air

you know that feeling when someone you love is gone
like all the air has been sucked out of the room
and there are no words to describe the feelings
...despair, anger, sadness...
that accompany the loss

i think it was Steve Martin in LA Story who said
we never know precisely when love starts,
but we always seem to know when it ends

all i know is
it doesn't matter what city you woke up in
what continent you're on
even what time zone or season you're in
there's still no air
it's hard to breathe
and there aren't words for this

cosmic ping pong

ideas cascade
conversations intersect
ideas, thoughts, inspirations
flow together like streams
ever widening towards the river
then the sea

my mind buzzes
with thought and feeling
color, like sky
wire, taking form
stones, like those small weighty
bits of ourselves that hold us down
when we might just float away

voices intermingle
with bits of each other
where your idea ended
and my thought began
is unclear
like cosmic ping pong
pieces of myself knocked free
bounce around the room
for all to touch before coming back to me
while others float or fall away
uncovering the mystery beneath

I am moved
past mere words
or thoughts or feelings
to a place simply connected
to the beauty that surrounds

----- ----- -----

I recently attended an art show of my long time friend Laurie Fronek in Seattle. I wrote this piece in response to the creative energy and sharing that resonated between the art and the people present at the show. I was inspired and the evening reminded me how beautiful it is when we can care for, foster and love the ideas and creative impulses we hold inside so that we bring them into being. Much like when a blossom breaks open, there is a sharing of the beauty and light we carry within ourselves, and it is both beautiful expression and a gift for those who are allowed to share in it. Thanks to Laurie, and all the artists in the show, for opening those windows into themselves and letting us peer, if only momentarily, inside. I am moved and changed by it.

in transit

Buenos Aires didn't seem so different this morning as it did when I arrived, just past 5 am, the streets quiet but for a few stragglers from late night parties the night before. its a bit surreal actually - still dark, the streets seem to disown me - was I really here - coming and going in stealth while everyone was sleeping - I long to be home and yet stay at the same time - and don't feel quite like I belong in either place, but somewhere in between the two. between the north and the south - east and west - the summer and the winter - the known and the unknown...between the darkness and the dawn. it still feels so unknown, mysterious, barely seen - is this the city I walked in, dreamt in, sweat and drank coffee in or is this some surreal place in my imagination - not really part of the trip - like bookends, that hold the books together, but aren't really part of the library.

my head is fuzzy, from not enough sleep - much like when I arrived - what have I forgotten, left behind, and will I need it where I am going? as the countryside slides by in the warm morning air I remember thinking how often it is on journeys such as this that the internal journey we take is somehow further than the external one. still 5 time zone and opposite latitude - different hemispheres - in some small way this place became like home. a home. In many ways I am looking forward to being home. Currently without job and a number of things in flux - it will be nice to get started on things undone, and yet at the same time I know this afternoon I am going to miss the delightful girl at the hotel who would hand me my key always with a smile and buen dias...and the guys at the cafe on the corner - not know if I would have another coffee or cerveza. they were excited to hear even my english telling of the futbol game the other day - again for a minute I felt like a rockstar - they got something special out of talking to someone who was actually AT the game.

I'll miss their quizzical looks when I would attempt to ask something more complicated about the menu - and the way they always took good care of me.

From Lima - I have the briefest of notes about the croissant (I know - enough with the damn croissants already!) - it has been confirmed - while the Peruvian croissant is served warm and with a smile and good coffee - all good things - it is in fact just bready dinner roll dough hewn into a shape roughly resembling that of a croissant. hmmm - maybe I'll go to tartine in the morning for coffee (mmmmmmm cofffeeeeee) and one of their ham and cheese dreams.

Speaking of food - I now find myself in San Salvador - about to board a plane for the last leg of my journey home - and I miss La Taq, or better yet El Farolito....hmmm perhaps there is a midnight super quesadilla run in my future.

I did peak my head into a bar here in the airport - aptly called "The bar" and thought what the hell I'll have a papusa and a beer. not so great. but when is food you get INSIDE the airport ever that good anyway. maybe they have to irradiate or do something special to all the food that makes it past security so it just has no real texture or flavor.

what I for more than a proper croissant or a late night super quesadilla - is for the impossible - for my best friends to meet me at the cafe on the corner and then make our way to gran bar danzon, patagonia sur, miranda, sucre, or some other new foodie place in BA, and have a couple bottles of wine - a few good steaks and other things we've never tried before (and celebrate my birthday).

cheers to you all - I look forward to catching up with you soon.

departures

today was my last day in BA - I went to the futbol museum - and finally made it to the Museo de Nacional de Belle Artes (MNBA) did a little shopping for last minute items and ate another delightful meal at Gran Bar Danzon - and am sitting here - having one last cerveza at the corner cafe next to my hotel - it has been my own little home base - for the past few days the guys in the cafe wave if I happen to walk past but don't come in. i'll miss seeing them for coffee in the morning- and while they may miss me too - one thing I'm sure they won't miss is the fabulous way that I butcher their language - every. single. day!

anyway - there's a lot more to write about - so I promise to try to go back and post things that are partially written - before I get all caught up in the goings on of home again.

