A Couple of BA's in BA

I Went to the End of the World As We Know It

2009-04-22T13:02:00.000-07:00

and I feel fine

Runway to roads I rambled alone. My travels brought me from the glacial tip of the Americas to the lakes of Bariloche and the Andean oasis of Mendoza. I stopped at a few more dots on the map along the way, chasing Patagonia for nearly 3,000 kilometers along the Andes. Here's what I found.

Perito Moreno, Calafate

Cerro Fitz Roy, El Chalten 3441 m

Camp Anario, Bariloche. Peaceful waters.

Some God Rays atop Catedral, Bariloche

An Andean Condor enjoying thermals at the summit. Graceful for a giant.

The first opening on the Cerro Piliquitron trek, El Bolson. To give some perspective on the summit.

A horse grazing in the saddle of the Piliquitron peaks.

Bosque Tollada, El Bolson. Half-way up Piliquitron. Leave it to hippies to make art out of a burnt landscape.

Well above the tree line. Well below the summit.

Still approaching...

Next couple are the panoramic from the Piliquitron summit 2712 m

Center of town, El Bolson

Rio Azul, El Bolson

A taste of Argentina's finest Malbec in Mendoza.

The Sundance Gaucho

Argentina's largest park, Mendoza

El Chalten

2009-04-12T06:46:00.000-07:00

First off, I added pictures to my Calafate post. Check em out!

I spent 3 and a half days in El Chalten. The skies smiled down on me with two clear days where the entire Fitz Roy range was framed by blue. Meeting people along the Patagonian trail, I've heard you're lucky to get a few clear hours (especially this late in the season). It's one of those places where you can live through three seasons in a single day, so I'm not a odds man but two full summer days wasn't bad.

Easter weekend is the last hoorah for the smaller southern towns like El Chalten. It's hard to get a cup of coffee on mainstreet come next week, but while I was there Chalten was still bustling. Because it was Semana Santa there was a large Argentine crowd in town. All of them smuggly drinking their mate and walking around like they owned the place.

I stayed at a hostel on the corner of town called Aylen Aike. It was a small place that someone I met on the bus from Calafate had heard about. The owner was cool, always calling it the Hostel of Rock and putting on painfully dated Deep Purple or Cult concert DVDs. I was the only foreigner there he talked to in Spanish. It ain't braggin if it's true.

There are two main hikes that originate from the edge of El Chalten, and they leave you with unbelievable views of Mt. Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre respectively - the two prominent peaks of the Fitz Roy range. The hike to Laguna de Los Tres was the longer of the two and I tackled it on my first full day there. It ends at a lagoon below Fitz Roy. The night before I had seen hikers walking around my hostel bow-legged after the hike, but didn't understand why until the last hour and a half which was a steep ascent, essentially straight up with small zig-zags where there was loose rock. In the words of Michael Sanders, 'You had to want it. Fact.' It was painful but led to one of the more rewarding views of my life. There are miradors along the way with clear shots of Fitz Roy, but nothing like this.

I had lunch down by the lagoon.

O.K. no gladiators at top, but tell me that doesn't look like the AgroCrag.

Pretty epic picture.

My last day in Chalten I had a bus to Bariloche at 11 pm. The skies cleared by noon so I did the Laguna Torre trek. These pictures are taking forever to upload but here are a few from the Cerro Torre trail. It had rained the night before, and when the clouds cleared the peaks had this fresh coat of white. (The picture at top of the blog is Laguna Torre).

I got into Bariloche this morning at 8 am but it might as well have been 5. Walking down mainstreet while the town woke up I finally found an open cafe and had coffee by the water. Andy recommended a hostel in town called Pudu which I'm off to right now, in serious need of some pampering after a 40 hour bus ride through a whole lot of nothing that is Patagonia.

Happy Easter America.

On the Road Again

2009-04-10T15:10:00.000-07:00

After killin it in Calafate and El Chalten, I'm shakin and bakin to Bariloche esta noche. I'll be taking a bus up a 1,400 km stretch of the storied Route 40 which should put me in Bariloche Sunday morning. So I'll be off the grid for about 36 hours, until then viejos, chau.

Sometimes You Have to Walk Alone

2009-04-07T15:08:00.000-07:00

Sunday, April 5th, I left Buenos Aires with just a backpack on my shoulders and a head full of the night before. Some friends had organized a dinner at a lounge in Centro called The Living, and the night ended at Rock & Beer just before sunrise because we're winners.

Calafate is roughly 2,000 km from Buenos Aires in the SW corner of Argentina's Santa Cruz Provincia (pictured on the left). It's a town of about 30,000 but you wouldn't know it. Flying in, as you follow Rio Guanaco snake towards Calafate, the only man-made thing you can see is the paine of glass you're looking through. I touched down at around 7 on Sunday, dropped my bag off at a forgetable hostel, and walked down to mainstreet.

The sun had already set and dimmed out the surrounding vistas, confining the granduer of the place to a ten-block strip of overpriced restaurants, winter apparel shops, and tacky window boutiques broken up by a large and out of place casino. Strike one, Calafate. It felt like Aspen. Couples dipped in and out of the shops wearing designer jeans and unused hiking boots; luxury cars lined the freshly paved main street which now and again would intersect with dusty, horse-trotten paths taking you away from the doll-houses. Identity crisis? Strike two.

I took an early night, and in the morning moved to another hostel down the road - America del Sur. I asked around about day-treks and found that the main show in town, Perito Moreno, had been prostituted out to the extent that you couldn't catch a glimpse without paying. So in the afternoon I hopped a bus to the national park (Los Glaciares National Park actually extends up most of the western-side of Santa Cruz), payed a second fee at the gate of the park, and held on to my doubts that having already hiked Fox Glacier in New Zealand, what's another icicle? I was wrong.

