August 28th, 2005, 4:10 p.m.
I'm having one of those "feeling-lucky-to-be-alive" days. I was going through my photos and reading old blog entries, realizing just how many extraordinary, fun, carefree and meaningful experiences I've gotten to have over the past year. And even more recently, just since quitting my job in Barcelona. I've basically been on vacation for 5 months!? I got to visit my friends in Geneva, my Dad and stepmom, my friends in NY, my grandma and mom in NY, my friends at Stanford, my family in SF, my mom in Hawai'i, and now here with my friends. It's incredible! And I've had such fun in each place. I'm really lucky. And happy.
OK, so we have exactly one week left here, which astounds me. On Sept. 4th we're flying to Rio for a 2 and a half week stint. We have a friend working on a social entrepreneurship project there - actually the same project I worked on at Stanford. So we're going to hang out with her and take Portuguese classes while doing other really essential tasks like shopping for swimsuits and seeing how Brazilian guys match up to Argentinean ones. But back to the moment, for a sec. Marina and I have had a little cold for the past few days. Miraculously, I believe mine has come and gone within a three-day span. This is great because as you know, in BCN a three-day span was just the beginning of a long, awful relationship with sickness.
Just because it's interesting, I want to mention all the movies we've watched here: Apollo 13, Hitch, Kinsey, The Negotiator, The Recruit, Before Sunrise, After Sunset, Thirteen Conversations, Alex & Emma, Bride & Prejudice, Down With Love, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Proof of Life,
I did my first paid translation job the other day. It was très exciting. I went to a cafe to - of all things - write in my blog, and it came to the owner's attention that I was an English-speaker. He asked me to review their new menu to see if there were any mistakes. Among other things, I changed "Mediteranea cooking" to "Mediterranean cuisine", and "Salon subterraneo exclusivo: Cave de los Angeles" to "Exclusive downstairs lounge: The Angel Cave." And I told them to leave off "ambiente climatizado." Here in Argentina, and in Spain as well, restaurants advertise when they have a "controlled climate", meaning they provide air conditioning when it's hot and heat when it's cold. I told them that this is a given in English-speaking countries - it sounds strange to include it because it was like saying "toilet paper included in the bathroom." We expect it. Notable cultural difference. So after straightening up their spelling and neatening up their word choice, I was given my tea for free. Do you realize that that means I was just paid probably 5 pesos for my first real translation job? (That translates to about a buck and a half, by the way). I walked away grinning.
The people are nice here. Really, really nice. Two examples: I tried to take a tango class in Abasto after dark, a neighborhood near a mall. Apparently it's not a very good neighborhood, and the taxi driver stayed with me while I rang the bell and tried to go inside. There was no one there, and the street was dark and it was windy, so after waiting a moment, I decided to go home. But I wanted to go by subway because it's cheaper, so I leaned in to the driver and told him I was walking the two and a half blocks to the Subte (metro). He insisited that I get in and he would drive me, because according to him, "vos no tenés miedo, pero esta zona es brava. Ya subes!" ("Well, you're not scared but this isn't a good neighborhood. Get in!") Anyway, it was a very sweet gesture (the meter was off and he didn't charge me anything), and he let me off right in front of the Subte entrance. I was touched.
So I tried to catch the bus the other day. Now, I had already caught a bus here so by "try" I mean, I caught the bus - stood in line, just like a good Argentinian, got on the bus the same way we did the other day, and tried to put my little moneda (change) into the machine on the bus to get my ticket. So I'm sort of daydreaming and staring off into space, I insert a peso and I'm waiting for the ticket when I suddenly realize that that vague whining sensation is people yelling at me - the driver and eventually the rest of the people in line: "Cuánto?" the driver keeps saying over and over ("How much?"). So I say "Un peso!" ("One peso!"), "No, no un peso, cuánto?" ("No, not a peso, how much?") So I reply, "Sí, un peso!" to which I hear, "No, no se puede un peso!" ("No, you can't with one peso!"). At this point I'm really confused, because the bus is supposed to be like 80 centavos and I really don't understand why it's so difficult to change one peso ... or why everyone in the line is staring at me and kind of smiling. So as I'm getting more and more confused and the driver is getting agitated and I feel bad because I'm holding up the entire line, this woman comes up and asks me where I'm going, and tells the driver "75 centavos." The the machine lights up with "75 centavos" and I pay and get my change no problem. Apparently, similar to Geneva, there are different zones to Buenos Aires, so busfare depends on how far you are going. (Interestingly, this is not true for the subway, where there are no commuter passes, no 10-ride passes, no nothing: it's just always 70 centavos for a subway ride). And I couldn't pay a peso for the bus because that wasn't one of the options: it was 75 centavos for zone 1, $1.25 for zone 2, etc. etc. Anyway so I pay and retreat into a corner, and we are on our way. Of course this was all terribly embarassing so I managed to stare out the window, more amused than anything else, for the remainder of the ride. Then, when it's my stop (which I realize, because I know my neighborhood, plus the nice woman gives me a little head nod) - the bus driver announces quite loudly, "Who wanted Malabia and Vera? Who was it?" and I timidly raise my hand and get off the bus. Then after I get off, this older gentleman goes out of his way to instruct me that Vera is four blocks that way and one block up, only he's wrong, so the woman, who happened to have the same stop as me, comes back and tells me that no, it's actually four blocks that way and one block down. It was great. I just had the feeling that everyone really wanted to make sure the young clueless foreigner found her way home, and I went away feeling very ... taken care of. I would also just like to mention some cities in which I feel this would not happen: Paris. Barcelona. New York. London. Perhaps that's not fair, but from having gone to these places (and taken the bus in some of them), I feel it's a call I can make.