I'll miss the summertime - I'll miss the good coffee (even in the worst cafes the coffee is still really good here), the desserts, the sommeliers, the medialunas (croissants), the beef (omigod the beef!), the fancy ladies always in their high heels and sparkly things (can you say bling? not better than a porteno lady) and so many other things I can't quite think of right now.

well, my taxi comes for me at 4:30 am tomorrow - so I'm off to finish packing and get a couple hours of sleep. the moon is beautiful on this my last warm and balmy summer night in Buenos Aires. Good night.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's super--...no wait, its just dessert

...well not any ordinary old dessert mind you, this is another mind altering - ass kicking - fantabulous - I am completely at a loss for words to describe what it is - dessert!

ok - so I have a few new food rules - which I promise to describe in more detail in another post - but 2 of them apply here.

1. If you are in a nice restaurant (in BA in particular) and you ask the waiter/host what he thinks the best thing, i.e. his favorite thing, on the menu is - and he tells you - just go with it. IT. WILL. BE. GOOD.

2. If you are in a nice restaurant (in BA in particular) don't load up too much on the bread (though the bread is amazing - and there's a whole post coming - I hope - about the wonderful diversity of bread baskets across the city) or appetizers and try every once in a while to save room for dessert. YOU. WILL. NOT. BE. DISAPPOINTED.

ok - so tonight - I was at yet another restaurant - Gran Bar Danzon - which Lonely Planet doesn't do justice - they make it sound like its just a great place to do some wine tasting - or have a good cocktail - but they make it sound like the food is just so-so. Well, perhaps they didn't vote Sebastian onto their island when they reviewed the place. Sebastian - as it turns out - not only knows the menu (though I am not sure how he is SOOOooo thin) - but has impeccable taste...as my friend Tauni would say (mom, please excuse the french I'm about to use) - this guy's not fucking around!

so tonight - I save room for dessert. {sidebar -last night I showed up at gran bar danzon for a caipirinha, or two, since they have GREAT 2 for nearly-the-price-of-one happy hour specials, and being tired (oh the blasphemy) of eating beef (i know, i know, what. is. wrong. with. me!) I opted for the salad Sebastian recommended - and then the pork loin (breaking rule #1 above, by not just going with Sebastian's first recommendation of the rib-eye, but instead, his admitted second favorito, the pork}

Sebastian recommends "the block" which, when I read the menu sounded vaguely like a foodie take on the brownie sundae...I resist...I think "how many times can this guy be right?"...and then I remember how good all his other recommendations were (EVEN the squid, yes, it was squid salad...don't ask...it too was one of the best things I've ever eaten - and I don't really like the squid!) and then I remember the new food rule #1 - JUST.GO.WITH. IT. (it. will. be. good.)

I.DO.
(and no that is not me agreeing to marry anyone...well the dessert maybe?!)

so - there is something else I should now confess - if you follow food rules #1 and #2, in Buenos Aires the result - based on my limited amount of experience, there is a very good chance that you will find yourself eating a dessert that is like having sex. Yes it happened again. and no - I am not talking about any run-of-the-mill, i-think-i-might-be-getting-a-headache-cause-i'm-not-sure-i-really-want-to kind of sex. I am talking about the world melts away, words are useless, you forget all rules of conduct and physics, thought gravity seems to still work - but everything else - wow, where did it go? - kind of sex. You know like when...ok wait, we're not talking about sex, we're talking about DESSERT.

I had one bite - the room began spin (and no I wasn't drunk - even on the perfect...no really, I do ACTUALLY mean "perfect" dessert wine that Sebastian recommended to go with the, sex...er the dessert, but at this point they're sorta the same thing and I am still fumbling about for words) and there was no more restaurant, I forgot my name and where I am from and what I do for a living - and who my friends were - it was just me - and this big white plate with 2 beautiful blocks of chocolate/caramel with peanuts inside, covered in dark chocolate...see the words just don't even come close to describing the perfectly sweet, smoky, nutty, caramelly, fudgey heaven that i experienced when it touched my tongue. (kind of like that scene in the movie "Ratatoille" where all these little swirling fireworks go off when Remy feeds Emile the mix of cheese and fruit and the tastes combine in a lovely explosion in his mouth.)

it was warm...and silky...and...and...does anyone have a cigarette?

futbol y jesus

It being Sunday I decided to take in Argentina's two great religions: futbol (soccer) and jesus (er, catholicism)...actually I've been dying to go to a real game, and the jesus bit came in because my good friend Kerrin dared me to find the cheesiest landmark in Buenos Aires. At first I thought simply a picture of me at a Argentinian Parilla next to the giant sides of beef might get me by - but after thinking about it there's no way that Kerrin would fall for that so I'd have to up the ante. Then I thought the Palacio de las Aguas Corrientes with plumbing and toilets (yes, I went to the toilet museum - of course!) would do it but then I came across Tierra Santa, a religious theme park, and well I just knew that would be it...and it had everything to do with the animatronic Jesus who's resurrected (yes, he comes out of the mound of dirt, well plastic dirt) every 30 minutes or so, in a show for believers and non-believers alike...but I digress - first religions first!

