capitalist, I am at least a serious consumer. That is, I spend a lot of time shopping, looking for the best prices, and paying attention to service and business practices. I believe that these instincts have not only been ingrained in me by my family, but also by having been raised in the United States. We are quite obviously a nation of serious consumers. Many of us spend our lives shopping. We are experts at uncovering the best deals. Businesses live by the motto that the customer is always right. Add to this that all the businesses of the world are competing for our business and the result is that our populous has become a mass of super consumers with a huge sense of entitlement. Shift focus thousands of miles to the South beyond the equator and the picture changes substantially.

In Argentina, people are far less consumer oriented than in the US. In AR, convenience seems to be the most important factor to consumers. If they can have something delivered to them or if they only have to walk a block away, that is best. Consumers here aren't as obsessed with price comparisons and are less likely to travel long distances for quality, service, and price than in the US. Further, business owners cater less to consumers. Many businesses aren't concerned if they upset a consumer or if that consumer never returns to do business with them. That is, the idea of repeat business is mostly foreign to the average AR business owner or employee in a business. Instead, they are concerned with both maintaining a sense of control over the consumer and in the money they can make on a particular day, not in the future.

As a result, my sense of good business practice as well as consumer entitlement chafes against AR businesses daily. It is one of my most frustrating and continual forms of culture shock. Let me provide a few examples.....

1. Less than a block away from my apartment there is a locutorio or internet cafe and call center. In the past I used this business very regularly when my internet wasn't working or when I needed to make a phone call and didn't want to use my cell. It got to the point that I knew the guy operating the place and was there on a very regular basis. Regardless of the fact that I was a regular paying client, the operator of the locutorio always seemd annoyed that I was walking through the door to give him business.

One day, after weeks of using this locutorio consistently, I stopped in to call my internet service provider for the umpteenth time to have my internet connection corrected. In the middle of my call, the phone simply stopped working and I was cut off from the Fibertel technician with whom I was talking through my internet problem. I quickly told the operator of the locutorio who walked silently over to the phone, checked the connection and quickly concluded that the phones weren't working for whatever reason. At that point, I shrugged and got up and began to leave the store. Before I could make it out of the building, the operator had blocked the doorway and was demanding payment. I responded that I couldn't pay because I hadn't received a service. My short conversation was cut off and therefore there was no reason I should pay for that. The operator shot back that I had been on the phone for 4 minutes and that I had to pay for it. I responded that you can't charge customers if you aren't providing the full service for which they are paying. But the operator insisted that I pay. He would not be persuaded. I then resorted to another form of logic. Look, I said, I live close to here and I'm here many times per week. If you make me pay today, I will never come back and I will tell everyone I know to avoid this locutorio. I will instead go to the locutorio down the street and give them my business. The unchanged look on his face told me that he couldn't care less. He wanted his money right there and then. He was worried about the day, the moment, and not my future repeat business. Upon realizing that he was immune to my business lesson, I said, ok, I'll pay you this 50 centavos today, but I will never come back here again. This is unfair, bad business, and I will tell all of my friends in the neighborhood not to come here. In response, the operator practically shouted, it is fair!! He didn't care about the fact that he would lose my and perhaps others business. All he cared about was that I had called him unjust or unfair....

2. There is a green grocery right next to the front door of my apartment building. In the past, I used this fruit stand a few times per week. The prices were pretty good and it was oh so convenient. One day, however, I realized I was being charged significantly different prices for the same items I had paid less for the previous day. On top of that, there were no signs advertising prices.... so they could basically charge whatever they wanted. To make matters worse, the operator would not allow me to pay in bills but instead insisted that I pay with monedas or coins (there is a shortage of these in BA). Now, if I were this guy, the son of the owner, I would do everything I could to treat the people who lived right next to my fruit stand well. These are the people most likely to do business in my establishment. Instead, he was messing with me, kind of taking advantage of me to the point that I decided that I didn't want to deal with him again unless it was just so convenient that I couldn't avoid it. The fact is that there are at least 5 other places in a one block radius where I can get the same products. As a result, I have never been back to the fruit stand right next to the front door of my apartment and if I can help it, I won't return.

These are only two examples but I could go on and on and I haven't yet been here for 7 months total. Some folks here and among my family have suggested that at least here the small business owners have a sense of control over their clients instead of in the U.S. where most small businesses have been run out of town by Walmart and other super centers. And while I agree to some extent, my opinion is that you go into business mainly for one reason-to make money. So, if you are going to act as if you don't want money or aren't interested in concepts like repeat business, you shouldn't be in the business world. You should do something more idealistic like become a teacher or professor or nurse or doctor.. But if you really want to make money, then you should swallow your pride and adhere to good business practices so you can do as well as possible. Here, however, there are plenty of businesses that just aren't interested in treating consumers well, obtaining repeat business, having their businesses recommended to others, returning calls, providing good service, being polite, and at the end of the day, in making money. The attitude of these businesses is that you will do business on their terms or you can take a hike.

And many consumers here don't seem to demand to be treated well. They will continue to frequent stores and businesses near to them because they have accepted this type of attitude from business owners and because it is convenient. There isn't as great a sense of consumer entitlement or control here and as a result, consumers can only shrug their shoulders when they are mistreated. There seem to be very few opportunities for recourse to punish poor business practices and not enough people hold businesses accountable for their poor treatment for it to make a difference.

I will say, however, that those businesses here that do offer consistently low prices as well as good service and treatment are always busy. So, there are enough consumers here willing to go out of their way to get the best price, quality, and service. In my opinion, however, there are not enough consumers of this nature to ensure that businesses change their ways. The culture is still one of accepting mistreatment and not holding businesses accountable.

If you talk to Argentines who have never spent a significant amount of time in another country, they will almost without a doubt defend their country until their last breath. They don't like foreigners, especially folks from the states, talking badly about their country. They are very prideful and so when I bring up issues like this, I am met with defensivess and hurt feelings. However, if you talk to someone who has lived in the states for a significant period of time and who has another perspective and can be more objective, it is possible to have a more sincere and frank discussion of why these differences exist.

The boss of my English teaching gig is one such guy. He spent over a year going to high school in Orlando, Florida. Upon having the aforementioned discussion with him, he completely agreed and seemed relieved to have met someone else who understands this. He believes that this attitude stems from something larger and asserts that Argentines don't have a sense of investment in the future. He believes that most want to leave the country to go back to Europe from whence they came and so, on the whole, the culture has never focused on the future of Argentina, but is instead more concerned about the present. He told me that many Argentines see themselves as Italian or Spanish, but not as Argentine (despite their apparent fervent pride in their country). As a result, people are not willing to accept a sense of community or functional patriotism or nationalism or a sense of bettering the country or creating a future here so that their children and childrens' children have a future here. Instead, they are interested in the moment, a momentary gain, enough to get through the day, with the future always being about getting away from Argentina (whether consciously or subconsciously, whether they have actual plans or not). He believes that this lack of concern or investment in the future permeates all aspects of life in AR, from the way people drive on the streets, to the way they litter freely, to the way they conduct business and treat each other. It is a sense of continual frustration to him. He sighted for instance that as part of his translation business, he often receives work from both US and Argentine employers. He says that US employers always pay him because they want to have a long term business relationship and they value his good service. On the other hand, in AR, businesses are much more likely to pay him once, but never again, knowing that if they mistreat him, they can simply move on to the next translator with whom they will do the same thing. That is, they are not interested in treating other people fairly, but instead want a momentary profit and are not as concerned about maintaining a long term relationship.

Argentina's relationshp with national pride seems to be related mostly to soccer and other sports. People here speak badly to each other about the country but foreigners are prohibited from doing so. In that sense, the country is like an abusive father: You talk bad about him all the time, but if someone else says something bad, they can take a hike. By the same token, Argentine's don't seem terribly interested in changing their behavior. Right now, it is every man for himself. And if one person tries to start acting differently, they are taken advantage of by everyone else and so they learn that in order to survive, they must act hard as well. The challenge for me is to not change my own behavior in the face of all this. I would like to be able to continue trusting people and to accept my sense of the way in which businesses ought to treat their clients. Maybe I'm holding onto an unncessary sense of consumer entitlement, but for me, it just makes sense....

Palin

2008-09-21T17:32:00.000-07:00

Say what you want about Karl Rove.....I'll probably agree with you. I personally think that the guy has a huge chip on his shoulder. I don't think he cares at all about the future or people of the United States. Politics for him is a combination of chess and ultimate fighting. A game. And one at which he is undeniably a genius.

Sarah Palin. Why? Why would John McCain choose such a green running mate with such duffel baggage?

The simple answer is Karl Rove told him to.

Karl Rove is a master of political jiu jitsu.

In 2004, John Kerry's campaign focused on his service during Vietnam as his strength against George W. Bush, who more or less deserted from the Air National Guard. In response, Rove masterfully turned Kerry's strength into a weakness. Rove helped organize the devastating Swiftboat Veterans for errrr 'Truth' ads that collected dozens of veterans to refute the stories of Kerry's bravery, the ones for which he received a Silver Star and Purple Hearts. These men didn't even serve on Kerry's boat or close to him, but were somehow able to recall that Kerry had lied about his chivalry, that the stories of his bravery were a sham. Even though the men whom served on Kerry's swiftboat corroborated all of his stories (even the Republicans), the American public bought the former story and ignored the latter. Rove was able to organize a media frenzy that spent months questioning Kerry's stories of valor. As a result, Kerry could no longer focus on health care, education - issues that could have actually helped the country. The rest is history. Kerry loses and we were stuck with George W. Disaster for 4 more years.

4 years later, Rove is up to his old tricks. The strategy hasn't changed.

Barack Obama is an intelligent, thoughtful, poised, educated, worldly, and honorable guy. But none of this matters. The reason he attained popularity so quickly is that he's a great speaker, people think he's cool, pretty, are intrigued by his name, and he's the first serious black presidential candidate in history. This combination of factors made him a great media story.

What strategy did Karl Rove use to combat this?

Sarah Palin.

Yes, Sarah Palin was a huge risk, a hail mary pass as so many have referred to her. But a hail mary pass from Joe Montana to Jerry Rice (cerca 1990s)-one that has a good chance of working. The jiu jitsu is that Palin is everything Obama is, but on the hardcore conservative end of the spectrum. She's a great speaker (if you're a conservative audience), she's young, she's attractive, she's extremely savvy, and most importantly, she has a great story. Americans are intrigued by Alaska and previously knew nothing about Sarah Palin. Add to this that she has 5 children and her husband is a dog sledding(or snow mobiling) champion and you have the makings of a media feeding frenzy. Never mind that she is under investigation for having fired the chief of police to settle a family affair or that her teenage daughter is 5 months pregnant or that her husband was a member of a political party that called for Alaska to cede from the union.