The entire face of this glacier's 5 km front is exposed, rising 60 m out of the water. From just across an inlet you can watch as sheets of ice break away from the glacier and crash into the water with resounding roars. It's astonishing how often this happens, and the magnitude of the falling ice.The glassy water surrounded by ice is evidence of a recent crash.

Sexy. God that glacier's sexy.

About every four years Perito Moreno pushes up against this piece of land, and the pressure of the waters on each side and the forward force of the glacier causes the bridge of ice connecting land and glacier to explode, leaving the gap you see here.

Back at the hostel I had to make the mind-boggling decision of whether I should spend my next 96 hours in El Chalten or Torres del Paine, Chile. A decision which, like dividing 31 by 9, is physically impossible and has no correct answer. I stuck to my guns and booked a bus to El Chalten, Argentina's youngest town and home of the Fitz Roy range. The town was thrown together in '85 to end one of the final border disputes between Argentina and Chile. It's is now the national treking capital, for whatever that's worth.

So on the bus this morning, in between suenos, I watched Fitz Roy slowly approach my window. It's pretty much the coolest mountain I've seen since I stopped watching Guts in 6th grade. It's even got AgroCrag like features, and when I climb it in the coming days, I half expect gladiators to heave rock shaped peices of styrofoam at me as I reach the summit - I'll let you guys know about that one.

The town of Chalten is cool. Patagonian flair from the start. A real quirky little fronteirish place. It has the patent-Patagonian layout of one-room shacks non-sensibly strewn about a field. The only self-standing bar in town is a one-room microbrewery which looks like it was made out of lincoln logs. Strike three Calafate, Chalten is cooler.

In the same way I felt that I was 10 years to late to experience the true Calafate, I feel I'm just in time to have caught Chalten before it's overrun by tourism. And I know that sounds ridiculous and contradictingly self-rightous, right? A traveler complaining about the tourism industry he is currently promoting by traveling. It's just that people sometimes get carried away when money is involved.

I'm not able to put any of my pictures up on this antique, but know that I'm taking plenty and looking more homeless by the day.

House Cleaning

2009-03-05T13:09:00.000-08:00

Wow, so I got a little caught up. It's been a month since my last post and is due time for some house cleaning. First with the formalities. I couldn't have asked for a better living situation than Casa Cochabamba. If you remember, I backed into this place through a friend of a friend. Now we've got a solid crew. The house itself has great open spaces for dinners, get togethers and lounging; it's a haven of tranquility surrounded by an exciting, constantly active setting.. haha ahhh writing travel blogs for three months has taken its toll. But anyway, we have an open door most nights of the week, very social environment, and plenty of couches to accommodate wayward roadjunkies traveling through BsAs. Even good 'ol Matt Screwman crashed my couch a couple weekends back - which was a lot fun.

So now a review of last month in montage sequence. I ask that you turn up your volume as loud as it goes, get comfortable, and listen to this while you read the ensuing paragraph.

I bussed north to Gauleguaychu for a sleepless 24 hours of Carnaval, watched Manu Chao rock Luna Park for nearly 4 straight hours, chanted alongside the heady soccer fanatics at La Boca Stadium, drank and ate like I had some pesos at a rooftop party in the 'cheto' district, had a rooftop party/asado of our own for my birthday in the 'not so nice' district, got a taste of BsAs theater at Paseo la Plaza (so cultural..so cultural), went on a few dates with a past student, subsequently retired from my teaching career at the top of my game (not at all related) and, just this week, bought my one-way ticket to the nether regions of Argentina. I thought that was going to be longer. You can turn the song off.

Now that I bought my Patagonia ticket I've been getting itchy feet. It's all I can think about. So far, this is the extent of my plans. Turn the volume back up, click here and press play.

Sunday, April 5th, get off the plane in El Calafate (although, because Argentina is in the name of my airline I expect massive and inconvenient delays), Monday watch Pitt win the ship completing the best March-Madness bracket of my life, Tuesday rent some camping gear and find myself in a series of thin-air and Peyote induced epiphanies during my isolated trek of El Chalten, April 12-15 bus up to the Lakes District via mountain passes along the Andes (which I've heard is about as fun and relaxing as roller-blading on a cobblestone street for 36 hours), and finally, April 15-22ish, explore Bariloche and the surrounding towns before a layover in wine country, Mendoza, on my way back to BsAs. Like any red-blooded American I appreciate freedom, so this is about as defined as my plans will get. I'll fill in the blanks while I'm down there.

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Before I go farther, I ask that you please forgive any typos you may find in this post. The keys are a little slippery. As I write, the clock is running out on my last day at Expanish, and it's hard to hold back the waterworks - I just have to keep reminding myself what The Cure taught me in the 80's. The internship has been a positive experience overall. I've gotten a legitimate introduction to the world of social media sites and online marketing (which is to say I understand how insanely powerful Google is). It was also good fun getting to know my co-workers and other students at the school. I've made some lasting connections, and it goes without saying that my Spanish has benefited simply by virtue of working and studying at a Spanish school. Still, it's not where I would like it to be. I'm stuck in the George Costanza stage of Spanish. Let me explain. If I make a joke, significant contribution to a conversation, or somewhat poignant point in Spanish without stuttering or first rehearsing it in my head, I get the compelling feeling to stand up, take a bow, and leave the room. If you remember, George understood his shortcomings as a people person but, more importantly, understood the significance of a last impression. And so, like any reasonable man, left the room after every successful joke. He got a promotion doing just this, and I captivate rooms of people one remark at a time doing the same.