I. River v. Colon

So, being told that it was likely unsafe for a tourist, let alone a single female traveller, to attend a futbol game - I followed a friend's advice and booked a ticket with a tour agency. You pay a little more, but they pick you up and return you to your hotel in B.A. and even better you attend the game with an english speaking guide, which was an added bonus, because on the short van trip to the stadium he told us a bit about argentines and their beloved futbol (everyone routes for a team) about some of the rivalries in the city (over 70% of the country routes for either River Plate or Boca, the two bit BA teams) and their nicknames (River Plate's stadium is in an upper class neighborhood so while people through Argentina route for them, they are called the "millionaires" whereby Boca Juniors fans are called the Spanish equivalent for "smell like shit" because their neighborhood is near the river that is now polluted and therefore smells like s---) and he gave us our instructions: We would be routing for River today - that means there is no clapping or cheering for the other team - even if they score - no way, nada, nothing, we are River fans for the day.

One of the most interesting tidbits I learned was that the River fans are called, roughly, "the drunk ones" and yet - there is no alcohol served in the stadium, that's right - no beer, nothing - you can get coca-cola, and ice cream or frozen fruit bar, and hamburgers - that's it. and there's also apparently a moratorium on the day of the game - no alcohol within a 5 or 10K radius of the stadium on game on game day. Now I am even more curious where the nickname comes from.

So then the game...wow!

I mean the futbol itself was great- being like 10-12 rows from the field in the middle afforded an incredible view of the pitch and all the action - almost making up for the fact we were in the direct sun all - not good for a pale girl from Vermont - so I must admit to going to find a seat in the shade for a while. That was funny, because I sat next to a couple older gentlemen there by themselves - and I could tell they didn't know quite what to make of me - a lone female - what? I followed our guide's direction and ONLY cheered for the home team- so I think after a while they tolerated me, because at least I liked their team.

But seriously the very best thing about the game is the crowd and the singing. I mean I've watched all kinds of world cup games on the tv (sorry that's "tele" for you british loving fans ;) and I've been to live baseball games - so I figured I knew what it'd be like - of course there'd be cheering. Nothing prepared me for this though...well, except for that bit Santiago mentioned on the bus ride over - about how the local fans, "hooligans" take their jobs very seriously, and they must sing and jump up and down throughout the game..."oh it is very serious, they would consider it unmanly if they didn't sing and jump for the whole time - it doesn't matter if they feel like it or, if their team is losing, if its raining, no matter what, they must."

and they really do.

we got to the stadium about an hour before the game started - and they had banners up along the edge of the upper level - but as the crowd built they threw these long banners from the top of the stadium all the way down to the pitch, and when their team took the field just to warm up - it started - singing and chanting in Spanish. it was amazing - one whole end of the stadium (like a third of the people) were singing - it would ebb and flow with the excitement of the game and at times like when River scored - the whole crowd was jumping up and down at the same time. I have always been fascinated by how a large group of individuals can morph in a crowd to be a single organism. It was beautiful in a way that I cannot describe the excitement - the love you felt they had for their team - and watch thousand of people jump up and down in unison - you can't plan that, its is just wonderful synergy.

I am sad to say, but I think now watching soccer on the tv, with just the announcers is going to feel like drinking flat soda :( I will miss the singing and jumping - that doesn't stop until their last team member leaves the field.

Am I allowed, I wonder, to give props to the other team's fans on my blog? Oh well, I'll tempt fate - first of all - there are these areas of the upper deck of the stadium, opposite where all the jumping and singing was happening - with high cement walls topped with razor wire. This is where safely cordoned off, the other team's fans were all 1-2 thousand of them in total, all with the banners and flags, doing their own jumping and singing, though in a more subdued fashion...but I have to say when their team finally scored they were almost as loud as the river fans who outnumbered them at least 10 to 1.

If you ever make it to Argentina - or any other futbol loving country outside North America - go to a game, even if you don't like the soccer. Its just SO FUN!

II. Tierra Santa

I have witnessed the resurrection! Ok, it was a re-enactment, but seriously. I was sitting next to a little old lady who only spoke spanish and she cried when the giant jesus closed his eyes and turned his palms to the heavens...oh but I seem to have started in the middle - sorry.

Tierra Santa, is a religious theme park, and while there's a lot that's just funny and odd (can I say weird without offending any of the christians reading here?), but I have to say - as religious theme parks go - I know I've only been to one - this one seems pretty tastefully done. An attraction for visiting Catholics - since there are so many in Argentina (and South America for that matter) - that boasts being both the first and the largest in the world is a life scale model roughly of Jerusalem. And for me was strangely reminiscent of those old plastic sets they'd have on star trek - you know the ones where they beam down to the planet and the stryofoam rocks fall and "crush" some poor character with no name (ensign #9?).