The Palin pick was also used to fire up conservatives. Sara is fire and brimstone and McCain is not. The evangelical base was not enamored by McCain's one time moderate credentials but they love Palin. And, Palin's sex alone peels away a minority of former Hillary backers, not to mention makes it so that she would be the first female vice president, meaning that Obama's election wouldn't be the only historical first to come out of the election. In spite of these counterbalances against Obama's strengths, Palin was still a risky pick. Rove knew then that the execution of the pick would be key....

If you're Karl Rove, you don't have much to prove? He got George W. Bush elected not once, but twice. Only a genius could do that. Now, he's having fun with us. He has undertaken one of his greatest jiu jitsu moves of all time, something that absolutely shouldn't work...And he's seeing if he can pull it off. It's as if he's lining up to kick the longest field goal of all time, preparing a dive that incorporates more flips and spins than has ever been achieved.

Upon picking Palin, the media immediately focused on the negatives and perplexities of the pick. Rove must have anticipated this. What did he do? He used it as an opportunity to attack Obama through 'defending' Sarah Palin. That is, he directed the full force of the conservative media to say that the Obama camp was spreading false rumors and attacking Palin's family, even though Obama and Biden had both said that Palin's family was hands off. The 'defense' as attack method worked and offset the attention on Palin's substantial baggage. It gave her enough time to tread water until she unleashed her secret weapon-she's a great speaker (to conservative audiences). From her convention speech on, the media forgot about her baggage and instead became enamored in her story. Score one for Karl Rove. A masterfully executed cuadruple lindy. The fanfair and popularity left Obama like helium from a baloon and suddenly the hottie from Alaska with the dog sledding husband took center stage. Since that point in time, the election has been all about Palin all the time. Never mind that health care in the U.S. is a disaster. Never mind that it costs a fortune to send a kid to college. Never mind that our trade debt is obscene. Never mind that the taxpayers were just forced to bail out badly behaving banks, lenders, and insurance companies to the tune of trillions of dollars. What's apparently important is the meanstreak hockey mom from Alaska (although I admit that before that what was important was the cool hip young black guy from Chicago).

The Palin jiu jitsu undoubtedly worked for a time. It knocked the Obama campaign off guard, but in the meantime, the U.S. banking crisis took center stage and Americans were forced back to reality. Now, it is unsure whether Palin will be able to carry McCain to victory as her pick was intended.

My prediction is that from this point on, Palin will be downplayed. The media seems to have lost some interest in her for the time being and the focus has shifted once again to her baggage. In short, Palin has served her purpose and is about to overstay her welcome in the limelight. The question now is what will be Rove's next move? Or, what will be the October surprise?

If McCain does win, though, and the oldest man ever to assume the presidency must relinquish his duties to the second in command, Rove's little game will put in charge of the most powerful country on the Earth a woman who was until quite recently mayor of a town of 6000 (in Alaska) and whose foreign policy experience consists of being able to see Alaska from her home. And this just because Rove needed a quick boost in the polls, not because he cared at all about Palin's ability to lead the country. Rove is no patriot. And despite McCain's amazing service to the country during Vietnam, I'm beggining to question any more whether he is.

Leer

2008-09-19T05:59:00.000-07:00

I took Spanish classes in 8th, 9th, and 10th grades. It was a requirement in my school system to take 3 years of a foreign language and so I did what I could to complete my obligation as soon as possible.

In college, I eschewed Spanish and all other foreign language classes. Instead, I indulged in things I was passionate about and that were more or less easy for me like psychology and creative writing. To be honest, I was afraid of taking foreign languages in college. I was sure that the classes would be extremely difficult and that they would pull my GPA down and ruin my chances of maintaining my scholarships and or getting new ones. In short, I more or less didn't believe that I was smart enough to succeed in foreign languages in college.

Spanish had always come somewhat easily to me in high school so I'm not sure why I was frightened away from it in college. In any case, upon starting my career as a school psychologist, I made a list of personal and career goals, one of which was becoming fluent in Spanish. At the time I wrote this goal, it was like a New Years resolution-a nice idea with little chance of being carried out.

People ask how I ever got the idea to go to Argentina last winter to immerse myself in Spanish. And so I guess it all started with writing that goal and growing increasingly close to age 30. Then came a short trip to Italy with my brother and sister that stoked my interest in travel. This was followed by the realization that I was incredibly bored during the summers of not working in my job and the idea that I should take advantage of them by travelling.

So, I began researching ways to learn Spanish in a Spanish speaking country. Spain immediately came to mind due to its 1st world status and membership in the European Union. It would have been a safe and fun place to visit, albeit expensive due to the dollar's precipitous fall against the Euro. Mexico was an option, but it didn't intrigue me and I was concerned about health and safety standards. I considered cities throughout South America, but the only one about which I received overwhelmingly positive feedback was Buenos Aires. No one I talked to had a bad thing to say about the city and my Argentine friend, Marcelo, was overwhelmingly enthusiastic about my plan to visit for the summer. So, I googled, researched schools, found one, met a host family through my school, and off I went.

I spent the U.S. summer of 2007 taking 4-6 hours of Spanish classes per day in Buenos Aires and the rest is history.... Now I'm back for a year, already more or less fluent in Spanish and, I hope, getting better every day. I think it's fair to say that I reached my goal sooner than I had anticipated, although the measures I took to get there were a bit extreme.

Although I have learned to read basic newspaper and magazine articles in Spanish, I had never found it enjoyable. My ritual last summer was reading Newsweek in Spanish while riding a stationary bike at the gym. I had to basically force myself to do so and always carried a pocket dictionary to look up words whose meaning I couldn't glean through context. It was tedious and most of the articles were trash so I never before was enamored with the idea of reading in Spanish.

During my year of work back in the states, I carried on instant messenger friendships with conversation partners throughout South America and Spain. I spent almost 2 hours of every day chatting in Spanish and without even really realizing it, my ability to read Spanish improved remarkably. Upon returning to Buenos Aires, I continued to avoid reading in Spanish and instead read magazines that my parents had schleped down here for me. Reading The New Yorker or Kiplingers was like candy. Sure, I enjoyed it, but it was unhealthily separating me from the culture and language here.

About 2 weeks ago, I resolved to attempt reading literature here as a means of improving my Spanish. I sensed that my skills were slipping away due to working most of the day in English. I had to find a way to continue to gain Spanish skills. That's partly why I'm down here. So, I decided to start reading books for young adults. A book for a 10-12 year old Argentine kid should be readable, I thought.

One day on my way back from the butcher shop, I walked to what seemed like a cheap used bookstore and sheepishly asked the owner if she could recommend a book for adolescents. She lead me to a small section and pulled out two books. I chose the one with less writing in it and bigger print, figuring that I had to start with something that wouldn't frustrate me, something I might even enjoy.

That same day, I carried my book off to the city's botanical gardens to read in the sun. I brought my dictionary along, but quickly realized that I didn't need it. I found the experience of reading fiction in Spanish exhilerating. I could picture the characters in my head and hear them speaking, just as if it were English. The story was about a wealthy Argentine family who lived in San Isidro (A wealthy northern province near the city). The family of four, parents and two boys lead a reasonably storeybook Argentine life until the older prodigal son contracts HIV. The book is what we would call a problem novel, very common in the U.S. These books became prevalent in the 60s and 70s through novels by authors like S.E. Hinton (The Outsiders), Robert Cormier (The Chocolate Wars), and Paul Zindel (The Pigman). Basically, the main character or characters are brought into conflict with some type of very concrete and serious life event such as death, gang violence, class wars etc. The outcomes of these novels are rarely happy and instead function to provide a dose of reality and to help adolescents prepare to deal with these types of difficult situations that they will no doubt at one point or another encounter. At the end of this particular book, the main character learns to accept his older brother's condition and to improve his relationship with him inspite of it. The main character has to go through a process of seeing past his brother's scary illness to the core of who his brother truly is.

I finished reading my first book in Spanish in a matter of days and was off to a different bookstore for another. Emboldened by my success, I searched through the adult section, looking maybe this time for an adult book translated from English into Spanish, so that at least I would recognize the phrasings and style of language. In the end, I settled on a small book written by a British author about turning 30 years old-perfect for a 29-year-old guy like myself. As I had anticipated, this book proved slightly more challenging, but within 5 days, I had finished it too, without relying much on the dictionary.

On my previous trip to the bookstore, I had spied one of my favorite books of all times-Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. I love survival stories and this is the ultimate. I kind of see myself as Robinson Caruso in AR, starting a life in a new an alien place without family and having to learn more or less how to live all over again. The only problem with this book is that it is extremely long and written in an older English style, which makes its translation into Spanish that much more difficult. However, the translation is by Julio Cortazar, one of the most famous Argentine authors. For me, this sealed the deal. I have learned from my previous interest in Russian litarature that the translation is extremely important. I have read two different translations of The Brothers Karamazov and found them to be two very different experiences. So, when I found out that one of my favorite books had been translated by a literary genius, it was for me like finding a giant Mario Batali made piece of Tiramisu on a half off sale at a bakery 3 blocks away from my house.

So now, I'm starting book number 3, a behemoth Spanish translation of one of the great classics. Reading in Spanish has become my new favorite hobby and I don't feel guilty doing so. After all, not only am I reading, I'm also improving my Spanish.

I must be about to turn 30, though sometimes I feel more like 50. I have no idea when my favorite activity went from climbing sheer rock faces in Oregon to sitting on a bench in a garden on a sunny Sunday and reading books in Spanish....

Immigration

2008-09-17T16:20:00.000-07:00

Visiting and staying in Argentina for a long period of time is not hard. It's nothing like the herculean effort that it takes for Argentines to visit and/or stay in the United States. And what does a new U.S. immigrant receive in return for years of toil and thousands of dollars in legal fees to attain citizenship?

Basically, it comes down to opportunity. In the U.S., you have the opportunity to make a ton of money and to have access to mountains of cheap but relatively high quality products. On the other side of the coin, you also have the opportunity to lose all of your hard earned money the moment you get sick and the hospital wipes out your savings because you don't have insurance or because your insurance stinks. Or, you can easily blow your savings on your kid's college education.

These days, you can even lose your money by putting it in the stock of a big supposedly stable bank or lender like Bear Stearns, AIG, Countrywide, Lehman Brothers, New Century Financial, Merril Lynch, Freddie Mac, or Fannie Mae (I'll stop there even though I could go on:(). As an aside, has anyone noticed that our financial system is melting down and the President is insisting on bailing out failing banks with tax payer money? Of course, this makes since.... We are in an election year and if there is a big enough financial crisis, the Democrats win.

The truth is that the banks shouldn't be bailed out. They were extremely greedy and made horrible bets in subprime mortgages and now they should pay for it. The banks who played by the rules should emerge victorious and lead the way ethically into the future. If we bail out the banks with overexposure to subprime mortgages instead of allowing them to fail, we will only be prolonging this mess. The U.S. government needs to allow this crisis to happen (let the free market do its job) so that we can move on with new rules, lessons properly learned. In a sense, we are like a sick person injecting ourselves with adrenaline every day so that we can continue with our lives. What we should really do is stop with the injections, allow the illness to run its course, rest, pay attention to our condition, and address our core needs until we get better. Instead, we are choosing to wander zombie-like, ignoring the illness until it turns into a pneumonia of sorts, driving with the check engine light on until the engine melts down.