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For the last couple weeks I've been seeing a fine young woman, nay lady, from Argentina. She's a past student of mine, but c'mon, it was an English class not Ethics. And just to clarify, all of my students have been older than me. The cultural differences really come out when you spend enough time with someone from another country. As long as your willing to laugh at yourself a lot, these differences just make it all the more fun. And I wouldn't call myself a nationalist or anything, but I'm not able to laugh at myself, so I find myself chanting USA in her face sometimes. We also hit some Spanglish walls. Luckily I work magic as an English teacher, descending from a long lineage of teachers, and we can usually get through it. That may sound like a self-call, but hey,

"It ain't braggin' if it's true" - Cashes Clay, before he fought too many fights.

Case and point, her facebook post on my wall:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TED!!!!how are u? hope u passing good time !, well it would be nice to meeting up , we can talk this week , my cel phone is 1156402027, kisses and wish u again a happy birthday!

Hope you passing good time, I taught her that - god it makes me proud. And it's not easy, teaching English can be hard. It's all about confidence, so when my students get an answer right I tell them it was a lucky guess. That way, they develop a good, lucky feeling. Works like a charm with her.

Today is exactly one month before my flight back to the USA. I'll try to regain some sort of posting consistency before then, especially during my tour of Patagonia.

Yours truly and my favorite,

Ted

Gualeguaychu - Carnaval del Pais

2009-03-01T13:39:00.000-08:00

Life as a Buenos Aryan

2009-02-23T11:51:00.000-08:00

The Trials and Tribulations of Being Painfully out of Context

No matter how much Dark Temptation Axe-Effect shower gel I use (a chocolate smelling fragrance that implies that because women like chocolate, they will find men who smell of chocolate irresistible, ladies?) I can't seem to wash the Anglo-Dutch stamp off of my forehead. Perhaps it's because I'm from Groton. Or maybe because when I muscle the average Argentine for position on the subte platform it's like Dikembe boxing out Muggsy Bogues. Whatever it is, its F'ing annoying.

Everyone who still thinks it's sweet to look like Powder in Argentina, come on and take a walk with me:

After a breakfast of hitting snooze 3 times, I catch a bus to a no-gringo zone. Here I have an uncanny ability to rouse the homeless from their cardboard dreams, one in particular who decides to follow me for four blocks whistling the US National Anthem.

Walking down a commercial street, I am the number one target for people handing out fliers for places whose only business plan is seemingly to hand out fliers. They will literally cross the street on the assumption that I want to carry their flier to nearest trash receptacle. During whatever training course is given to these people, I honestly believe that they are shown a picture of me with a bulls-eye on my forhead.

On that same street, sex shop owners are waiting outside their doors to lure me into their smut stations. I don't know how many James Leach's it took to set the standard that Americans are so easily enticed by base desires, but we'll done gentlemen; it is truly a golden age for our kind. I can't make it down the street without pixelated filth being shoved in my face. I mean, as you read this, some skeezer is most likely trying to bring me into their sex shop... it's just weird.

At my internship, the doorman buzzes me in and then fails to acknowledge I'm there. The same guy is chatty Kathy with Pablo Porteno, but I say hola and he looks down at his copy of La Nacion. It's 2 pm, guy, I know you're not still on the cover page. I mean, you open doors and greet people, if you're not able to do both you have to question your function in society.

I also think its unfair people assume I can't speak Spanish or dance... but as I can do neither, I guess I'll have to grin and bear it. I will leave you with a (not-so) relevant deep thought by Jack Handy.

I hope that someday we will be able to put away our fears and prejudices and just laugh at people.

Me Mude a San Telmo

2009-02-14T21:27:00.000-08:00

Buenos Aires has a mosaic of eclectic neighborhoods. Apart from a two week stint at a backpackers in Palermo, I've been living in a muy alto neighborhood north of the city center, Recoleta. It has a few of the city's defining attractions: the cultural center, fine arts museum and cemetery (shrine) for its rich and famous. Along with a posh restaurant scene and some of the highest rent in Buenos Aires, Recoleta is aesthetically very nice. Going out there, though, you have to run a gauntlet of tourist traps and gimmicky bars. This gives it an insincere and almost contrived feel. There are also a disproportionate number of English speakers in Recoleta - I've had entire interactions where Argentinians refused to speak Spanish with me. In these situations, you just have to no-shame it and continue to deface their language while they get some valuable practice speaking the language of the world. Anyway, these are a couple of reasons I was in the market for a new place.

So last Thursday I moved to San Telmo. This hood's got soul yo. I'm a few blocks from Plaza Dorrego which hosts the city's largest artisans' fair every Sunday. It has outdoor tango shows most nights in a cafe-encircled courtyard, and the cobblestone streets all around are lined with restaurants and cool graffiti. The neighborhood has an ubiquitous artistic flair - both spontaneous and permanent. We're two blocks on the wrong side of the tracks (Autopista 25 de Mayo) where things start getting a little dodgy, but on a good enough street. I mean, there are police on every corner, so I guess that's a good thing?

The place has two floors. The top floor is a sun drenched roof terrace with just one room - my pad. Downstairs has 3 more bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, dining room and courtyard. To get to the bathroom from my room I have to walk down an outside staircase, so it'll be interesting to see how that plays out on nights of adverse weather/intoxication.

Cast of Characters:

(1 and 2.) I've known Josh and Julia since I moved down here in October, they were the ones told me about the place. (3.) Jessica is down here working part time for a magazine, a 5'4 blond hailing from sunny London. (4 and 5.) Two portenos in their late 20's. They are both great guys, and, on a selfish note, living and breathing Spanish lessons.

