Buenos Aires week two...at this point is it almost week three

For a country full of such skinny people, Argentina has two of the world's widest. The widest avenue, el Avenida 9 de Julio which is an adventure to cross, and Rio del Plata, the river that separates Argentina and Uruguay and takes an hour and a half to traverse by boat.

On Sunday I ventured across the famous avenue in hopes of finding the San Telmo antique market. After emerging from the depths of the Subway aka Subte, I knew that I had a fifty percent chance to choosing the correct direction but of course I ended up walking the wrong way until I overheard the girl a few steps in front of me ask an older woman if she was headed in the direction of los artesanos. I stopped to listen as we both discovered that we were indeed headed in the opposite direction so we turned ourselves around and were off.

Turns out, she too was a tourist, but a tourist within her own country. She was from Patagonia and en route to the antique/artisan market to meet up with a friend who is studying here in BsAs. Her name was Mari Jo, a shorter version of her full name. Her head full of curly Greek locks complemented her petite frame of the Argentinian and her conversation made the walk on the uneven pavement enjoyable as we talked about the beautiful landscapes of Patagonia and my home state of Oregon.

We reached the shaded market finally after starting to feel the effects of the blazing sun when her friend called her. They coordinated where to meet and I looked around to see which path of old collectibles caught my eye, when she invited me join them. We walked from booth to booth trying on old pairs of glasses, listening to a radio from 1920 that still manages to function, and seeing our eyes widen in the reflection of antique mirrors as we attempted to distinguish the different pieces of vintage jewelry. We turned the corner after a booth full of glass bottles that have now been replaced by plastic, and other "unnecessary junk", emphasis on the J as we say in our family, to find (finally!) an older couple dancing the tango in the middle of the intersection. It is a seductive dance filled with passion, which despite the cooking sun and the sweat dripping down the dancer's faces did not lose its integrity. As long as you have two, it all works out.

After getting our fill of romance, we ended up perusing the works of the artisans on the streets which stretched for miles until we found a cafe for lunch. I originally thought that I only had until 2:30 to eat since I was going to join some locals in their usual game of Sunday afternoon Ultimate Frisbee, but I of course am still adjusting to the 24 hour clock which actually meant to tell me that I had until 4:30. We enjoyed a hamburger and charlabamos or chatted for quite a while. I remember at one point asking myself how the heck I managed to randomly get myself a lunch date with two Argentinean girls my age and speak only in Spanish about life, love, school, food..it was dreamlike. On the subject of food, I must say I quite enjoy the food here. While I am still trying to figure out how the Argentineans party all night long, I am also studying how on earth the girls are so skinny when there are so many delicious and accessible while not so healthy foods. There is no way one can eat doughy empanadas filled with delicious cheese and meat, toast with Dulce de Leche, (a cooked condensed milk to a caramel consistency which is spread on everything), and alfajores, (imagine two scrumptious cookies with Dulce de Leche in between them and then covered in all kinds of chocolate) and still be stick thin. I guess they just have the self control that I lack and refrain from eating them? I am thinking that gym membership will be in order, especially with at the piropos or catcalls one gets when out running. Piropos are common here, most girls have gotten used to the honks and catcalls while walking down the street. Hacha, the grandmother of the family I live with asked me today if I liked piropos. My instant response was no, but then she asked me why not and explained that at her ripe age of 89 she no longer gets piropos. For her, to get them is quite a compliment. I guess she makes sense.

I have been here a little over a week now and have yet to describe my family or what the heck I have been up to. It's all quite simple really, I have been sitting in different rooms for the past week from 9am to 7:30pm in orientation sometimes with eyes wide open in fascination and other times loosing focus on the speaker because I am trying to keep them open. Coffee has become a good friend and it is not uncommon to see people getting an afternoon coffee. This coffee is not to go, that would be a disgrace (in my humble opinion) and would instantly identify you as someone from the United States. Also, side note number 375: it is wise to avoid using the term "American" while, well, anytime you are outside the US and in the Americas. The Argentineans, like everyone else who lives in North and South America, are also Americans, so it is better to say Estadounidense which would translate to something like "Unitedstatesian" if that makes any sense.

Now back to coffee. Coffee, like Mate, is something that is not, for the most part, rushed. One can find coffee to go, but generally speaking, in order to get the caffeine fix without the mateine of Mate, it also requires some socializing. Last week, Amber, a friend who spent last semester in Nicaragua and who also avoids speaking English until absolutely necessary, and I discovered a little cafe tucked in the side of an apartment building. We quickly got to know the owner who now greets us by name as we enter for our afternoon fix. He doesn't even have to ask what we would like, he knows that I like coffee with milk while she runs off of a Cortada, which looks like it is basically a shot of coffee.

The US Embassy gave a presentation yesterday. I don't think they scared us too much. Basically they said to be aware of our surroundings, not to fall for the mustard on the bag/coat trick, and not to land ourselves in jail because they can't do anything about it. The mustard trick is still going strong after 10 plus years. This is how it works, let's say you are a backpacker and you have just stepped of the bus or plane (can you say target?), you are loaded down with your big backpacking backpack on your back and a smaller one on your front in which you have most likely put you passport, money, computer, ect. As you walk by, someone squirts mustard, mayonnaise, pickle juice, something foul, on the back of the big backpack without you noticing and then points it out to you and tries to help you wipe it off. You are concerned about the smell and the fact that this liquid is urgent enough that a complete stranger is wiping it off of you, so you take your small backpack off in order to take the big one off and check the liquid scene, but oh wait, you just put down that small backpack with EVERYTHING in it on the ground, might as well say happy trails to it now, because it is about to be gone. Unless of course you are the extremely lucky Canadian we met who made a big enough commotion that the conman dropped her bag and ran. Moral of the story, be aware, always.

My eyes are drooping and I might as well sleep before I leave for Carnaval celebrations in the little city of Gualeguaychu. Also, the mosquitos are attempting to add some additions to the 30+ bites I already have. I swear my blood must be made of Dulce de Leche...

Until next time.

My first manifestación, and since the people of BsAs are very politically active, I am bound to see more.