I have to say I chuckled a lot inside while walking around, and it started before I even entered the park out front in the grove of lovely, plastic palm trees. Inside there were all manner of camels, donkeys, and the occasional cow all sprinkled in and among little houses and shrines with differing religious figures, and while its mainly about the course of Jesus' life from birth (yes they have a nativity) through his life to his death (all the bloody stations of the cross) and the highlight of the tour, and the park is his resurrection where a 40 ft. tall animatronic Jesus rises right up out of the cavalry mound.

I have to give them points for including other religions- there is a small tribute to Ghandi, there's a synagogue and a mosque, and near the town square is a replica of the wailing wall, replete with plastic statues of Jews praying. It's strange and funny all at the same time. One of my favorite bits were all the staff walking about in a variety of arab clothing, from the woman at the front booth, right down to the girl I ran into the bathroom - with headscarf and all, she pulled on a pair of bright orange plastic gloves to begin cleaning the toilets. Who knew?

But like all religions what would it be without the contradictions and at Tierra Santa the contradictions are baffling and perhaps more baffling than the park itself. Every 2 hours there is an "arab dance" show in the town's main square i.e. belly dancing - to drums and synthesized music pretending to be "authentic" some of the tunes sounded vaguely like they had strains of tango - or strip show music in them. But that's not the funniest part - the dancers - while wearing typical head scarf, bikini top, flowing skirts and jewelry, they also wore leotard of white lycra, that actually covered their bellies. When I first saw them walk by I thought how very funny it is - let's admit that the arab's had dancing and sex - but we can't really show bare skin - so let's have it, but not have it.

...it gets better. the white lycra - was see through! what does THAT mean????

I was sitting next to a row of men - all faithfully videotaping the entire dance performance - it was like the only dance show they'd ever be allowed by their priests or their wives to see, and damn if they weren't going to capture every last second of it! I myself was astounded at how spectacularly bad the dancing really was - and was left yearning for the hirschman sisters to come kick some belly dancing ass! My head hurt trying to figure out how and why they came up with the idea for this show and the outfits, when I was saved by a cute little girl. She was standing at the very back with her little jean skirt, white tank top and little purple ribbons in her hair - probably not even 4 years old - doing her very best to imitate every dance move from the stage - and sometimes with astounding results that looked nothing like the belly dancer's move, but was some fantastic little dance move for someone her size. She was a delight to watch and I have to say, something inside me was relieved - as we had the next generation of belly dancer, right here in the mix.

Perdon...

in other words excuse me - things got busier here and I am behind on the posts. but do check back in a few days, as there are many great - mostly foodie bits - from Argentina. Including, but not limited to, some of the following adventures:

Miranda - not a planet where reavers were created - as many Joss Whedon fans would have you believe- it is near the center of the carnivore universe, with one of the best steaks I have ever eaten.

Patagonia Sur - not a place with rugged mountains and smelly trekkers, instead it is an enchanted little place in La Boca, where I was lucky enough to enjoy the best meal of my lifetime...the dessert (flan) was like having sex - and not, I'm talking about the I'm a college student and don't quite know what I am doing sex - I'm talking about good sex. very, very good, s - e- ...er I mean flan.

Olsen - yes Scandinavian -right in the middle of one of the best foodie-lands the continent - and perhaps the planet has to offer. the furniture - the music - even the damn salt and pepper shakers scream of some of the best design from Sweden? and the eggs and bacon laced potatoes make for one fantastic brunch - and did I menntion that it cost about $13?

Then there's the day long immersion into the two great religions of Argentina!

to be continued...

lovers on the subte

Some of you may remember the short piece I wrote about 2 young lovers on the tube in London (http://gmonstering.blogspot.com/2007/09/lovers-on-tube.html), well I was witness to another public display of affection, this time on the subte the subway here in Buenos Aires, their passion no less palpable, so I thought they deserved a post.

I have to admit I didn't notice them at first, one shorter than I, both in black, two goth teenagers, both with died black hair and matching streaks of magenta. Tattoos, piercings, black rubber bracelets, white skin, black eyeliner, silver belts, big black boots, utterly goth to a T. And yet both of them lovely and delicate, kissing by the door of the train.

Tucked barely out of the way, they kiss as if none of the rest of us are there. There is no train, grit, underground, noise from the tracks, darkness whizzing through the tunnel. There are no stations, stops, bumps, jostling people in their world. Ensconced with one another they kiss. softly gently, she leans over brushes the hair aways from her face, and kisses her again, this time pulling gently on her hips as if to bring the other girl closer to her, they are beautiful, and almost lonely in their own little world.