Instead of allowing banks to feel the consequences of their actions, the lessons of this mess will be blunted and bad behavior will continue because the lesson learned is that the government will bail out big banks despite the risks they take. Here's a reasonable metaphor... A kid leaves home for college, signs up for a credit card, drinks almost every night, incurs 1000s of dollars in debt, and then flunks out of school. Any outside observer would say that this kid needs to deal with this crisis himself by getting a job, paying off the credit card debt, and maybe going to a community college until he can find a way to earn the right to return to his original college. Instead, his parents, like the fed, swoop in, make a large donation to the university as a means of getting their son a second chance, and pay off junior's credit card. In the end, the kid experiences some trauma, but will his behavior change? No, because the lesson is that you can screw up as much as you want and it's ok because mom and dad will bail you out every time. Same thing with the banks. Only the members of the Bush Administration are the enabling parents and WE are their wallet.

The worst thing about this is that I'm almost certain the decision to bail the banks out was about politics and not about what the country really needs. The tax payers are getting slapped with billions in taxes to reinforce bad behavior so that the Bush administration and Republicans can save some semblance of economic face in this election year. I don't care which party you are in support of, this decision is disasterously short sighted and without a doubt as irresponsible as the behavior that provoked it. But I digress.....

As I was saying, it's easy to stay in AR legally. What do you get as a visitor or resident of AR? On the plus side, you have access to free health care at public hospitals and verrrrry affordable care at private ones. Folks, I'm paying 60 dollars per month to have full access to arguably the best private hospital in the city, the Hospital Aleman. In the event of an illness or accident, I receive free ambulance transportation and everything at the hospital is covered-no copay or deductible. My only expenses are when I set up an appointment with a doctor (I pay a copay of less than 2 dollars) and half of meds. The most expensive service is that I can pay an exhorbitant 3 dollar copay IF I WANT TO HAVE A DOCTOR PHYSICALLY COME TO MY APARTMENT TO TAKE CARE OF ME!! (I almost want to call one up and have them come, just to see if it's for real). Can anyone imagine a doctor in the states doing that?? I know it was common in the past, but these days, you would have to be rich to access a service like this. Anyhow, health care is an advantage of being in AR.

In addition to health care, public universities are also free to citizens as well as visitors from around the world. Of course, you have to pay for housing and books, but tution is gratis or free. The truth is that public hospitals and universities here have taken huuuuge hits in the last 50 years as Argentina's political and economic fortunes have stuck a one time wealthy and thriving nation in a gooey morass from which escape any time soon appears more or less impossible. All public institutions have lost millions, maybe billions of dollars in funding and as a result, professors and doctors are horribly underpaid and the buildings which house universities and hospitals are in gross disrepair. Still, the quality of professors and doctors is supposedly very high, in spite of their pay. Perhaps they do their jobs because they really care about taking care of people or teaching students as opposed to making lots of money. Or maybe they have no other choice.

In any case, there are significant social service advantages to living in AR (To be fair, I should mention the downside: jaw dropping inflation, political instability, filth, pollution, noise, and insane drivers).

Finally back to my topic. To come to AR from the U.S., you need only have a passport. Upon entering the country, your passport is stamped and you automatically receive a 90 day tourist visa. Easy enough. After 90 days, you can extend your tourist visa in 2 ways. The easiest and cheapest (if you know what you're doing), is to go to the office of immigration in Retiro, across from the Retiro Station (Av.Antartida Argentina which is open Monday-Friday from 7:30-13:30). You walk into the office, walk past the initial crowd of people, and then down a narrow center aisle into the entrance of another large room. At the entrance, you must present a copy of every page of your passport and say (Me gustaria extender mi visa turistica). At that point, you will receive a number, which is your number in line, and will be directed to the proper desk to make this transaction. If you are lucky, there will not be much of a line for this service. If you are not, you may wait an hour or two before you even talk with someone. Once you meet with a clerk, you will hand over your passport and the copies you made of each page. Both will be taken for processing and in the meantime, you have to go to a cashier to pay a 100 peso fee. You return proof of payment to the same clerk and then wait an hour or so while your passport extension is approved and processed. At the end of this period, your last name is called and your passport is returned and you are told the date that your new visa is good until (90 days later). You can only extend your visa once. After this point, you must leave the country and return to have another 90 day tourist visa. To do this, most people take a 180 peso(RT) 3 hour boat trip to Colonia, Uruguay as a means of getting their passport stamped and thereby extending their visa.

My 3 month limit was quickly approaching and as a result, I made the decision to go to the office of immigration as opposed to traveling to Uruguay. My decision to do this was two fold: it is the cheaper of the two options and I am cheap and this weekend is supposed to be rainy and cold and the idea of walking around Colonia, Uruguay in the rain does not appeal to me.

My own experience in the office of immigration was not nearly as easy as that described above. Although, I hope by my difficulty that at least one other person does it right so that my fumbling was not all for naught....

I first traveled to the office of immigration on a Monday morning. I decided to walk there (about a 5 mile walk) and when I arrived (after one wrong turn) approached the security guard and asked him where I should go to get my tourist visa extended. He said, 'Colombiano?' or was basically asking if I were Columbian. No, Estados Unidos, I returned. He smiled, 'The United States!' I smiled back. It was nice to know that the mention of the U.S. still excites people in a good way. It made me a little proud. He directed me to take a ticket where there were at least 100 other people waiting. This going to take long time, I thought to myself. I took a number- D20. Not bad, I thought. The sign said they were on 19. How lucky. A second later, 20 was called. I was baffled. How had I suddenly leapt in front of all the poor schleps sitting around? I walked up to the desk, handed over my ticket, and said veinte or the word for 20. The clerk said, 'C' no 'D'. Sure enough, I had 20D, not 20C. I looked up to the board and at that moment realized that I was 100 people away from being called. Ugggghh.

I sat down and pulled out a book. What followed is that I learned all kinds of embarassing things about myself....My first thought was.... Am I even in the right line? What am I waiting for? Are these people just going to tell me that I have to go wait in another line? There were few indications of where to go for specific services. My sense was that although I believed myself to be in a basic information line, I didn't think I had any choice but to sit, wait my turn, and then be directed to the next step.

I began reading my book, but was too uneasy to continue at first. The building was infested with insects due to its proximity to the swampy Rio De La Plata River and general lack of cleanliness. On top of that, the Bolivian woman behind me was coughing on my back. My hypochondria as well prejudice against people from the third world started to kick in. Sitting in the immigration processing center in a 2nd-3rd world country was putting me in proximity to diseases from around the world. Most of the folks waiting next to me were from countries even more poor than Argentina like Bolivia, Paraguay, or Peru where public health standards are relatively dismal. These thoughts of exposure to disease gave way to feelings of entitlement. I felt that due to my U.S. citizenship as well as my education and status, I shouldn't have to wait with people from the 3rd world. I almost resolved at that moment to instead go to Uruguay to extend my visa, like most ex-pats from the U.S. Then I felt shame for feeling this sense of entitlement. What made me any different from all these people? Why should I not wait like the rest? Why did I think I was better or entitled or more privileged? So the stubborn and cheap part of me won out. I'd sit there and go through it all just like the African guy in front of me with a briefcase of fake Rolex watches or the family of four from Paraguay who were all sharing one small Pepsi. I sat, tried to get comfortable, and read my book. 100 people and an hour and a half later, my number was called.

Just as I thought, I had waited an hour and a half only to be told that I must take yet another number and wait in another line. Perfect.

My time that Monday was running out. I had to teach English at 2pm about 1 hour away in Belgrano, a northern suburb. In any case, I decided to see how far I could get before I had to leave. I walked to the next line and asked for a number. It turned out, though, that I couldn't even get a number in this line until I had a copy of my passport. Of course I didn't. I was told to get a copy of my passport and then I could receive a number. Frustrated, I walked quickly away to look for a copier. It was then that I realized that I would have to wait through at least another 100 people in order to have my documents copied. Forget it, I thought to myself, I have to go teach my class. So, with only an hour to make the long trip, I hurried out of the office, practically ran across a cut through to Retiro Station, caught bus 152, jumped off 30 minutes later in Palermo, rushed to the Subway, got off at the Juramento Belgrano stop, and arrived at the Hewlett Packard headquarters 5 minutes late, which is early in Argentina.

The next day, I researched Uruguay:) I dreaded the idea of going back to the office of immigration. But a combination of not wanting to accept defeat, curiosity, shame, and thrift sent me back on Wednesday morning. On the previous Tuesday, my friend at HP had copied my passport for me and I was ready to go....

Upon arriving at the office, I went staight to the correct line, presented my copies, was given a number, directions to the correct desk and miraculously did not have to wait at all to talk with someone. From that point, it only took about an hour to have my passport processed and to receive my extension. I don't know what type of processing was required. I think the transaction probably could have taken place more quickly, but the clerks were taking their time and after texting on their cell phones, drinking mate, and talking about potential plans for the weekend, they realized I was waiting somewhat patiently and decided to take care of my request. When my last name was called, I jumped up excitedly, grabbed my passport and looked at the page that showed the extension. Mission accomplished. Chalk one up for the cheap guy. Two visits and 100 pesos later, I had my extension. Mission accomplished. Es asi (or it's like that) in Argentina. You have to know the rules of the game in order to get things done. It's a beuracratic pain in the butt. The right attitude to approach it is as if it is all a game, a challenge. Luckily, I will not have to play it my entire life...

Friends

2008-09-08T07:09:00.000-07:00

One popular phenomenon that I find unfortunate is the Facebook or MySpace option of ranking your friends or even including a list of top friends. The idea that one feels the need to present to the world a list of best buddies-sometimes with a ranking order-to me shows a lack of self-esteem, lack of empathy, and on the opposite end of the spectrum, a huge ego. After all, the underlying assumption is: I can take you off this list of best buds just as soon as I put you on so what are you going to do to hold your place? It's as if friends have become to some degree like hotel reviews on hotels.com. That is, you'd better not treat me poorly or I'll let the whole world know. Just as embarasingly, this sort of behavior shows a lack of self esteem. A person who feels the need to point out their best friends is telling the world: I not only have friends, I have really close ones too (and some are closer than others). And the ranked friends have the opportunity to vie for improved spots. I have witnessed friends of mine engage in passive aggressive arguments about why their rankings were lowered on their friend's MySpace page.

I think it is also not impossible that people compete for their rankings on their friends' pages. It's almost as if people who rank friends are constantly threatening their friends by knife point. One slip and you're sleeping with the fishes, to be removed to the rest of the not really friends portion of the page where I collect friends like baseball cards.