My room
Rooftop terrace

Julia and Alex...Courtyard

Living room

Dining room

There's also a hellion, un-neutered cat running around - MR. CHIMBA

Recent Studies Link Argentina's 2002 Economic Crisis to the Country's Insane Sense of Time

2009-02-02T10:51:00.000-08:00

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - A team of senior economic advisers, headed by Dr. Pablo Rojo, published a joint report on Monday that paints an alarming picture of the recent economic crisis in Argentina. The study has wide-spread implications for the currently governing Justicialist party, and it is not yet clear how it will be received by the general public. "We know that the people of Argentina may have trouble accepting such an absurd theory," admitted Dr. Rojo, during a press conference this morning, "but that is at least partly because they are strung out from a sleepless weekend of Speed Unlimited and fernet."

Before today's developments, it was widely accepted that the crisis had been prompted by the neoliberal economic platform established in the 70's by the NRP. Dr. Rojo and his team's controversial report, entitled "Wake the F*** Up Argentina," instead traces the problem back to a hallmark of the country since its inception - refusing to adopt a reasonable sleep routine. The 67 page report, incorporating insanely boring regressions, offers evidence that the crisis was indeed a result of public sleep deprivation.

Dr. Rojo claims that the inexplicable custom of eating dinner at midnight and staying out past 6 in the morning has rendered the workers, or "fundamentals," of the Argentine economy exhausted and inefficient. The report explains that staggering deficits in the economy due to lazy Sundays and a sedated mid-week workforce came to a climax in 1999. This crescendo of economic apathy left 25% of the country's citizens unemployed, and 75% wondering why they didn't just go to the bar a couple of hours earlier last night, it would have been just as fun... how many sick days do I have?...

No one in the Kirchner camp has been available for comment on the matter, seemingly because it was 2 for 1 at Crobar this weekend and ladies got in for free. However, one government official (although likely more corrupt than Blagojevich) admitted that closing every retail store and restaurant on Sunday, 1 of the 2 days a week that consumers actually have time to consume, did seem "mildly retarded."

Dr. Rojo is currently researching a relationship between his sleep deprivation theory and the fact that 80% of all Argentine men have mullets or rat tails (citation needed). So far, however, he has found no credible link, and admits that anyone with this unfortunate haircut might have to bite the bullet and admit personal responsibility.

inspired by "THE ONION

For Your Viewing Pleasure

2009-01-29T18:26:00.000-08:00

I know the blog has been changing looks like a desperate 8th grade girl lately, but this one should last at least until the next post. These are some pictures from the past few weeks:

Friends from the hostel

Marie

A boliche with a couple Brazilenos, trying my darnedest to salsa, but my white, suburban hips just don't move like that.

Josh, Julia and Erin dranken on some maté in the park

This crazy dutch kid makes me laugh

2009-01-26T07:02:00.000-08:00

After 4 hours of Spanish class today I was in the zone. For serious. I mean, even my accent was on. The way I was rolling my r's and hittin my double l's I could have had your girlfriend more touched than when Rachel came back for Ross. So when I got to my favorite mexican joint to get a bite before work, I was, needless to say, feeling a bit cocky. The portena that was fixing my burrito initiated a little game of eye tag with me and it was on. Normally I would be satisfied with simply playing this game of mixed signals. But on this particular day I decided that my Spanish was finally good enough to take our relationship to the next level. I started with a lot of smiling and pleasantries (nailed it) moved on to some small talk about how I work nearby, possibly exaggerating what it is I do there (a little over my head) and finished with an exposé on how not to make jokes in español (I just made a very big little-mistake). As I stumbled to an embarrassing conclusion of mixed tenses and verb confusion, she looked at me as I often get looked at here. I walked away dejected. All I wanted to do was dispassionately look out a bus window and listen to the "Goo Goo Dolls." I thought about it after, and realized that when I try to talk to portenos it is probably about as interesting as when people who can't speak English in the States try to chat with me about the weather. So it goes.

At work, my boss gave me a project with a little more creative license than usual. I'm heading a newsletter about our study abroad programs for college advisers back in the States. I'll be deciding on the content and doing the interviews and all of the writing, so if I had a profile, or knew what people who have profiles do with them, this project could hypothetically be in there. I got excited for a second because there's another intern and they chose me to do it, but that burned off pretty immediately; probably similar to the feeling a first-grader gets when they're given the responsibility of writing down milk orders for the day. By the way, I don't get paid at my internship, in case you didn't know that about me.

After work my man Josh hit me up and was like "bro, you want to toss the bee," and I was just like "pshh" and he knew that meant YES! So I went to lace up my sneaks: left one, check: got my right shoe half way on and thought, hmm that's strange, must have left my dirty sock in the shoe. Reached in to get it, and although I immediately felt that whatever it was was grosser than one of my dirty socks, when a mangled bat that just took my right foot to its face fell out of my shoe I was not prepared. So ya, there was a bat living in my shoe for anywhere up to a week, I mean throw me a friggin bone here. I've just about had it with the hostel anyway, and when my friend Mike gets back down to BA in a week I want to get serious about finding a place. I eventually made it to the park, rabies in my right foot and all, and realized that I have no redeeming qualities as a Frisbee player; I do, however, have an ace in the hole - I look really, ridiculously good looking in black, and that's the team color. Bam. I'm still in the market for a basketball league though, cuz u knowz I'd rather be dottin my i's and hittin my j's baby.