The train car comes to the next stop, jarring me out of my undoubtedly entranced gaze, I look around the car - and have to laugh, all the women near me seem to be purposely looking away, as if they don't see it, there's nothing to see. But right there in the middle of the car are two young army officers, in full uniform, sitting up straight as if at attention, but with their mouths agape. They can't take their eyes off them - no jarring stop or whistle or bustling business person or tourist can stop their stares. I want to dare to snap my finger in front of their eyes, or yell like Cher in Moonstuck "snap out of it!" but alas all I can do is laugh a little inside.

I gaze once more at the two girls as I exit the train at my stop. they have a tender young love that simply is beautiful.

pie, pie, er...ah...PIE!

Ok so, first for all of you that I have come out to as an openly discriminating pie eater....ok, I don't like pie! I'd bet you'd never expect a title like that...but all joking aside - that was when my entire pie universe consisted mainly of lemon meringue, mince meat (what is THAT anyway?!?) and a variety of pies with squishy fruit.

Well, like so many other times when one is on trips like this, my horizons have been moved, because now I am a lover of the meat pie. (homer simpson moment: aaaaarrrrrhhhhhh, meeeeeeat piiiiiiiiiiiee, arrrrrrhhhhhhhhh)

Ok, so as many of you may, or may not, know I have for a long time been in search of the perfect shepherd's pie - while working to perfect the one I make at home, I almost always try it if its offered at an irish pub, because to me its a good sign - that and the fish and chips - of the quality of their kitchen...mind you, not that a good irish pub has to even have a kitchen - with the first 2 qualifiers of "good" when it comes to irish pub are beer (preferably guiness flavored) and whiskey...but I digress. I may not be a lover of the pie in the American sense, but I am a long time lover of the shepherd's pie.

So would any of you other shepherd's pie lovers (Kirsten you know who you are!) believe it if I told you I had something even better the other night? They didn't call it "meat pie" that's me, they call it cazuela, Spanish for casserole, but it was beef and onion covered with potato and topped with a thin crust of cheese that I can only guess was something like asiago or romano, making the top of the mashed potato crispy, golden and yummy. Did I mention yummy?

So, besides the wonderful cazuelas and beef in general (more posts on the wonderfulness of their beef to follow), there is another food item here i would also classify under meat + pie: the empanada. They aren't the deep fried diet bombs they are in the states, but instead they are savory meat pockets (DO NOT think of hot pockets!!), much like the calzone only smaller. meat and cheese, meat and onion, just meat, sometimes no meat just cheese or vegetables, but the meat ones are especially good (do we have time for another homer simpson moment here?). I do have to wonder why there aren't empanada joints all over the mission? Are there and I have just been missing them? hmmm will have to look harder when I am home. Here, they are cheap- even cheaper if you buy them to go at the counter - and I mean like less than a dollar (US) each, and 2-3 with a soft drink (can you say orange fanta?) is less than $5 altogether.

Anyway - I continue now on my adventures both gastronomical and others - my apologies to those of you reading that are dieting - most of the most notable and interesting experiences I have had so far have involved eating.

go iceland!

so I found this out by accident, but have to say I think its great: yesterday, Iceland made Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir their prime minister. Check her out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B3hanna_Sigur%C3%B0ard%C3%B3ttir. Not only is she a woman, but she is now the first openly gay head of government in modern times. To which I'd like to just re-state my earlier sentiment.

GO ICELAND!

no moon in my sky

their strains of tango float to me
on the summer night's air
heavy and warm
as if to call forth a forgotten time
a long ago lived passion
sitting now outside the cafe
there is no moon in my sky
and I feel faraway

Unknown quotes found today

I found this great tea shop today - Tealosophy - great name too. Among all the great tea flavors they have, the counter has some great photos of the owner travelling the world - even one with the Dalai Lama - that's where I found these 2 quotes - both seeming relevant to my day.

a few said they'd be
horses. Most said they'd
be some sort of cat.
My friend said she'd
like to come back as a
porcupine.

I don't like crowds,
she said

*** *** *** *** ***

I like geography best,
he said, because your
mountains and rivers know
the secret.

pay no attention to
boundaries.

When the going gets tough...

...the tough, er, ah, go shopping??!

OK, so things haven't exactly been tough, but I have had a bit of writer's block - feeling a bit, pedestrian as it were. Not to make a pun, but my niece put it well when she visited Paris and after a few days whined "oh, do we have to spend another day walking places and looking at things?" well, to be honest I haven't yet undertaken the truest gastronomic adventures (sorry Sean, and Peat&Amy its coming though so stay tuned) instead I have been, much like Emily walking about looking at things. And well, given the prevalence of great weekend markets here in BA, have done more than my fair share of shopping. I'd like to think my sisters would be proud.

First is Feria Artesanal - an arts fair, right in my backyard of Recoleta, much like the vendors on Telegraph in Berkeley - many hippies and all - except situated in a park, so a little nicer going
around.

Many vendors selling mate cups and straws (for those of you new to this Mate is a drink made from Yerba mate and in Argentina, and I think South America as a whole its drinken communally in turn, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mate_(beverage) ), woven shawls, leather goods, jewelry and cheap touristy items along with a handful of painters and photographers. Given the dearth of books in English, there's not much else for me to buy, so I had to buy some jewelry and a few rocks. What else is a geologist's daughter supposed to do?