The little things that people do:
I am lucky to have wonderful friends. I knew this, and that's why I wanted to spend time with them, but I just wanted to mention three examples of what I saw and appreciated as real love.
I am always cold. Everyone who knows me knows this, and one day in Buenos Aires it was raining. The only one of us with an umbrella was Beth, so the rest of us were shivering and sucking it up, hurrying home. But after she noticed that I was cold, she very unselfishly gave me her umbrella, practically without thinking about it. It was more like a reaction - "I want my friend to be happy, therefore I will give her my umbrella." As she hurried on, ducking raindrops and dodging puddles, I realized that that simple act of umbrella donation was more that just something nice - it was a gesture of love.
I lost a set of keys at the other apartment. This sucked, because we were told that each set was worth $40, which meant I would have to pay $120 pesos (btw the sign for pesos is the same as a dollar sign; there is no symbol like € or ¥ or £). But I really didn't WANT to pay $120 pesos, especially since we were having other issues with that rental company. Plus, I'm pretty responsible about my keys and had never misplaced them, which made losing them on the last day that much more frustrating. Anyway, Marina helped me look - and really helped me look, really went out of her way to try and find them. It was important to me, so it became actually important to her, too. She really cared - she wasn't looking halfheartedly looking around while making sure she had all her toiletries together - she was really searching, and even just that made me feel better. I suppose it was because she took on my problem as her problem; it made me feel less alone.
My student loan company sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks. Please, if any of you are thinking of consolidating student loans or in the future advising your children on consolidation, do not use NelNet. They are *terrible* and they consistently make me cry. So, I was crying one day, trying to understand what the f*** is going on with my loans, upset and stressed out, and Emily helped talk me through it. Now, Emily is a very logical, rational girl and her explanation helped me just based on its reason. But 15 minutes later, when she could tell that I was still quite upset, she offered to give me a back massage. Thirty minutes and a lot of vanilla lotion later (thanks Kenny), I was much more relaxed. But I think it was the thought behind it, the recognition that you've had a hard time and deserve a little love, that really got me.
I guess what I want to say is, girls, thanks for accepting me for who I am, and loving me. It shows in the little things; it makes me feel supported and cared for; it's why I'm friends with you, and ultimately, it's why I'm glad we came on this trip. You are all my real friends, people I really know and trust and care about and bicker with and have to get away from sometimes, but when it really comes down to it, really love, and you really love me. And as we all know, the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. (btw anyone who's my REAL friend will know what movie that's from :)
OK, so this will be amusing: good and bad things about our flat:
Bad things:
- the left kitchen sink doesn't drain
- the shades are fiesty
- the water is warm, not hot (and we know how much I hate this)
- there are no frying pans at all, no real knives, no cutting board, no dishtowels, and no spatula
- there are maybe two outlets for the entire flat
- the toilet leaks
- when it rains there is a huge puddle in the kitchen
- the TV arbitrarily turns itself off
- almost none of the doors close all the way, including the bathroom
Good things:
- the location
- the heat
Why is it that I'm always glad to leave every flat I rent? Am I ever going to find a flat that I like?
Especially charming missive from my mother:
eating sun dried tomato toast and goat cheese, drinking morning
coffee on the nice shady porch at my new table, all that is missing
is you coming in to steal half my breakfast.
Language spot:
Joder means "to fuck" in Spain. Coger means "to fuck" in Argentina. Joder means "to have a good time" in Argentina (a ella le gusta la joda, por ejemplo). Coger means "to catch" (as in to catch a bus) in Spain. Chingar means "to fuck" in Mexico, and doesn't really exist anywhere else. And follar means "to fuck" everywhere. To sum up, I have to remember that here I can't say "Vamos a coger un taxi" ("Let's fuck a taxi" instead of "Let's catch a cab"), and that if someone asks me if I like "la joda", it's not an insult and they're not asking if I like to get laid.