Every Monday there's an outdoor drum show in a neighborhood just south of me. It's really raw, tribal rhythms, 15 pesos to get in, and a cool scene. Andy and I had been a couple times, this video is from last Monday.

Sexy Moment

2009-01-21T11:38:00.000-08:00

As you all know, I'm doing my part in saving Argentina's economy one English student at a time... one hour a day... two days a week. So if you're asking yourself, "why after two weeks of anticipated visits to the blog has Ted left me with only one post, has he forgotten about me?, is there trouble in paradise?," please remember that I'm part of something bigger than myself here, and can't always make time for you. Sorry, but not really.

It has been an exhausting couple of weeks. Living in a Peter Pan hostel (where no one wants to grow up, see what I did there?), and spending my afternoons doing this, has led to a less than ideal amount of me time. I really can't complain though because the internship is going well. The classes are continuing to help me learn how little Spanish I know, and the majority of my coworkers are fun and interesting people. I do, however, have a bone to pick with one - Pablo. For about one week I brought a banana to work as an afternoon snack. When that special time of the day came that I got to enjoy this snack, Pablo, without fail, would say, "Sexy moment, sexy moment with Theodore Vander Linden." I laughed the first time, but perhaps to loud, because now I can't eat a banana in peace. As I write this meaningless story (at work) I'm eating an apple, and that's not an accident.

Recently I had to make another life decision on par with tolerating unfunny remarks or switching to a lesser fruit. This one involved a long held stereotype of mine which I never planned on divorcing; that Frisbee players are dirty hippies who listen to Dave Matthews barefoot with rolled-up jeans. I chose to swallow my pride, retire the hippie jokes, and join an ultimate team, "Los Cadillacs," with some of my friends. Last Saturday we played on a campus field by the river. The league is relaxed and the players are largely from South American countries. We lost, but hey, the best team doesn't always win. Afterward, we all took off our shoes, held hands, and listened to Phish.

I guess the moral of this nonsense post is that however outlandish or foreign the idea of up and moving to BsAs may sound, it really isn't. My life is still full of these pedestrian moments and decisions. I honestly believe that I would've had to make more life adjustments to become a suit in NY. This may be because I've always had one foot back in the States, with no real intention of staying here long term. But I also feel that aside from the language, and that my blond hair and blue eyes alone make ladies weak in the knees (not true), BsAs is just like anywhere else. I mean, it's still cooler than what you're doing, but not that different.

A lone BA

2009-01-04T16:10:00.000-08:00

"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. "- former NBA all-time great Nelson Mandela

Dr. Mandela's words reign as true as his jump shot. After this most recent visit to my hometown over the holidays, I would add that there is nothing quite like a couple nights of over indulgence with some old friends to find the ways in which you yourself remain the same. Speaking of which, I believe I left my dignity somewhere at Jerzy's house if anyone happens to find it. Overall, my trip to the States made for a comforting break from my travels. It was great to see family and friends, and was a welcome change of pace from my rigirous life here in Buenos Aires "re-calibrating my personal goals" and "foregoing any sort of professional responsibility." There was no need for the last point to be in quotations.

So while the economic forecast of the United States is going from shit to worse, and Jesus's miracle of turning water into 2,000 years of unending war in the Middle East continues, I have returned to my refuge of Argentina. As a foreigner here, I have found an international loophole - removed from both the local economic woes and from those back home. However, after watching two 70 year old Palestinians go to fisticuffs with an Israeli gentleman earlier today, in the strangest display elderly aggression I have ever witnessed, I've conceded that there is no escaping that crisis.

If put to a judges ruling, I have to admit that Round 1 of my travels would likely go to Argentina, having knocked out my travel companion. So it should be a much different go this time around, but I'm excited to be back. I'm set up nicely now in a hostel that's walking distance from my work, and a bit calmer than Gecko - where I hear from a friend that the owner got in a headbutting match with a Peruvian on Christmas over seemingly nothing.

For you readers under the hazy shade of a New England winter, Buenos Aires is currently 80 and breezy with a slight chance of awesome.

Jerzy Shustin says:

2008-12-19T11:19:00.000-08:00

'i dont know just figured it would be cool if we all went out to dinner, perhaps korean since its byob and fuckin tasty you know get all drunk all that kind of shit'

Aaahhh you have a way with words my friend. And the fact that you spend your days planning a dinner weeks in advance at a Korean restaurant in Ayer (a fuckin tasty one) makes me feel warm inside. In person I believe this conversation would have ended in 'cmon guys, cmon,' as 95% of Jerzy's ridiculous statements do [citation needed].

That should be funny to at least 3 of you, and leave the rest wondering what the hell kind of name Jerzy Shustin is (which adds up to a number well above the actual readership... of possibly 0).

Bringing me to my next point - please post comments. Whether blank, irrelevant or just plain rude they will somehow justify us continuing the blog.

Today's Final Thoughts: Taylor Niesse had already put Groton on the map for the other intern working here at Expanish with me- they were in the same fraternity and played lacrosse together at Denison. No puede ser. It may interest some of you that in college Taylor had an alter ego, Spaziod, who had his own costume, a superman suit with certain alterations, who came out about twice a month on the Denison campus and usually woke up on a lawn somewhere. I found this quite funny.

Third World Survival Tip: Don't lose your credit card, it sucks.

Bienvenidos a Buenos Aires

2008-12-14T15:40:00.000-08:00

I started my internship with Expanish on Thursday. I´m part of a marketing team of five - a few portenos, a Brit that looks like Kurt Cobain and an intern from Texas. At the moment I'm learning online marketing (search engine optimization, link sharing, etc. - a lot of ins and outs, lot of what have-yous) which is half of my job. The other half is writing assignments for their website and newsletter. It's a small, very personal company of about 20 employees. Everyone there is nice and my boss could be a part-time model.