I think that this sort of behavior disallows honest interaction. A good friend is not always someone who kisses up to you or avoids criticism out of a desire to move up in your rankings or for fear of losing their spot. A good friend tells you what you need to hear. They listen closely, try to put aside their own projections, and give you objective feedback. Sometimes friends mess up and sometimes they forget to call or get busy. But when you really need them they are there. Friends then shouldn't be ranked or held self-consciously accountable on a daily basis. They need to be free to be themselves and driven to be your friend by a mutually shared connection, a desire to interact with you as opposed to fear of penalty or desire for public praise-carrot and stick. The latter approach to friendship fulfills superficial needs while the former touches the soul.

I think this discussion is a useful segue for me to discus making and maintaining friendships in Buenos Aires.

It is often said that people make a place. I agree. Buenos Aires is an amazing city filled with beautiful European style apartments, incredible food, neverending nightlife, and more cool little cafes than you could dream up. But the reason I came back here was the people. At first, Portenos (people from BA) tend to be wary and closed off to new people. After a conversation or two, however, they become extremely close and before you know it, you are at their dinner table and their parents are kissing you on the cheek and shedding tears when you leave. The people are not only very close and caring, they also take time to talk to each other, to connect for hours at a time over coffee and cake. And because they've spent so much of their lives talking with each other, they're good at it. They actually listen. They are more curious about you than they are generally in need of talking about themselves (they go to psychologists for that). The point is that for anyone seeking hearty Campbells Soup connection through words, Buenos Aires is your town.

I realized again how important friendship is to me after talking with a friend at the park for over 3 hours last Sunday. I was supposed to be teaching English, which I did, but after a few hours, the conversation slipped from English to Spanish as needed in order to explain more detailed opinions, thoughts, and feelings. It turns out that both my new friend and I are at similiar points in our life. We both are looking for a city, town, or place in which to settle. We like where we currently are but are missing something and don't feel satisfied enough to put down roots. Erica and I talked about the importance of making a deliberate decision about where to live and how one goes about doing it. We came to the conclusion that it's probably like marrying someone: you have an objective list of what you want, but chemistry is also very important. We also decided that it was important that we both make lists of things that are important to us in a city and life in general. For me, the #1 most important thing is great communication with people through words. #2 is people who are open-minded, thoughtful, and willing to take the time to talk. These two things are my bread and butter and for me they come from family and good friends. (The icing on the cake of good verbal communication for me is communication in a second language with someone from an entirely different cultural background.)

I left the conversation with my new friend feeling warm and satisfied. From that point, I stopped back at my apartment to cook a carrot cake and upon completing it, carried it over to the home of Argelia and Guillermo, my former host mother and father (featured in the picture above with my mom and myself). Argelia and Guillermo were the first friends I made in Buenos Aires. They more or less taught me to relax and enjoy good conversation and had this past Sunday afternoon invited me to tea hour with the extended family. So, for almost 3 hours more, I sat around another table talking with the large extended family of Argelia. These types of days are what I love about Buenos Aires and why I will miss it when I leave.

In the months leading up to my trip to BA, I had become a bit of a shut-in, rarely leaving the apartment except to work and interacting with friends only through the internet. So, when I came here, the transition was difficult. I continued at first to spend a great deal of time working and on my computer. I had forgotten the importance of friends and felt that too much time with friends was unproductive and that I should concentrate instead on furthering myself through work and projects. This past Sunday, however, taught me anew how important friends are, that good friends and communication can be like nourishment, and that they can help you develop and grow and learn.

I'm beginning to get a handle on my work schedule and to feel comfortable in my jobs. Now, I can begin to reconnect with the friends I made last year as well as search out new friends. I feel as though I figured out why I liked Buenos Aires so much last year. It isn't the killer cab drivers, smog spewing buses, dog poop smeared sidewalks, or swindlers a plenty. It's the good people and great conversation, two things I've been ignoring since I've been here this time around. It's the same reason why Argentines, I think, are so loathe to leave their homeland, despite its unnerving and perpetual economic and political instability. Because, when you have close family and friends and nourishing communication and you value those things, you don't need much more. The world could be crumbling down around you but as long as you have what you need, it doesn't so much matter.

The Argentines I talk with during conversation classes at Hewlett Packard echo this sentiment. Many had the opportunity to move to the U.S. to work, but they didn't. They talk about how depressed they were after spending 2 or 3 weeks in Houston or Miami, how everyone there goes home after work to watch tv or play on the computer instead of connecting through conversation. They would miss the lifestyle of Argentina too much to trade it for the money, material, and stability of the U.S.

In the U.S., we often talk about how everyone around the world wants to live in the U.S. And many do. The draw of wealth and prosperity is significant. For many Argentinians, however, the money would mean very little without their families and friends. And I'm guessing too that less Argentines than U.S. citizens feel the need to rank their friends on the world wide web. After all, there isn't as much time to worry about rankings when you're actually spending time together.

Obama

2008-08-30T12:34:00.001-07:00

I watched Obama accept the Democratic Party nomination for president on Thursday night at a bar in the chic neighborhood of Palermo Viejo. To my surprise, the bar was packed with over 100 other U.S. expats all there to watch Barack as his lifesize figure was projected onto the bar's wall via internet.

As many of you know, politics has consumed much of my life for the past 5 or so years. Upon paying close attention to the first 4 years of the Bush presidency, I felt obligated to get involved. So, while in grad school, I found(with difficulty) my way for the first time to a college Democrats meeting. I'd never thought of myself as a staunch Democrat and didn't like the two party system (I still don't), but I felt like I had to jump on the rightward swinging pendulum to bring it back to the center. Two years later, I was running phonebanks for John Kerry's unsuccessful presidential bid. Two years after that, I co-directed a campaign for a candidate for Ohio Representative in the Columbus area. In between these years, I traveled throughout the country campaigning for Democratic candidates and served in a number of offices for various progressive groups.

The summer after my last campaign, I moved to Argentina to get away from it all and improve my Spanish. During that summer, I met people from all over the world. It was an opportunity to take a giant step back from U.S. politics and the ugly partisan rivalry in which I'd been embroiled for so long. The experience was liberating. I finally felt as though I could think about politics outside of the partisan box, that I could talk to people with different opinions without shouting.

Before, I had felt that critical thinking was a luxury. Reasoning with Republicans had never worked. In my discussions, I would concede too much and they would take my concessions but never make concessions themselves. Because they would never compromise, I then felt that I could not compromise, especially in a time when our government had so little balance in the sense that every major branch of government was controlled by Republicans. And so, for nearly 4 years, I was a mouthpiece of the Democratic party, a pure counterweight, conceding nothing, as unthinking as the Republicans on the other side. I felt that it was necessary, but I hated it. I wanted to be able to think again. I wanted to be able to have honest discussions with people, to reason, to compromise. It is not in my nature nor do I think it is intelligent to be a pure partisan or to utilize talking points at the expense of critical thinking and compromise.

Thank God in 2006 some balance was restored to our government. In Ohio especially, state offices were swept by the Democrats (though I almost wish Marc Dann hadn't won). The U.S. House and Senate as well swung left and were suddenly in Democratic control after years of hardcore Republican majorities which completely and utterly ignored the Democrats and went full speed ahead with an agenda that was far right of the country. The new balance was like a gift to me. I suddenly felt as if I was no longer obligated to be involved in politics, at least for the moment. No more knocking on random doors or calling random houses of people who mostly didn't want to talk with me. No more constant blog checks hoping for good news or developments or encouragment. I was free to go back to doing what I wanted, which was reading, writing, improving my Spanish, and traveling.

I had never wanted to get involved in politics, nor did I feel like I was well suited for it. I would have much rather left it to others. Now finally, there seemed to be a solid cadre of Democratic volunteers as well as activists and some money. I was no longer needed. And it was bliss.

My summer in Argentina allowed me to come back not as a Democrat but more as a citizen of the world. I no longer felt the strong emotions for politics and political discussions that I felt in the past. So, when approached with a political discussion, my heart no longer raced and the words no longer spit from my mouth. I was still interested, but I could enter into discussion without raising my voice or becoming overly emotional. I continued to maintain my progressive views, but I could state them in a way that didn't make the people with whom I was having a discussion automatically defensive.

When the presidential primaries rolled around, I still had no intention of volunteering. However, I was intrigued by this guy Barack Obama. I liked him because he seemed deeply intelligent and because he was refreshingly apartisan. On the Sunday talk shows, he answered questions thoughtfully instead of shouting back the tired Democratic talking points or attacks. He seemed more a professor than a career politician. He seemed determine to maintain his independence, despite the party to which he subscribed. He teamed with Republicans in the Senate and sought compromises instead of outright victories. In short, he seemed like a guy who could bring the country together, who could help us all quit our bickering and focus on common goals. And did I mention he was a pretty good speaker:) Which after years of W was more than refreshing.

Here was a guy I could support without having to revert to my blood boiling old partisan self. Here was a guy who would represent my desire for compromise, harmony, and a desire to truly solve problems instead of fight over them. In conversations with Republicans, he was disarmingly pensive and reasonable. And though he was young, he seemed to have a strong grasp of almost every major issue of the day.

I've never been crazy or starry eyed about any particular politician and I don't currently feel that way about Barack. However, watching his acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention was like being in a dream. That is, I don't know if my mind could do a better job of creating or inventing a candidate who so precisely respresents my values, way of seeing the world, and hopes for the future.

To watch and listen to his speech and not be moved by its intelligence, humanity, reasoned approach, and humble intensity could only suggest such a strong bias against him that one could never be open to his message. It was by far the best live speech I've ever heard and for the first time in a long time made me feel guilty for being in Argentina and not in the all important battle ground swing state OHIO.

When the speech ended, I felt a sense of urgency that this guy must be our next president, that it would be a tradgedy if he were not. Who else will bring the country together to help us solve the health care crisis, get the troops safely out of Iraq, fix the education system, fix social security, jumpstart the economy, solve the energy crisis. It won't be the other guy who is obsessed with being in Iraq for the next 100 years or who is intent on bullying Russia and reigniting the coldwar. Despite McCain's solid record on the environment (I respect him for that), the guy is obsessed with being a hard A#$ throughout the world. After travelling throughout the world for the past few years, I can attest that is the LAST thing we need. The image of the U.S. in the world has been severely tarnished by Bush. The world wants Obama. To them, he means freedom. The idea that a black guy with a diverse background and experience who is extremely intelligent can become president would reaffirm the world's belief in a country that has recently resorted to using torture and whose president created an Axis of Evil and said, 'You're with us or against us'.

It will be bad news if McCain wins and overextends our already overextended military, further upsets the world (creating more terrorists), wastes soldiers' lives, and spends all of our tax dollars as he overcompensates for his rapidly declining testosterone level. Don't get me wrong, his story of being a POW is amazing. 5.5 years in a Vietnamese POW camp and he wouldn't accept an early release so that he could stay with his men. The guy is a superman in my book. But superman or not, 5.5 years in a prisoner of war camp does something to you. His temper and his aggressive military stances scare me. In short, I do not want his finger on the button...