Feeling tired and weary after a day of walking...and shopping...I decided to try the ice cream (more like gelato, a wonderful leftover from BA's Italian heritage). Licking my ice cream cone (chocolate and mint chip, of course), I sit watching the moon to the singing and guitar of Gardalito, who I call tango man. I passed him earlier, dancing tango and waltzes with an invisible partner to the delight of a string of old ladies sitting on the benches nearby. Now he has his guitar and is singing some slow sultry tango tune, and I find myself wishing (again) to know castellano so I could follow along on this, yet another beautiful summer evening, still light at 9pm.

Sunday I made my way to Feria de San Telmo - which to me is the grandaddy of BA's street fairs, if I do say so myself. Among the even more vendors - and hippies - selling their wares are street performers - mimes, I saw a fantastic Charlie Chaplin, who I watched for a long time trying to figure out what was off about him, only to realize it was because he was in color and I had only ever seen him in black and white. There were dancers doing tango -and a variety of tango musicians who would dance, play guitar and sing - and voila, I ran into tango man again. A couple corners have live band on them - one I remember passing and thinking, these guys would be out here on the stoop playing their guitars, drinking beers and singing along even if this street fair wasn't here, it was there thing to do.

The Feria San Telmo is billed as an antiques market - and true to this title the area it stretches passes many antique shops - and the epicenter of the market itself, Plaza Dorrego, was filled with the best seller, their booths overflowing with all manner of antique items that you would find at a really good estate sale or thrift store. Among my usual rock buying (yes, there were more rock vendors here - they have some beautiful rocks in Argentina - and yes, um, I bought more rocks...hey, one's bag doesn't need to be light when you check it on the way home! plus if I can't weigh down my bag with books I have to do the next best thing! right?!), I bought some old pins and buttons, a t-shirt, trinkets for friends back home and a beautiful old bike bell (watch out for it on Valencia when I get home! now I ring up a storm while riding in critical mass http://critical-mass.info/ when I'm back in SF!) brring, brrring!

Aerobics y Borges

I went on a little bit of a literary adventure today...but first some fun with the gay guys I met at the cafe. For those of you not interested in aerobics and general gay-ness (oh wait, who are you and why are you reading my blog?) and only interested in the literary-ness of the day can skip to part II - Borges below.

I - doing aerobics in Recoleta

It rained in Beunos Aires today, which was a relief to me, cooling things off a bit and making me glad for carrying that umbrella I purchased in Seattle for the trip (thanks Laurie!) no longer a useless bit of weight in my bag. I sat in the cafe longer than usual this morning - watching the portenos (term for the people who live in the port of Buenos Aires) run by in the rain with no coats (summer) or umbrellas - I was about to remark that I thought it funny none of them have them when of course an old lady with a little blue and red plaid umbrella walked by as if on cue.

While hanging out at the cafe, the waitress asked me where I was from and I said America and when she questioned me further I told her I was from San Francisco. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I had 2 new friends, the well appointed men from a nearby table, who overheard and came to ask where in the city I lived. Marcelo and Serge had been there last year for pride and thought it was the greatest thing ever. I said I thought Buenos Aires seemed like a nice city too, but, well they were not swayed and regaled me with some of their pride filled debauchery from the year before.

Anyway, oddly enough in the course of talking, I ended up with an invitation to go to the gym with them and since it was raining I thought what the heck. Now I thought I'd just be lifting some weights and spending sometime on the treadmill...little did I know what they had in store for me. what seemed like an innocent trip to the gym - me thinking "this is great, before I head off on some gastronomical adventures involving too much beef, I can work some of it off" - turned into something completely different. Imagine aerobics - think circa 1980 - with ten to twelve sweating, screaming, adorable, lycra-clad, (I'm pretty sure they were all) gay men (yes one of them even wore a pink headband ala Jamie Lee Curtis) and in the center of it all me, kinda out of shape, decent dancer, girl from small town Vermont, suddenly like Madonna or something.

Like many other moments in my travels, if you had told me when I was 15 or 20 that this would be happening to me one day, I never would have believed you. Anyway, we sweat, danced, sang and generally shook our collective bootie to all manner of American and Latino pop songs ( I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd played Olivia Newton John's "physical"...but they didn't...but you can imagine the great dancing that ensued when they DID play Madonna's like a virgin) and all the while I was oddly the guest of honor simply because I hailed from that strange epicenter of the gay universe, San Francisco. Like my midnight taxi ride in London from the Iraqi Kurd who drove me - this may in fact be the highlight of this trip, and unless Deep gets on a plane to have a flashdance down here in B.A. I am not sure the dancing will get any more fun. It IS fun to be a star for a day.