On Friday I was downtown early for an interview and stayed through for the internship. I was done work about 6 and started back to the hostel. At the subway station I was ushered through the turnstiles before I could reach for my wallet to pay, and for the next two hours learned an important lesson - there is no such thing as a free ride in Buenos Aires. The platform was busier than usual and the TV screens were playing a message on loop with a red background. The message warned how the media would interpret this strike, but assured it was UTA, the workers union, who were being treated unjustly. In the 40 minutes I waited two trains passed, both impossibly full, and when the doors opened they were sieged by a mob until it was unclear who the unlucky ones were - the people who made it on the train or the ones left on the platform. I didn't need to be anywhere that badly.

I went back up to the streets to catch a bus and saw 9 de Julio, the widest street in the world, gridlocked. I had heard of the public political activism of Argentines before arriving here. Cacerolazos (cacerolo meaning "stew pot") are protests where groups of people take to the streets with pots and pans. They were commonplace after the Dirty War in 76 and most recently during the economic crisis of 2001. Today they are a popular expression of public frusteration. Andy witnessed several demonstrations a few weeks back when the president, Cristina Kirchner, performed the daylight robbery of private pension funds in Argentina by nationalizing close to 25 billion dollars worth. Friday was my first.

I found out the next day that this particular protest was in response to a recent study estimating that 8 children die each day in Argentina due to malnutrition. Easily 500 people had set up a picket line across 16 lanes of traffic at rush hour on a Friday. I was starting to understand that I wasn't getting back to the hostel anytime soon. I was also becoming increasingly aware of being a foriegner at a decidedly Argentine demonstration concerning an issue about which I had no ties or knowledge. I decided to spectate from the cafe behind me instead, ordered a pint of their cheapest, and held a personal protest of the protest. When my glass was empty and the crowd slowly continued their march toward Congress, I made my way to the bus stop. With both forms of public transportation crippled by a strike and a protest respectively, it took me close to 3 hours to go 5 miles. Welcome to Buenos Aires.

When I got back to the hostel I learned that Andy and Mike had found free tickets to a Los Fabulosos Cadillacs concert which was starting in an hour, so I essentially turned right back around. A Scottish guy working at the hostel has a Colombian girlfriend who had the tickets, so we met up with her friends and went to the show. I had bought their new cd a few weeks back and really like their ska-ish sound (ska is very alive here). They're one of the more popular Argentinian bands and filled out this River soccer stadium nicely with about 70,000 people. We were in the nosebleeds but it was fun and the girls were good company. The night never ended and we saw the sun rise.

Andy is off to Bariloche on Monday (tomorrow) and won't be returning until the day before our flight back to the States. In his honor we met up with some good friends for a dinner at their place on Saturday night(here that means show up at 11, eat by 12 and be at the bar by 1). Josh and Julia are good cooks and had some Aussie friends in town. After a drink at a bar near their place we we went to a party with some of their Colombian friends they know through a frisbee league. They were a lot of fun, and even with the language barrier and their cultural advantage of being able to salsa with all the girls, everyone had a good time. They ordered beer from a nearby delivery service two times throughout the night and we saw the sun rise again. When we got back to the hostel, the owner, Murray, was up with with a few of the hostel goers having some bottles, so as not to be rude we had a couple ourselves. He's an Irish guy who moved here about 10 years ago to open up the hostel with a friend. He was quite inebriated himself and kept laughing and saying "happy days, happy days" in his 'tik Irish accint.' Then I beat Andy in pool so he picked up the tab.

Sorry for not having any pictures to post right now, but Andy should have plenty from Patagonia - I'm insanenly jealous. Hope everyone is well, and thanks for reading if you made it this far.

Ted

"I don't want to wait...

2008-12-09T16:46:00.000-08:00

... for our lives to be over, I want to know right now what will it be." Sadly this is our last night in Recoleta, we have the ceremonial passing of the keys with our landlord tomorrow afternoon and then are off to Gecko Hostel in Palermo for the next 2 weeks. Our friend lived there for a couple months and had good things to say. He's off to Bolivia now to train pumas or something, but we've met a few people staying at Gecko through him and it should be a fun scene.

This part of town has done us right, but it's not big enough for men of our ambitions - plus it's extortionately expensive and we're broke. We'll post some pictures and thoughts on the new digs by the weekend. Hope all is well back home during this most wonderful time of the year.

Saludos

the world's most annoying economic crisis

2008-12-06T07:28:00.001-08:00

This is an article a friend sent to me about the coin situation in this city. It is in no way an exaggeration - Andy has been paid back in candy instead of centavos, and we know an Argentine women who is actually in the business of selling bars monedas (1 peso coin) for more than they are worth in paper money. It's ridiculous, you can only pay in centavos on the bus so every transaction feels like a stand off between you and the cashier - who's getting the coins.