I don't know beyond voting how much I will be involved down here in the presidential election. In fact, I'm not sure there's too much I can do other than to vote and to express my views in this and other blogs. In any case, I felt compelled after hearing Barack's speech to state unequivocally that I want Barack Obama as our next president. I no longer feel ambivalent about this election. Barack as president would make me proud again to be from the states.

Other Jobs

2008-08-27T09:32:00.000-07:00

In my last entry, I failed to mention my other 3 part time jobs....

I also teach English about 10 hours a week in the leafy, residential, upscale neighborhood of Belgrano far north of the city center. The agency for which I teach does most of its work with employees at Argentina's Hewlett Packard headquarters adjacent to Chinatown in BA. I have about 6 or 7 students total and the classes are mostly 1-1. The students with whom I work range in speaking level from intermediate to advanced. Apparently, native teachers are reserved more for advanced speakers. On top of that, Hewlett Packard only hires, I believe, people with at least a basic level of English. So, I will likely not be working with beginning learners in this position (Although I recently arranged a trade with a yoga instructor who is just beginning to learn English, in which I provide 1 hour of English class in exchange for one hour of yoga class).

Much of what I do at Hewlett Packard is to have conversations with employees, help to explain grammar, illustrate common sayings, explain new and useful vocabulary, and help with cultural insights. Selfishly, the job allows me a chance to learn more about Argentina and Argentine history. As I've obsessed about in this blog, I've been trying to piece together an understanding of what it is like to have lived in a country with such comparatively outrageous economic and political swings. To find out, I ask questions such as... how do you deal with 25% inflation or what was it like for you and your family during periods of hyperinflation (when it was very common, for instance, if the price of milk at the grocery store was lower in the morning than in the afternoon). And I ask what they think will happen if the current rate of inflation continues. If middle class incomes are only $7-10 thousand/year and prices now aren't that far different than they are in the U.S., a 25% rate of inflation can put a damper on, well, eating.

Despite my gripes with the U.S., the government or, as discussed earlier, our consumerist system has done a good job of providing us a relatively strong and stable dollar over a long period of time, with minimal inflation. The result is that if you live in the U.S., maintain a decent job throughout your life, and save somewhat dilligently, you can more or less enjoy a high standard of living (If you weren't devastated by investing in the stock market during the dot com or real estate busts or by medical expenses or credit card debt or college loans....). The strength of the dollars that we have saved has more or less held up and inflation has been minimized. The same has not been true in Argentina. Despite the best efforts of the middle class to save and get ahead, they have consistently been thrashed by political and economic instability. The result is that it's nearly impossible to 'get ahead' here as part of the middle class and people don't concern themselves much with saving, let alone investing, even in solid work environments like Hewlett Packard.

Getting back to the original topic of conversation, talking with folks at Hewlett Packard has been enjoyable. I pick their brains about Argentine history and their experiences and I spend the rest of the time telling them that the U.S. isn't exactly what you see on TV, which is to say that we don't generally swear as much or that not all men in the U.S. treat women so badly and that while guns are a problem, it's not every day that we are ducking cover due to drive-bys, at least not where I've lived.

Despite the fun I've been having, the negatives of the job are quickly outweighing the positives. That is, I almost know that I am for the most part wasting my time by taking the 70 minute round trip there everyday. Here's why.

1. The pay is good for AR and for an English teacher, but I'm not working enough hours to justify the travel time and energy. Often, I'm only working 2 hours/day. 2 hours per day= 50 AR pesos (a dismal 16.50 USD). If it takes 70 minutes travel time, and 2 pesos for the round trip and if I have to spend an hour in the cold while I wait between classes, that means I'm making about 12 pesos an hour or 4 dollars an hour, not nearly worth the effort of the trip, especially when I came to AR to do much more than talk in English with people, when it is most convenient for them. Granted, the job is easy and fun, but there are plenty of those types of jobs that I could do in the states (and for more money) so there's no reason for me to be doing it down here unless the experience were just that overwhelmingly impactful.

2. I like all my students, but they cancel often when they have busy days. And, they typically cancel at the last minute, leaving me stranded in Belgrano with nothing to do but wander Chinatown or answer emails in a cold/busy/expensive locutorio. Granted, I have cancelled class a few times due to travel plans, but my students cancel about 3-4 times as much as I do, and as I said, often at the last minute.

3. While the conversations I have are enjoyable, I again am not here to speak in English all day. Sometimes I feel as though I'm in the states or I might as well be. I'd much rather spend the same time with conversation partners speaking Spanish. Granted, the experience teaching English is a good one, but I feel as though in almost 2 months of doing this, I have learned the basic gist of teaching intermediate to advanced English. More or less, it is a matter of finding subtle and effective ways of correcting details, introducing specific vocabulary, and emphasizing key grammatical rules. If I'm going to continue this sort of job, my time would be better spent with beginners.

4. Due to the travel time and the way in which this job has been spaced out through the week, I haven't had a chance to exercise, write, or read as much as I had hoped during this trip. Spiritual reallignment was supposed to be a large part of my BA experience and instead, thus far, it has been all about work (well, I did have a lot of fun with my parents for 2 or so weeks).

So, in short, when my job as a tour guide picks up, I hope to minimize or cut out entirely the job teaching English. It was nice to hit the ground in BA running with this job and to meet some people, but the negatives are outweighing the positives.

Speaking of the job as a tour guide... Well, I haven't actually given any tours, except for practice tours. I have instead spent the past 1.5 months preparing by memorizing scripts, learning about Argentine history, walking the tour route, and practicing with friends. I'm supposed to begin giving tours in September and I feel ready.

My knowledge of Argentine history, culture, and architecture has grown exponentially (it didn't take much seeing as how up until this point I knew next to nothing) in the last few months and so has my interest in discussing it. Passion, I think, is necessary for a tour guide. You've got to be able to convey interest in order for someone else to care and to enjoy the tour. I didn't honestly care much about AR history before, but now I'm hooked.

Learning about the history has explained and helped me fit together puzzle pieces to answer many of the same questions I've been pondering in this blog. It has made my everyday experience in Buenos Aires more interesting and meaningful as I'm able to more intelligently assimilate current events and my new life here into a more meaningful and comprehensible whole. One example is that I'm finally beginning to understand why so many Argentines have no interest in politics or in voting in elections, despite the fact that voting is obligatory. The following explains why...

I'm currently reading 'A Brief History of the Argentinians'. One curious point it makes is that the founding fathers of Argentina were very concerned that the immigrant algicultural nation that they were organizing was not sophisticated enough to participate in democracy. So, they decided that it was their duty to do for the people what they could not. That is, they justified autocratic rule by reasoning that the people were too ignorant, undisciplined, and lacked respect for authority to such a degree that they were unfit to govern themselves. And, the founding fathers did so not out of spite it seems or because they were power hungry, but out of a desire to see the country succeed, for altruistic reasons (if that is possible from government leaders).

I make this claim because the turn of the century in AR was its glory day. And during this time, universal suffrage did not exist.

Men got the vote in 1912 and women not until 1951 (due to the work of Evita). In short, the country was set up by a strong, intelligent, and apparently somewhat benevolent autocracy... and thrived as a result. The founding fathers helped implement new agricultural technology, worked out trade deals, structured the tax system, and attracted chests full of foreign investment in the city...Did all this so masterfully that BA and AR in general boomed. Out of the soil of the pampas it shot up to become the 7th wealthiest country at the turn of the century, without democracy. At the time, AR experienced widespread economic prosperity, a growing middle class with a relatively high standard of living, and immigration from all over the world was not only welcomed but encouraged (not out of kindness, but as a means of labor for the pampas). Public transportation was introduced and buildings and public infrastructure of the highest quality were constructed.

It reminds me a lot of today's China. If China had been a democracy, is there really any way they could have made the economic and infrastructural progress that they have made in so few years? Could they have put on such an elaborate and amazing olympics? Could they have organized such a gigantic country and moved it towards empire without autocratic power? I don't think so....Is autocracy ok? In general I don't think so but there are times maybe when it is necessary for the growth and stabilization of a country....It is undeniable that a great deal of progress can be made in a short time if the majority does not rule. But that requires that a ruler or rulers be benevolent and with power so often corrupting, this idea has spawned more examples of dictatorship and despotism than wide scale prosperity....

But I digress.... My fourth and final job is to write reviews of restaurants and other landmarks for the same company for which I will begin giving tours. Each article is 800-1200 words long (a few pages) and involves both a trip or two to the place I'm reviewing as well as historical and other descriptive detail research. All said and done, the time that I put into the articles is far more than the money I earn for them. In fact, I figure I am very much doing this company a favor by essentially donating my services to them. However, the idea of writing for any sort of money is exciting to me. I figure that I have no body of published work in existence, save this scatter-brained blog, my editorial days for the Miami University student paper, and a few letters to the editor in various Ohio newspapers. So, my idea in donating my time is that I might be able to get another job writing in the future if I am able to point to the body of published work that I produced. My foot in the door, I suppose.

So far, I have written 3 reviews. One of the Jardin Botanical Carlos Thays or the Botanical Garden, a 100 year old garden of trees, plants, and flowers that supposedly exhibits the major plant life from the various regions of Argentina. The next review was of an almost 150 year old cafe that specializes in 5-0-clock tea hour that includes gigantic platters of cakes, cookies, and finger sandwhiches, as well as a fine tea selection and a boatload of artisan baked goods. The final review was of an Argentine barbecue/Spanish restaurant called Rodi Bar. They are supposedly known for their filet mignon (called lomo here) and it did not disappoint.

All in all, the assignments have been fun. It's cool to go to restaurants in the form of a critic-kind of a dream for a foody like me. It's also been good practice in the sense that it has forced me to engage in the writing process on a regular basis, which makes it that much easier to sit down and begin writing in general.

4 jobs sounds like a lot, but between cancellations for my English classes and the fact that I'm just finishing training for the guide job, I'm not as busy or stressed as it sounds. However, I could and should make things easier than they already are by giving up the English conversation classes at HP and instead finding more barter or trade deals. Maybe I could begin trading English classes for meals at fancy restaurants or more Spanish classes....

Quick Job Update

2008-08-26T09:18:00.001-07:00

It's a weird feeling watching the beginning of the year emails roll in from my school psychology job in Reynoldsburg. I feel a bit guilty, like I should be there preparing my list of evaluations and taking part in beginning of the year planning meetings. Then again, I'm not ready to go back to Ohio and feel as though I'm just getting started here. And, I'm content with my series of part time jobs. That said, here's a quick update.

The job that occupies the majority of my time is teaching two kids from San Francisco, ages 8 and 10. We have class on Tuesdays and Fridays from 2:15 to 5:15. They're bright kids and in a 2:1 situation, I'm able to tackle some relatively tough topics. The crux of my lessons is a curriculum from their previous school in the states. The 10-year-old is studying the California Gold Rush of 1850. The 8-year-old is studying tall tales, the salmon life cycle and salmon stewardship. On top of the recommended curriculum, I've tried to add lessons that are relevant to the kids' lives and what's going on in the world. For instance, I taught them about Chile when they traveled to a ski resort near Santiago on vacation and ditto for when they took a sleeper bus to Mendoza, Argentina. Other examples are that we had a competition focusing on the olympics to teach the kids about market dynamics and on July 4th we explicated The Declaration of Independence.