II - Borges
So, now for what will undoubtedly seem like a boring adventure to many of you...especially the lycra-wearing aerobicists...but I share it because I know a handful of you might like it, plus, secretly - all the fun of the aerobics class aside - this is even more my kind of rainy day fun.

First off - I hit the largest English language bookstore in BA. It was about the size of ritual coffee (for those of you who live in the mission) and about the size of two rooms from front to back, butt interesting none the less. I went hoping to pickup a volume of Jorge Luis Borges' work, he being the best known author from Argentina, and one of the foremost writers of the twentieth century. I have never read him until now, but thought, when in Rome...

The bookstore - always a good idea to hang out in one on a rainy day - also had some wonderful English editions of books that I had never seen - all the Haruki Murakami books here have these very tasteful, arty black and white covers some with photography - and not the strange designs of all the editions I have on my shelf. Additionally, I picked up a copy of Graham Greene's the Quiet American with the most splendid cover. (yes, I know I didn't have to add any more weight to my bag, but well...I did - and what better way to do it!).

Anyway, after departing the bookstore and grabbing a quick bite (more of those yummy toasted ham and cheese sandwiches) I successfully crossed the world's widest street, Av 9 de Julio, which really does have 12 lanes to arrive at Borges last residence. I had hoped for something poetic written on the wall of a very old building - like the domicile of Camille Claudel in Paris, but instead there was just a simple brass plaque with his name and a short note on it, next to a ladies shoe store. Confronted with this juxtaposition of new and old, I continued on.

I wandered past many tourist attractions I plan to come back and visit next week - the Museum of Arms, the Plaza San Martin, Tango street performers - and reached my destination - Cafe Florida a known hangout of Borges and famous Argentine painter Perez Celis. I am sure this is not the cafe of Borges time - situated on the pedestrian thoroughfare of Florida Street - now a busy upscale walking mall of sorts with business people and lots of tourists. Whenever I picture a cafe or bar hangout of some author I always seem to think of dark, sticky floored hole in the wall places like Vesuvio in SF, but alas Cafe Florida is no such hovel. It is instead a slick, clean, well lit cafe with copper covered columns and many bustling shoppers and businessmen. That said, I can report, however, that the Argentinian cafe culture, much like that born in France so long ago seems to be alive and well, as 8 businessmen, only a couple in suits are having quite a serious discourse a few tables away. It is another moment when I wish I knew the Spanish so I might understand what they are talking about.

I sit reading Borges, from my new volume, and wonder if my science fiction reading friends (yes that's you Adrian, Liz and Deep among others ;) have read the bit about Tlon? I must admit that while he's a bit hard to read (and that's before the cerveza) with so many thoughts and ideas packed into few, and many big, words - I find his stories oddly captivating. The tidbit I like the most about him is that he apparently was more a reader and lover of books than he was a writer...not to mention the dedication of his first book of fiction, "Universal History of Inequity" is simply beautiful.

Perhaps I will read more tonight...I had hoped to find a good dj and go dancing somewhere for this my first Friday night in BA, but with my booty-shakin' friends off to holiday in Montevideo for the next two weeks I am left with no good suggestions for places to go, and frankly a little bit sore. I think the aerobics class may have been enough dancing for one day.

Estoy en Buenos Aires

So after a trip that included not one but two overnight flights I have arrived in Buenos Aires (sorry, I love E.M. Forester so much I had to borrow, and bastardize, one of his great lines from a Room With a View). The first thing I notice is that its hot, even at 5 am when I exit the airport. It is not until I get downtown and off the freeway that I realize why people say its like Paris, passing a church that looks like a replica of one near where I stayed in Paris, I am taken back in time...and place.

It has taken me a few days to get my sleeping and eating to resemble anything normal, but I have managed to get out and about, find good things to eat and drink and familiarize myself with the surroundings. I am in the land of the macchiato – except here it is called cafe cortado – and it is excellent!

I am now settled into cheap, but delightful digs in the Recoleta neighborhood. I am staying in an old converted mansion, with exquisite marble spiral staircase, old fireplaces and high vaulted ceilings, now divided into much smaller rooms, but friendly staff, firm bed and very clean. And there is a very nice – and air conditioned – cafe, cafe Pacheco, on the corner with wi-fi. They haven't quite figured me out yet, but I give them another day or so before they bring me coffee in the morning and midday, and ask me if I want an orange fanta or cerveza in the afternoon.

Its summer here and that, as much as the time change (6 hours ahead of SF) is as much a shock to the system...I keep thinking its like 5pm dusk like winter back home, when I look at my watch and realize its 9pm! Its only mildly sticky - not like the undauntingly sluggish humidity of Boston or New York in the summertime, and every evening around dinner time the wind seems to blow as if its about to rain, but until this evening it hadn't.

It is like Paris - only dingier and everyone is walking around speaking Spanish. The city is filled with many fashionistas, and they seem to have a collective shoe fetish to rival Imelda's...or my sister's. Even the older ladies at tea are wearing their little strappy silver high heels, the variety of flashy bright footwear is simply astounding!