It was no surprise that the cab driver tried to rip us off. We're in Buenos Aires, Argentina, after all, and we'd made the rookie error of requesting a vague destination instead of giving a precise address—naturally he interpreted this as a license to take us from LaBoca to the Plaza de Mayo by way of southern Nicaragua. What we hadn't expected was the predicament the driver found himself in when it came time to pay. The fare had come to 14 pesos and 6 centavos. I offered a 20-peso note (worth about $6.70), and he handed back 50 centavos,suggesting that I was going to be shorted 44 centavos. Then he realized that continuing on this course would require him to give me two 2-peso notes and a 1-peso coin. He sighed dramatically and gave me three 2-peso notes instead. Factoring in the 50 centavos he had already handed over, this effectively reduced the fare to 13.50 pesos,which, for reasons I'll get to in a moment, is actually more than14.50 pesos.
Welcome to the world's strangest economic crisis. Argentina in general—and Buenos Aires in particular—is presently in the grip of a moneda, or coin, shortage. Everywhere you look, there are signs reading, "NO HAY MONEDAS." As a result, vendors here are more likely to decline to sell you something than to cough up any of their increasingly precious coins in change. I've tried to buy a 2-peso candy bar with a 5-peso note only to be refused, suggesting that the 2-peso sale is worth less to the vendor than the 1-peso coin he would be forced to give me in change. When my wife went to buy a 10-trip subway pass, which retails for 9 pesos, she offered a 20-peso note and received 12 pesos in bills as change. This is commonplace—a daily, if not hourly, occurrence. It's taken for granted that the peso coin is more valuable than the 2-peso note.
No one can say what's causing this absurd situation. The government accuses Argentines of hoarding coins, which is true, at least to some extent. When even the most insignificant purchase requires the same order of planning and precision as a long-range missile strike, you can hardly blame people for keeping a jar of monedas safe at home. The people, in turn, fault the government for not minting enough coins. Infact, the nation's central bank has produced a record number of monedas this year, and the problem has gotten even worse. Everyone blames the bus companies, whose buses accept only monedas. (BuenosAires' 140-plus bus routes are run by a number of separate, privatecompanies.) These companies, exploiting a loophole in the law, runside businesses that will exchange clients' bills for monedas for a 3percent service fee. This is legal, but the business community also routinely complains of being forced into the clutches of a thriving moneda black market—run by the local mob, or the bus companies, or both—in which coins sell for a premium of between 5 percent and 10 percent. The bus companies steadfastly deny any involvement in this racket, but their claims were undercut by the discovery of a hoard of13 million coins, amounting to 5 million pesos, in one company's warehouse this October.

Writing Sample

2008-12-02T10:19:00.000-08:00

I had to write a sample blog for a marketing internship I'm in the running for, figured I might as well pass it along to ya'll. The company, Expanish, is a growing language school which holds Spanish courses in Buenos Aires but also outsources students to other Latin American countries. My topic was "why study Spanish in Buenos Aires?" Ignore how cheesy it is, I need this job.

You may find it in the eccentric neighborhood of La Boca, where bright yellows, blues and greens line the streets which are home to the beloved soccer club la Boca Juniors. Or perhaps at a Sunday afternoon tango show in the middle of San Telmo’s famous Antiques’ Fair. You may even run into it at a café near one of the many sweeping, green parks in the elegant neighborhood of Recoleta; but one thing is for certain, you will find a reason to love Buenos Aires. It has a taste of something for everyone… literally. From the Italian influenced pizzerias to the uniquely South American asados (mixed grills), you are never far from great food in the city. So what better way to immerse yourself in the Spanish language than through the vibrant Latin American culture of Buenos Aires?
When studying a foreign language abroad, the people of the city can be just as important to your experience as the city itself. Immersion (or local living) programs rely heavily on everyday social interactions with native-speakers. Porteños (people born and raised in Buenos Aires) are some of the most genuine and welcoming people you will ever meet. Whether it’s while sharing mate in the park, over some drinks at one of BA’s famous nightlife venues, or just during a friendly encounter on the streets, porteños are always willing and eager to strike up conversations. It is these very conversations which will immerse you in the culture and language before you know it. This engaging nature of Argentines makes Buenos Aires a hot destination for all travelers. So from its vibrant and unique neighborhoods to its mouth-watering food and endearing locals, Buenos Aires is an ideal place to study the Spanish language. Witnessing how passionate Argentines are about their culture is encouragement enough to learn their language, and you will have an incredible experience while you do.

Chicos

2008-11-27T07:07:00.000-08:00

Thanks for harassing us about the blog, it has been admittedly lackluster so far. With no computer in the apartment Andy and I have given up on joint blogging (if you couldn’t tell ha). So most of the posts from here on out will be individual. After an interview on Monday and again on Tuesday we got our first job. I mean this in the most literal sense, in that there was one job to be had and they split it between us. So this morning, after walking up to the unnerving feeling that I had overslept, checking the time which agreed with this feeling, dressing just enough not to offend my neighbors and finishing the job while crossing the street, I caught the 59 bus to my first day of work. The bus landed me as close to where I wanted to be, a southern neighborhood in Capital Federal, as possible. This, unfortunately, was still 15 blocks from the company I needed to get to in a very depressed industrial district of Buenos Aires. While I was running on a cobblestone street lined with stray dogs and socialist graffiti I could barely understand, holding my tie from knocking me in the face, passing men who seemed so bogged down by life they didn’t even blink at a gringo running by, in a 9am humidity that made Atlanta feel dry, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. And when I finally showed up at Colzani (the company) five minutes late and dripping wet, the receptionist asked me if I needed water with a concerned look. I could barely choke out “Si, agua.” After all that though, my student is the man. What is disconcerting, however, is that I don’t know what is worse, his English or my Spanish. The company which hired me to teach him, IBL, sent me into this class blind, just asking me to assess his level. Within five minutes I had assessed that he knew nothing, and an hour of charades ensued. At one point we were playing fake basketball against each other, he was Ginobli and I was Dirk. It was weird. All in all, it was unlike any first day of work I have ever, or will ever again, have.
I have been in Buenos Aires long enough now to give an overall review – today I’ll stick to the people of BA (portenos). The people here are great. The few portenos I have gotten a chance to know are some of the most genuine and sincere people I’ve met. Even at dinner the other night, a man we had met outside when we were looking for the restaurant came up to our table to talk while we waited for our food. He was funny old man, he had to speak slowly and repeat or reword his thoughts a few times but he was asking what were doing in Argentina, telling us which beaches all the chicas went to and saying something about Obama and change (as most Argentines do). When he left, I was trying to picture foreigners coming into a small restaurant in the States speaking little to no English and being treated with the same warmth. It is a great lesson in life to know what it feels like to truly be a foreigner in another country, not just a traveler, and understand how helpful it is to be welcomed in such a way. This is one small example, but it happens daily. Even on a cultural level, their costumes, such as drinking mate, are based around sharing. However, they have no sense of time. It is not uncommon to see 24 hour stores closed (I’ve even seen a place of business that claimed to be open 25 hours a day locked up). Meeting someone at 8 means 830 or 9 and so on. That I haven’t gotten used to, but for the most part I really enjoy the culture of this city. Sorry for such a longwinded post, I get carried away sometimes. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Gana Obama