I try to start each day off with a fun brain teaser game and ease into the day from there. Occassionally, I give them time to reflect on their school days as a means of allowing them to get off their minds anything lingering from school that might impede our time together. Lately, we have been journaling, but any sort of writing is difficult to get out of them after an already lengthy school day. Sometimes too we play competitive games to see who can decipher passages from Shakespeare and for my school psychology friends out there, we have been working on short-term memory through digit span type games.

Today marks the ending of our olympics competition, a market-based game in which we predicted the outcomes of 5 different sports. The idea behind it is if they predicted a favored team to win and the team won, they earned 1 point where as if a team that was not favored wound up winning, they earned 5 points (greater risk, greater reward). As it turns out, the 8-year-old girl won and as such, I will be taking her a large dulce de leche con brownie (Gold) ice cream cone. The 10-year-old came in second (Is there a silver colored ice cream that isn't appalling? I will soon find out) and I came in third (I'm not even giving myself a years supply of rice-a-roni). After the awards ceremony/ice cream party, we will talk about the general concept by which it worked, and connect it to the stock and other market concepts. I know, big stuff for kids this young, but when it's just the 3 of us, we can really push the limits.

The next big activity is a stock market game, an extension of the olympics competition. The rules are 3 stocks, 1000 dollars/stock, unlimited trades (10 dollars/trade), and choosing stocks that meet 2 sets of 5 criteria/market dynamics that we are going to talk about (supply and demand, risk reward etc.) After one month, we will see who has the most virtual money. The winner gets....Probably something to do with dulce de leche (Hey, cheeseburgers and cherry cokes seem to work for Buffet, right?)

Lucky

2008-08-19T17:19:00.000-07:00

I never thought I'd say this, but..... Those of us who live in the U.S. are very lucky.

It's not that I've never felt lucky to live in the U.S. It's just that people in the U.S. say things like, 'The US is the greatest country on Earth' or 'Everybody wants to live here' without asking or even wondering why. I've always felt that while the U.S. is an ok country, there are likely countries with better systems and more humane policies. As such, it's been a while since I've felt let alone expressed that I'm truly lucky to live in the U.S.

I didn't come to Argentina with the intention of making an honest comparison to the U.S. or as a means of seeing how others lived so that I could appreciate my life in the U.S. I came as an opportunist who felt excitement about the value of my U.S. dollar spending power (3 pesos=1USD). I also wanted to increase my Spanish skills, have an adventure, gain life experience, eat carne (just kidding but not really), gain a different perspective, and have fun. In any case, after inadvertently learning about the history of Argentina and the plight of the average Argentine through working with Argentines and becoming a working Joe myself, I've come to understand that the average U.S. citizen is by comparison very lucky.

For my Fox News Bill O'Reilly loving friends and family (I love you all), my sense that we are lucky is not about the fact that we are the most free or that we all love freedom or that our way of life is the best or that our culture is the best or that our government is the most fair or that life is much better in the U.S.

We are lucky because we have a giant economic safety net. What do I mean by that? I mean that our country can make all kinds of economic and political blunders and no matter how many times we fall off the mountain, there is one thing that has and will for at least the foreseeable future save us-our rabid consumer culture and giant and currently irreplaceable marketplace. For this reason, our dollar will not fall too far, no matter how much and how many different types of debt we incur, no matter how many banks fail, no matter how many people are suckered into home loans that they can't pay. The rest of the world needs our addiction to buying stuff. They are as addicted to our consumption as we are to their stuff. As a result, until another country surpasses our marketplace in size and buying power (see China in a decade or s0-they are growing at 10% every year and currently represent 25% of the US economy), we will continue to experience only kid glove economic blows. This is one reason why the president asks us to keep buying stuff. It is our salvation.

The following is an exerpt from The New Yorker (James Surowiecki) that explains how Iceland is suffering economic woes since other countries have been spooked by the meltdown in the U.S. subprime market and have pulled money from investment in Iceland. As a result, the country's currency, the krona, has lost 22% of its value in the last year and the economy has been thrust into recession, despite the fact that they have more or less played by the rules. The difference between Iceland and the U.S. is that Iceland doesn't represent a signifant consumer market for the rest of the world (their population is the size of Pittsburgh). Consequently, they are considered irrelevant- there's no substantial reason for other countries to maintain their investment.

'And that's the second lesson of Iceland's plight; even in a flat world, there are different rules for different players. In order to prop up the krona, and keep foreign capital from fleeing, Iceland's central bank has had to raise interest rates to an astounding fifteen per cent, a move that will slow the economy to a crawl. By contrast, the dollar, while weak, has evaded the krona's precipitous fall; the Federal Reserve, far from raising interet rates, has slashed them; and Congress is borrowing a hundred and fifty-two billion dollars to hand out tax rebates. Iceland's government has been forced to inflict pain; the U.S. is doing everything possible to avoid it. If Iceland were to attempt to emulate America's approach, its currency would be demolished, and foreign investors would almost certainly head for the exits. The U.S, by contrast, remains the beneficiary of the world's generosity-no matter how bad our financial situation looks, countries like China and Japan keep pouring hundreds of billons of dollars into U.S. seurities. They're doing this not out of kindness, of course, but because the U.S. is a colossal market and they need us to keep buying stuff. The world can't afford to have the U.S. fail, and so we are able to get away with behavior that would wreck smaller countries. Great for us, but when we look at Iceland's predicament we should say that there but for the grace of China go we.'

My entire stay in Argentina, the following types of economic questions have been swirling in my head: Why is it so expensive to buy foreign products in AR, why did the country allow its currency become devalued so drastically, why is it so difficult for people here to get a line of credit, why do most people have to pay the full cost of a home upfront instead of getting a mortgage, why are credit limits so low, why are the offerings of foreign goods and products so dismal in comparison to the U.S., how come these same products are so expensive (more than quality products in the U.S.), how can companies and businesses treat customers with such comparitive disrespect and poor service, and why do the people put up with such terrible products and services? The only answer that Argentines have given me is that business leaders here are corrupt and take too big a cut and mistreat people for their own benefit and government officials are crooked and do the same.

I believe that's true, but only partially so. While Argentina has made its share of economic blunders and more, their fault is less in their selves than in their stars. That is, Argentina is unlucky. They have never developed the marketplace or the population or the geography to attract good international business. As a result, they are just like Iceland, only worse because their currency is so woefully devalued. Companies are only peripherally concerned with Argentina. As a result, there is less competition, and not much interest in competing. International business is difficult to attract and existing businesses aren't interested in and don't need to treat customers well because few other options or competition exist and economically, it's simply not worth the effort. Instead, companies concern themselves with kissing the feet of the biggest marketplace in the world. The U.S. receives the best and cheapest products, we max out our credit cards, we take on home loans we can't afford, we complain at the first sign of consumer injustice, we develop a gigantic sense of consumer entitlement.... and companies enable it. The businesses of the world are addicted to our rabid consumerism just as we are addicted to their products. We enjoy a dependent co-dependent relationship that ensures our high standard of living.

I predict that despite our many deficits, the rise in gas and food prices, decreasing home values, and the drop in the value of the dollar, we will continue to experience only a slow drop in our standard of living. However, things might get ugly as soon as another consumer economy replaces ours in size, power, and consumer apetite. It is only a matter of time then before we will feel what it is like to be less relevant.

Parilla

2008-08-17T08:48:00.000-07:00

During my almost three months in Argentina in 2007, I ate steak once. It was good, but nothing special and I was preoccupied with the idea that red meat is bad for you and you shouldn't eat it. Now I can't believe how completely and utterly stupid I was.

See above a picture of me cooking the Argentine equivalent of filet mignon.....for breakfast. Folks, I'm addicted.

Upon trying the steak again during my parent's trip, I quickly became hooked. In the past, I craved sweets, breads, sushi, and other ninny forms of food. But now that I have had tried truly good beef, it is what I crave above all else. And it's not just the finest cuts....

In a few moments, I have to leave to practice giving my tour of the city to a friend so I don't have much time to elaborate, but I want to impart a lesson I learned about a week ago....

Heaven is a town called Jesus Marie in central Argentina.

The town itself is without a doubt ugly. The people are really friendly, but the town is beat up, overgrown, poorly maintained, and just plain undesirable.

We entered the town after a long day of driving through the mountains from La Cumbre in search of Jesuit churches. Unfortunately, all the churhes were closed and, as we later found out, always are on Monday. Tired, hungry, and ornery, we stopped in the last town on the Jesuit trail, Jesus Marie. My parents were still full from a big breakfast, but I hadn't eaten as much and needed lunch. On the main drag of the city, we spotted one restaurant. It was one of the only restaurants open and there seemed to be many cars in the parking lot (a good sign typically). The name was Los Cruces and upon walking in, we were almost sure that we had stumbled on a tourist trap. As it turned out, everyone there was speaking Spanish and as I said before, Monday isn't a big day for tourism because the Jesuit church is closed.

We found seats away from the locals and the owner, who seemed annoyed to have to be dealing with tourists, approached us and said in Spanish...Well I don't know what you want but what we have is parilla (barbecue) so I if you're going to eat here, that's what you'll get. Fair enough, parilla sounded perfect to me. My parents weren't hungry and just wanted a little, but I wanted the whole shebang and thank Jesus Marie, that's what I got.

After haggling with the owner over the price, which I did not do a good job of because he more or less robbed us, a man began bringing us cuts of meat from a nearby grill. Our waiter was also cutting the fresh meat and grilling it at the same time. As soon as he gave us one piece, he began grilling another. My plate was never empty but never full. That way, the meat never had a chance to get cold and was as fresh as I have ever eaten. Friends and family, it was heaven.

Meat in the countryside of Argentina must be fresher. I'm guessing there is less distance that the slaughtered cow must travel since Jesus Marie is located near so many estancias. And the quality of cow is amazing, espetacular. We saw these cows grazing on 1000s of acres of land in the mountains. They had more than enough space and were chewing on exotic/wild mountain grass. It made me want to be an Argentine cow. The views from their resting spots were breathtaking and the air was crisp and clean. A very privileged life...before slaughter...And the resulting flavor was...need I say more.

That day in Jesus Marie at Los Cruces, I ate almost everything on my plate, not just the choices cuts of meat. I ate fat, intestines, weird cuts surrounded by fat and gristle that had somehow become oh so flavorful. The entire time, the owner watched us warily, as if he were pissed that he had to share such an amazing secret with us. Were it not for the quality of the meat, I would have been extremely uncomfortable. But it was as if I had been given a drug. My parents, who enjoyed only one piece of meat, had to endure my constant praise and sounds of pleasure as I tore into each new offering. Each time after thanking my waiter/butcher/grill artiste, he would simply nod knowingly, as if to say, 'Yes, I know you are from the city and you have never tasted good meat. Yes, I know it is good. Ok, that's enough'.