And yes they have tea in the afternoon. I haven't figured out if its formally a leftover from the British or not, but business people and old ladies alike, can be seen at any manner of cafe in the late afternoon sipping, tea, coffee, mimosas, or soft drink alongside crustless toasted sandwiches (these are simply FANTASTIC, and no I don't think they use the George Foreman grill, but they are wafer thin), petit fours, alfajours (for those who haven't had them these are a delightful little sandwich cookie of two thin biscuits with caramel like dulce de leche inside all sticky and sweet) and all manner of other cakes and pastries.

I know most of my blog so far has been punctuated by food. Mostly I've been figuring out logistics and getting the lay of the land, figuring out how to get around the neighborhoods Retiro, Recoleta and Barrio Norte, all near where I am staying, so the one notable thing I've done so far is eat some interesting food. It is a strange mix of meat - great steaks from the ranches of Argentina - Italian - there are more people of Italian descent in B.A. than Spanish, despite it being a former Spanish colony - and strange re-formulations of french items (ala the croissant!). I am told its quite a foodie city, so expect more gastronomical adventures!

I'm off to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes tomorrow, let the site-seeing begin!

p.s. about the croissant (a post-script from Peru)

Again, I am not sure what they're playing at but I've had another near miss croissant...its what they brought me when I asked for croissant, but I'm not quite sure it really IS a croissant...but at least here in Lima what I got was warm, buttery and quite yummy in fact...perhaps it is just that it was served by a nice, young, smiling, peruvian woman along with a decent espresso – good service and good coffee go a long way. While I'm fairly certain it wouldn't technically qualify as a croissant (hard to tell until the FCA gets of the ground and defines what is and what is not a croissant), it was shaped more like one from France and with the accompanying jam (and coffee) it really did hit the spot. BTW - “muffin” doesn't seem to translate.

A note about the coffee – I have messed up my coffee order twice now, and am sure that I am frustrating my poor waitress – but I think I've got it figured out now, which is a very good thing. I may not be able to negotiate for a room or find the right street but damnit I'll be able to order coffee in Argentina!

Adventures with Croissant

I remember my last foray abroad, I remember noting the quality of food (or lack there of) that humans would consume merely because they were trapped in an enclosed space – on a train or an overnight flight – and it was the only thing edible offered to them. One leg of that trip saw me on a train from London to Paris, where I was treated to what I thought would stand as the worst croissant I'd ever consume.

This is not meant as the definitive essay on the croissant, but rather the next disturbing chapter in my adventures with this usually, delightful pastry.

I now find myself on an overnight flight en route to San Salvador – the first leg of my journey to Buenos Aires – and as the sunrise paints a dark orange band along the eastern horizon to the left of the plane I am presented with what I can only describe as a baked good wrapped in plastic with the label “croissant.” Now for any of you who've been to France or the Tartine bakery in San Francisco you know some of the best form and flavor a croissant has to offer. What I now hold in my hand, I am sure, even before peeling back the wrapping, is sheer blasphemy by comparison. I am simply astounded at the notion that someone thought fit to label what I now hold in my hands as a "croissant."

I had thought that the British version of the croissant – which I dutifully tried on the train from London to Paris – was bad. I remember naively thinking “how bad can it be? I'm on my WAY to France. Surely they pick them up there - they wouldn't think to try to make them here.” I literally had to eat my words, when the thing I was served was more like a mere bun - shaped to vaguely resemble a croissant.

I am hoping that much like the British croissant foreshadowed the excellence that would follow my arrival in Paris - this experience will bring me the same and I will find pastry that in Buenos Aires that rivals old world quality I've tasted before, but this in my hand – well in short it is both an atrocity and a curiosity.

There are people somewhere that actually try to make a croissant and it turns out like this? What are they playing at? It looks strangely like a croissant- seeming oddly pressed in to that shape as if there was a mold in a factory somewhere that stamps the dough into their best approximation of what a croissant should be. Upon opening the package I notice there are little bits of layered dough on top that seem to defy my theory of the molded croissant, but ultimately bely what's inside.

I dutifully eat it – in part because I'm starving and it seems vaguely edible – in part because it and the jam are the only things I've been given – and well, because like I mentioned previously that bit about eating whatever you're given when trapped in an enclosed space travelling somewhere...and it was there...but please, not in the way people seek out mountains to climb. It is light, fluffy and homogeneous inside, much like a cheap dinner roll – except strangely as if it had been left out from the holiday dinner the night before – oddly stale and dry. I doubt I'd think anything of it if the package had been labelled stale dinner roll.

I'm not usually one to be so picky (ok, sometimes I am!), but seriously – don't the french have some rules about what gets to be called a croissant and what doesn't? And if they don't – well, for travellers the world over I kinda wish someone would start. I know silly idea when we have war and poverty in the world, but come on, we have the FDA, couldn't they save the world for proper croissant eating by having the FCA (French Croissant Administration)?

Alas – I hope to meet nicer more croissant-y croissants when I arrive at my destination.