2008-11-05T20:06:00.000-08:00

Forgive us readers, for it has been too long since our last confession. We have two days of class left, which means the first month is coming to a close. We hosted the first real get together of all our classmates last week at our place. Everyone came, got loose and had a good time. One of the programs which is affiliated with EBC hosted a Halloween party at a hostel near where our class is held. I was a priest, Andy was a nerd, we got drunk, made a really good impression. We went to dinner before and were the only table dressed in costume, apparently Argentina doesn't celebrate the same as in the States. We have mainly been hanging out with kids from our class, which has been a good transition into Buenos Aires, but we're looking forward to branching out after the course. Some unforseen difficulties with extending our return flight are making a trip home for Christmas more realistic, so you might be seeing our shining faces on JC´s birthday. People eat absurdly late here, we're just getting back from dinner at 2 am. Need sleep. Love you all.

Lost Count

2008-10-22T17:33:00.000-07:00

So... we kind of lost track of the days but a lot has happened since our last post. We have started teaching twice a week for EBC as part of our course. So far so good, we got our reviews back today and both did well with our first lessons. We have been making friends with some of the kids in our class and are having our first party at our place this Friday with all of them. When we said we would have drinks food and cards the 40 year old creepshow compulsive gambler in our class was on it like white on rice. Awesome. For the most part the people from class are real cool, good mix of UK, and US which makes it interesting. We met up with a few of them for drinks last weekend and everyone seems to get along pretty well which makes for a more laid back classroom situation. We've been exploring more of the city, had some drinks in Palermo, checked out the fair in San Telmo, actually tried the bus... so we're moving farther and farther away from our place the more time we spend here. Overall its been a really good time and all is well with us. Is anyone reading this? Bueller?........ Bueller?

Day 4

2008-10-12T11:56:00.000-07:00

Hola. HOLA . hola. Hola. Translation - Hello, Hi, Hey, Hello! So, it's been four days - this city is amazing, but hookers are EXPENSIVE! Just kidding, they're only 10 pesos - thats like 3 US dollars. We could only upload 5 pictures to this page, so these are a few shots of our flat and the street below. We're located in downtown Recoleta. Parks, shopping centers, bars and everything else is a stonesthrow from our front door. The Recoleta Cemetery, one of the more impressive destinations in all of Buenos Aires, is the next block over. There is also a weekly fair on the nearby green with hundreds of local artists, vendors and musicians. So... they speak Spanish, we don't. Not for lack of effort, but Spanish has been kicking our asses. After buying cell phones the second day we realized that we had told the salesmen we were two female professors from North American arriving tomorrow... these were the mistakes we actually realized. He laughed, some are more impatient. As far as getting acclimated to the area, we have walked several miles in each direction and are getting a solid grasp on our neighborhood. TODAY was the first day of class. Back to school. We are taking the course with ten other students from the UK, Ireland, Costa Rica, the US etc. and an Argentinian professor who lives up to the name of her country (she's hot, like wicked bangin'). The structure of the course is very hands on. Each of us will be teaching hour long grammar and vocabulary lessons to native Spanish speakers beginning this Thursday and Friday. We are happy, healthy and looking really, really ridiculously good.

Until next time - PALABRA A TU MADRE

Day 1

2008-10-10T21:15:00.000-07:00

Hello friends and family,

On October 1oth of 2008, two of the greatest thinkers/songwriters of the 21st century embark on an epic journey to Buenos Aires. As we drive through the slums of Argentina, the cab drivers phone rings... it is for us, and the news leaves us homeless. The housing situation fell through (again). We arrive at the office of our "real estate agent" who offers us a surrogate/temporary room which consists of a bed and a couch. So we venture out into Buenos Aires to find a sutiable apartment for two strapping young lads.
We visit an apartment we like. We return to our surrogate room. We get an offer, $1200 a month for the aprtment we like. DENIED! Offered $1100 within minutes. Upon accepting, it was made clear the realestate agent had forgone her comission to meet our minimum monthly payment. Despite condescending remarks from her superior we closed the deal.
After attempting to aquire $2,100 USD (while wandering with 200+ lbs of luggage and broken spanish) we showed up at the desired apartment at the agreed meeting time of 2:30 pm and the landlord was nowhere to be found. After being kindly let into the building by a fellow tenant we were similarly asked to leave after it was apparent that our landlord was not on time.
We waited. Patientally. Eventually we were granted our apartment. A two-bedroom in the heart of Recoleta. It is close to our lifestlyle and class. We miss you all, and will keep you in our thoughts.

Ted and Andy