In the end, I thanked the owner and told him how I felt that the meat was the best I had ever eaten. He told me that the key was freshness at every step from slaughter to the table, and proceeded to overcharge me accordingly. I didn't care. I would have paid double.

Friends and family, I have found happiness and it is called Los Cruces in Jesus Marie, an overgrown, overcast town in the middle of Argentina. To summarize, the key is fresh meat, freshly cut, and eating it the moment it is off the grill.

Parent Edition

2008-08-02T16:08:00.000-07:00

The parents left yesterday morning for the Salta province in the North of Argentina, close to the Bolivian border. It's about a two hour flight from Buenos Aires to Salta and the resultant change in geography brings with it dramatic differences in climate, food, and culture. Buenos Aires is flat, humid, and concrete. From what I gather, Salta is mountainous, dry, and far more natural. The culture and food are different as well. Buenos Aires is a big city where you learn for better or worse not to trust people until you're almost sure you know them. Salta is supposedly more like middle America, a place where the people are kind and giving from the outset. And while Buenos Aires is dominated by an Italian/Spanish food mix, Salta apparently offers more indigenous fare like locro stew (beans, different cuts of beef and pork, sweet potatoes etc), tamales, choclo (corn stew), and even llama. The weather is also different in Salta province, with more sunny warm days in the winter and almost unbearably hot ones in the summer. As an example, today was a dark 50 degree winter day in Buenos Aires and according to my parents, it was sunny shorts weather in Salta.

Anyhow, the past week with the parents was fun. As many of you know, their flight was delayed an entire day as a result of thunderstorms and the arrival of King Bush errr president Bush to the Atlanta airport. Apparently when Bush flies into an Airport, all flights are grounded and none can land either. I suppose it's the least we as citizens can do for a man who has done errrrr... so much for the U.S. during his time in office. But I digress....

Despite mom's profound frustration at being delayed a day for a trip she has been planning for half a year (by a guy she didn't vote for...twice), her mood had changed noticeably when she exited the remise(sort of a private taxi service that I set them up with). Before I get to that, I want to mention that the remise was almost an hour and a half late, or later than I had anticipated. So I was totally worried, already having created a worst case scenario in my head for what had happened. The parents were caught up in customs having to pay import fees on all the stuff I had them bring me from the states. The remise driver hadn't connected with them and they were trying to figure out how to get to my place or had accepted a ride from a crooked cab driver. The guilt was sinking in. Why didn't I meet them at the airport instead sending a car for them!?

My fear eased when I saw my mom coming down the road in a nice mid size taxi type vehicle driven by an older female remise driver. Except, before reaching my apartment, the remise turned and circled around my block. I ran after the car at top speed hoping to catch up with her at the next light, but she was already gone. The car was circling the block, trying to find my address once more. On the second trip down my street, I ran on the sidewalk toward the approaching car and could see my mother pointing to me from the front seat. I herded the remise next to my apartment and soon learnt that the driver had a number of problems finding not only my apartment, but my street as well. I knew then that the driver more or less had no idea what she was doing. The street on which I live is one of the major veins of BA and if you don't know Paraguay, you haven't been around the city much. In any case, my parents told me that the driver treated them very well and drove safely. This reassurance in itself was enough for me not to care that the driver charged me extra as a result of her inability to find my street.

The parents were in and out of my apartment in less than 15 minutes as they we needed to catch the subway to start their first Spanish class in the leafy well-heeled Belgrano neighborhood inside the heavenly Esmerelda cafe where fresh pannetones are regularly pulled from the oven and placed temptingly in front of the coffee drinking crowd. On the way to the subway, we stopped in to a local bakery and bought fresh empanadas because....because we could. At 66 cents a piece, a fresh beef, chicken, or ham and cheese empanada is the perfect cure for low energy or just about any other ailment. And that is a scientific fact.

We made it to Belgrano only a few minutes late. Upon entering the bakery, my parents were mesmerized by the unprecedented array of amazing sweets. I practically had to pull them away from the display cases to their waiting teacher, my friend Silvina, a translator and BA native. After settling the folks into their new morning home, I left the class to spend time in an internet cafe studying Argentine history to prepare for my job as a tour guide.

The second half of our first day involved searching for a foam mattress to cover my sandbag-like futon so that my parents wouldn't have to visit a chiropracter during the trip. For me, the walk to the Villa Crespo neighborhood was a normal day's journey, nothing out of the ordinary. I forgot that for my parents it was not. We found the foam, but the walk proved fatal. My dad estimates in the end that we walked over 10 miles on their first day. On the bright side, we packed a ton of sights and sounds into one day, easily two days worth, thereby making up for the lost day. The downside was that my mom's reoccuring leg injury flared up and more or less put her out of commission for the next few days. I had forgotten about this injury and my mom, like her daughter and grandaughter, is not one to complain. She was far more interested in this new experience than in protecting her leg.

That night, I took my parents out for their 40th wedding anniversary at my favorite restaurant, El Remanso. We arrived at about 8:30 pm(the first customers in the restaurant). I knew the parents would share their food so I ordered for them, two dishes I felt they needed to try, a full sized filet mignon and a large serving of paella. I ordered pollo a la plancha, or a simple grilled chicken with some fried eggs. As an aside, the pictures from the parent visit are coming. The parents have them all on their camera and I will include them when they are back in town in a week and a half. As I was saying, the arrival of the filet mignon signalled my father's first lasting smile of the trip. Granted, he had smiled earlier in the day upon seeing pannetone fresh from the oven. However, dad was clearly smitten at the amazing cut of meat before him and the flavor did not let him down. We tore into our meals and left nothing save a few pieces of bread. More than satisfied with the first meal, we caught a cab home and my parents fell quickly asleep and stayed that way until after 9 am the following morning, uncharacteristically late.

The remaining week before my parents flew off to Salta was an exercise in Frato indulgence. Mom couldn't walk as much the following days as the first. So, we spent a good deal of time sampling foods and seeing local sights instead, as well as making one touristy trip per day to places like the Plaza de Mayo, the Casa Rosada, the Obelisk, and the San Telmo street fair. We also made trips to some of the biggest grocery stores in the city, Jumbo and Coto Abasto, as a means of giving my parents a better sense of all the types of food that Buenos Aires has to offer. Further, I indulged my parents with a different Argentine food every day. The following is everything that my parents stuffed their faces with in their first week here: Empanadas (beef, chicken, ham and cheese, and choclo), pasta frola, veal milanesas, fresh ravioli, boulagnese sauce, multiple loaves of pan del campo (country white bread), Argentine pears, Argentine Pink Lady apples, giant croissants, facturas, medialunas, alfahores, dulce de leche with brownie ice cream, super dulce de leche ice cream, pistachio ice cream, and boisenberry and chocolate icecream, roasted red pepper, ham, and cremoso cheese pizza, torta de calabaza, torta de espinaca, torta de jamon y queso, una parillidita, and filet mignon (4 nights).

I know my dad doesn't like big cities. He spent much of the first week pointing out the trees and birds and wondering which direction was North, a futile exercise when the buildings are so tall that you rarely see the sun in the winter. Watching dad try to relate to the city was kind of like watching the movie Crocodile Dundee. Granted, my dad grew up in the inner city and is no stranger to it. Regardless, I don't think he is comfortable with or made to be in such a perceptually deafening and unnatural place. To ease his time here, I made sure to appeal to his love for good food. In fact, in addition to the aformentioned indulgences, we bought a porcelain covered cast iron grill for my stove top so that we could grill up steaks. To date, we have grilled filet mignon and fresh eggplant 3 nights on the little grill. With filet at 7-10 dollars a kilo, we could not justify restraint.

Mom seems to have connected with the city a bit more. I can't say that she seemed enamored with it, but she certainly seems to have enjoyed exploring, learning Spanish, trying new foods, and learning about the culture. Speaking of which, we were able to meet up with my former host family on two separate occassions, once for dinner at their house and the next time for coffee and cakes. Both events were successes, the two families connecting very well despite an almost complete language disconnect. My former host family speaks no English, save a few words and my parents speak barely more Spanish than my host family speaks English. I was forced into the position of translating as much as possible, which becomes extremely exhausting (if you've ever been put in this situation you know). Nevertheless, basic connections were made and both evenings ended more warmly than I thought possible for two groups of people who could barely understand each other. Surprisingly, my parents expressed that they enjoyed both of these encounters, pointing out that these types of cultural events are what make great travel. I hadn't considered it, but it's true. The cultural connections I made sitting at my host family's dinner table sharing coffee and cake for hours and hours were the memories and feelings that stuck with me as I made my decision to move back down here for a year. Despite how much I talk about it, it wasn't the food that brought me here. It wasn't the draw of big city life. And it wasn't just the opportunity to practice Spanish. It was the emotionally substantive connections that I made with people through conversation, made that much more interesting by communicating in a second language.

The highlights so far of my parents stay have been our first night at El Remanso, A fun day walking through the San Telmo street market, a wild trip to Retiro station to buy bus tickets, Dinner and coffee with my former host family, and our second try at grilling filet mignon which resulted in what can only be described as a dinner of dreams.

In general, though, it has been fun to have my parents in the city. It makes me realize that my family certainly isn't the reason why I left Ohio for the year. Sharing this experience with my parents has revealed to me that I can continue to be challenged and grow despite the presence of my family. Having my parents here has given me the best of both worlds, so to speak. The loneliness of being in a place without family has been alleviated, but the excitement remains.

In less than a week, I'll leave on an overnight bus trip to meet my parents in Cordoba, on the West side of AR. From there, we will drive out to the surrounding countryside to, I hope, spend some quiet time in the hills before returning to Buenos Aires a few days later. My parents will then have almost another week in Buenos Aires before heading back to the states to start the work year. At the same time that they leave, my daily workload will increase and I should enter into a routine that will define my life for at least the next year here. My hope is that the routine I create is healthier and more people filled than the life I left in the U.S. I'm finally beginning to feel comfortable in the city again, content to read on the subway without worrying too much about pickpocketers and the like. The language is beginning to come to me almost spontaneously. And I can saunter as opposed to rush walk when I concentrate.

I think it's still too early to tell whether I'm a country or city person. Certainly I'm more comfortable in the country or small towns, no doubt about that. But despite my lack of comfort in the city, it does seem to be the only place in which I feel truly alive, forced to be in possession of my wits. In small town U.S., I can daydream through life. Here, I am forced to live in the present. And the truth is I spent way too much time daydreaming of excitement when I was a kid. Now is the time for the actual adventure.

Busses, Dia del Amigo, and Random Food Musings

2008-07-21T18:17:00.000-07:00

To my few loyal followers, I apologize for not having posted for a while. My internet service was down for 1 week and after 4 calls, two technicians, and 3 angry visits to the main office, I'm back. Here is a brief history of my dealings with my internet and cable provider Fibertel. As far as Argentina goes, signing up for internet service was almost too easy. Granted, I had to wait 15 minutes in a line to talk to someone at the downtown office. However, once I was in front of a sales rep, signing up took all of 5 minutes.

The problems started during the installation process. As is the case even in the US, you have to wait around for up to 6 hours during the day for a technician to stop at your house/apartment. So, I had to stay home on a Monday from 8am-2pm waiting. No problem, I thought. A small price to pay for the convenience of having internet without having to pay by the hour at a cheap and dirty internet cafe/locutorio. My installer came somewhat early, which was a relief since it meant I wouldn't have to wait all day long for him. Once here, he immediately went to work and after half an hour of fooling on my balcony, running up to the roof, whipping various cables down onto my balcony, and drilling a hole through my apartment wall to put the cable through, I was blessed with cable and internet. In the process, the tech dragged in an inordinate amount of dirt, spread trash and parts throughout my apartment without cleaning them up, and then proceeded to use my restroom for an extended period of time (I don't blame him for that, I suppose. If you've got to go, you've got to go, but it was that and the combination of other messes he left that cumulatively were upsetting). Despite the mess I had to clean up when he left, I was simply happy to have internet and cable.

My honeymoon lasted a week and then one morning, my internet didn't work. The following day, I called the Fibertel office and was told that general problems were occuring in the area and would be fixed by the afternoon. The next day came and still no internet. I called again. Two technicians would come and fix the problem the following day at some point between 8am and 2 pm. I was told the techs would be at my apartment by 8:30 but they wound up there at 12:30pm. One worked on the balcony and then disappeared to the roof, never to be seen again. The other sat at my computer and started playing solitaire on it while he talked on his walky talky. After half an hour and no progress, he informed me that I was receiving an internet signal but that it was not reaching my computer for some reason and he didn't know why because that wasn't his area of expertise. I would be hearing that day from another tech who would fix the problem. The tech left and for some reason, although nothing was fixed, he left a mess of wire and parts on the ground as well as dog #$%& from the street. Bulls in a China shop.

Tech two didn't show up without an angry visit to the fibertel office. After a half an hour of waiting for the clerk at the office to find the right code to send the right type of tech to my apartment, I learned that I would have to skip another day of work to wait around to have my internet fixed. The tech showed up early. He was a young guy, tech savvy looking, and not nearly as rude and imposing as the first two Fibertel visitors. However, after 45 minutes of tinkering, he could not fix the problem. The modem is blocked, he told me. You need to call the office and have them fix it. You can't fix it, I asked? No.

I called the office, now more angry, the Spanish sailing quickly and knowingly from my mouth as I described the sequence of events to the operator at Fibertel. Ok, ok, she said. A tech will call you this morning to take care of the problem. Or not.

The following day, I camped outside of the Fibertel office. Once in, I laid into the clerk at the desk, then apologized because I knew it wasn't her fault. She explored my issue and said matter of factly, You never set up a username and password. No one ever asked me to set one up, I shot back. That's why your modem is blocked, because you haven't entered a username or password. There was never an opportunity to enter a username and password. My internet simply would not work and I was never asked to confirm or enter a username and password. Well you should have done that at the start, she said somewhat too smartly (Argentine women do not take kindly to men with attitudes, especially Americans). At this point, a more bilingual person than myself approached and asked to help me with the translation, as if my frustration had been that I couldn't understand what was being said to me. Entiendo perfectamente, gracias (I understand perfectly, thank you). The rattled looking wannabe altruist sat back down. I collected myself. Ok, ok, what do I have to do? You have to enter your username and password, she said. Ok, can I do it here? Can you please help me? Yes, she said. I quickly picked a username and password. Done she said. Go back to your apartment and your modem will be unblocked. I didn't buy it at all. I wanted her name. I wanted written confirmation. I wanted a competent tech at my apartment in 30 minutes time. I wanted my money back. But she assured me it would work. And so, reluctantly, I left the office, went straight home, and low and behold, my internet worked. 2 separate visits from technicians, 4 calls, and two visits to the office later, I found out that the reason my internet was out is that I didn't have a username and a password and the modem had therefore decided to block my service after a week....

I'm sorry for relating this frustration in detail, but I think it's important to illustrate the type of challenge that you face in Argentina that I never really dealt with in the U.S. That is, in Argentina, it's extremely difficult to get some things done. It feels as though you're riding a bike with square concrete wheels. Whereas everyone else is accustomed to this disability, you are still adjusting and cursing and waiting for the wheels to round out. But, they don't, until you round out, I suppose, and accept that 'es asi', or that's just the way it is. It's no wonder then that clocks are much harder to find in Argentina. Time is not so important. Or maybe if they all concentrated on time, they would realize how much was being wasted waiting in lines and for inneficient systems, which would be far too depressing, so throw out the clocks instead of changing the systems. Or maybe they've just decided not to play the time game the way we play it.

There is a reason I am here:) And that's partially, I think, because Argentina does not live and die by the clock. They tend to live more for long talks over mate, cakes, and alfahores (the AR cookie of choice: a combination of two sugar cookies with a heap of dulce de leche in between). And when you've got a large square of ricotta cake on your plate, a small skinny fork, and a blissful cup of coffee, a working clock is a bummer and who cares if your internet works or not.

Whining aside, I'll move on to the next subject du jour. Last year, I almost completely avoided bus travel. I'd heard that it was extremely cheap and efficient, one of the best big city systems in the world. I could catch a bus to anywhere in the city at any point during the day. All I needed was a small guidebook called a Guia-T that would allow me to figure out where to catch the bus I needed. During my first trip last winter, I relied on friends to take care of this detail for me. I hopped busses with them, paid my 1 or so peso fair and got off when my friends told me to get off. This year I promised myself that I would learn the bus system, that I would take buses myself and figure it out. Thus far, I have been reluctant to do so, but visits to parties and the apartments of friends on the other side of the city have necesitated it.

I have to say that despite minor issues, I've thus far had success getting from point A to B with the buses. Granted, I have only taken a total of 4 trips solo via colectivo. And, I had to wait once for 30 minutes for a ride and then from 12:30am-1:45am to catch a bus home (too stubborn to pay for a taxi at the time). I think the general rule is that there are likely to be more buses running during the day and on busier streets. That is, if you are planning to travel mid day on a common and much used route, you can depend with some confidence on getting to where you need to be on time. However, if you're expecting a bus in the middle of the night for a cross town journey, don't hold your breath. Take a cab. Don't do what I did. You will know that the bus is not coming when the cab drivers circle the stop like vultures, waiting for you to reach your frustration threshold and flag them down. But once you wait about 30 minutes in the middle of the night without showing interest in a cab, the taxistas take off for smarter travelers or otherwise begin ignoring people looking for rides, unless they meet some type of seasoned cab driver middle of the night criteria. Apparently, I did not, because come 1am and they all ignored me, at which point, I stopped trying to hail one so as not to draw attention to the fact that I had enough money to pay cab fair. In any case, 15 minutes later, my bus did show up and my driver butterfly stroked us through the city blocks and I was home in a matter of minutes.....

The subject of buses brings me to my next topic. Sunday was a holiday here called The Day of the Friend. Argentina has a number of holidays that the U.S. doesn't. One of them is Day of the Friend, an ode to your friend or friends, in which you get together with your friends and hang out. It's a pretty cool day here and Argentinians take it seriously, especially the kids. The night before day of the friend, the streets were filled with groups of friends singing in unison and the buses were packed at all hours with friends going out to dance, eat, shop, or as many kids like to do, just ride around together and people watch.

On the day of the friend, I went to a birthday party for my former Argentinian host father, Guillermo, who turned 50 this past Sunday. It was held in a cool old house in the leafy Belgrano neighborhood, was tastefully catered, and included dancing, a slide show, and a magic show performed by the brother of my former host mother. The party lasted until 5 in the morning and this, as it turns out, was an early ending. Yes, 80 year old folks here stay up until 5 in the morning for parties. And the next day they wake up late, drink coffee and eat cake. I can attest to this, because I was with my host mothers 80 something parents at different points over this span of time.

Speaking of cakes and the food of Argentina and the need for a segue to my favorite subject. Food down here is my current obsession. I've made it a goal to learn to use the assortment of amazing natural ingredients for which AR is known. Specifically, I'd like to learn to cook and prepare beef in different ways. At a local Carnicerea, I can buy lomo or something close to filet mignon for a little over 6 dollars/kilo. Chicken is about 1.75/kilo. And fresh white fish runs me about 4.50/kilo. Fruits and vegetables are also very cheap and of high quality. Within a one block radius of my apartment, there are at least 5 fresh fruit/vegetable stands that right now are selling beautiful looking strawberries, pears, apples, swiss chard, green pumpkins, boston type lettuce, spices, papayas, mangos, leeks etc. Often, you can find beautiful Argentinian pears for $1/kilo, lemons at about 20 cents a piece, and bags of spices for about the same. Now that I have a kitchen and am quickly accumulating supplies, I've begun experimenting with the local offerings and have thus far enjoyed a level of fresh food eating that I've never known in the U.S.

At the turn of the century, Argentina was one of the wealthiest nations on the planet. They were considered one of the bread baskets of the world due to the fertile soil and ideal conditions for growing and helped feed Europe for a generation. As the political situation took various turns for the worst, Argentina's prominence faded in and out, but for the people of the country, amazingly fresh food has for the most part been a way of life. And with a gas burning oven and three burners to myself finally, I am blissfully learning what it's like to eat fresh every day. And why not buy fresh every day instead of once/week? The carnicerea or meat shop is only two blocks from my house and there is rarely a line and the fruit/veggy shops are even closer, more plentiful, and cheaper. There are also shops for cured meats and fine cheeses on every corner where you can buy Gruyere, blue, gouda, port salut, creomoso, criolla, pate gras, and AR cheeses for very reasonable prices.

So it goes with Argentina...For every frustration, there is something truly special about this country that reminds me why I came. For all the time I saved in the US by driving my car or paying my bills in 5 minutes instead of 3 hours, or having my internet installed properly the first time, there was often a sense of isolation and a cultural and connective void. While my time here is occupied with long chats over tea and cake, my time there was occupied by constant work, time in front of my computer, and social interaction replaced by the travel channel. On top of that, it was more difficult to eat and live healthily. Here, I walk almost everywhere and have access to fresh natural food and am only tempted negatively by the carbohydrate and sugar heaven that is Buenos Aires. As a side note, I warn any South Beach or Adkins diet fanatics to save yourself from the pain. Don't come here. You will either destroy the progress on your diet or be tortured to the point of frustration and depression. The seemingly infinite number of fine bakeries offering mouth watering torts at rock bottom prices, the wood fired large topping covered pizzas for 3-4 dollars, the empanadas at 66 cents a piece, the fresh package of pasta for barely over a dollar....Need I say more.

Put differently, moving to Argentina has been a give and take experience. I've had to give up many modern conveniences and efficiencies and to more or less take a step back in time. In return for this, I've been given seemingly more time with people, better, more natural, and fresher food, and a healthier and more environmentally friendly lifestyle of walking and using public transportation.