Buenos Aires: My Microuniverse in a Megacity

Shoga

2008-05-19T12:07:00.005-03:00

Pronouncing all ll's and y's with the re porteno "sh" at first makes the Argentine accent difficult to understand. Nonetheless, visitors with open hearts and artistic ears will find the sound falls on them like sweet soft rain.

It also makes it lots of fun to say words like calle, yo, llamada (cashay, sho, shamada (yo'mutha)).

I can't do this, but it's funny, no?

This reflection was inspired by the new yoga class I am taking twice weekly. After just a couple of classes I can see many benefits: it's a time to stretch and relax, to mentally take myself out of the city grid and into my musings, to combat my pizza addiction, and to learn the Spanish words for all of my appendices big and small. However, no less pleasurable is simply saying: "estoy haciendo shoga!"

You command an enormous kiss

2008-05-17T17:41:00.006-03:00

Ultimamente my mood has been on the heavy side. This being a generally light-hearted blog, I haven't had much fodder until yesterday when I giggled a good deal over two separate events.

One:

Have you ever eaten forati pasta? Leah and I enjoyed this deceptively simple dish for lunch. From the outside it looks like fat spaghetti. Look again, once cooked you learn they more closely resemble long skinny tubes of macaroni. The tricky part was trying to slurp the long straws into our pie-holes and avoid sucking sauce into our tracheas. I challenge you to try it.

Leah battles forati

Two:

Because Hee returned from his honeymoon, Leah has resumed teaching his English classes. Long story short, one of Hee's friends I met at his wedding asked Hee if he could get my email address (hee hee). Leah passed it along, and while the arrangements of potential first dates is something of an awkward nature, this is too funny not to share.

The original email is quite genteel and respectful (it did come with proper accents and upsidedown question marks, but I can't figure out how to copy and paste it):

Hey Cari como estas? tanto tiempo.

Tu amiga leah me paso tu correo muy gentilmente.

sigues en Argentina?

Me caistes muy simpatica esa noche que te conoci.

Me gustaria seguir charlando con vos.

Como van tus cosas?

Espero que sigas bien.

Te mando un beso enorme.

LUCIO

Though I caught jist, I always like to plug my Spanish correspondence into the free translation website which should be my homepage. While it is a good resource, as you will see doesn't always make everything clear. The results:

Hey Cari as these? so much time.

Your friend leah me step your mail very kindly.

You continue in Argentina?

Me caistes very nice that night that you conoci.

I would like to continue chatting with vos. How go your things?

Espero that continue well.

You command an enormous kiss.

PIKE

How very forward of me.

El Meneaito

2008-05-07T16:36:00.001-03:00

Frank's fabulous photo of the Tango which is not the subject of this post.

The seductive tango has drawn millions of tourists to the dimly lit, steamy milongas of Buenos Aires to master the sultry moves or simply to gawk at the sexy dancers. Tango, however is not the dance that has captured my attention. Rather, it is the more direct, accessible, and downright adorable El Meneaito.

I was first introduced to the dance in a boliche during Easter vacation, while my friends and I were visiting the coast at Mar de Ajo. Entranced from the start, I watched people fall into rhythm dancing el meneaito. The second time I witnessed this phenomenon was at Hee's wedding. Again I drooled. Think La Macarena but infinitely cooler and with dance floors full of men who know how to shake it.

Though I vividly described the scene, complete with wiggling hips and humming the bass beats, to my friends, none had a clue as to what I was referring. In fact, I didn't a name for this magic until last week when I confessed my obsession to one of my coolest students, Victoria. Within seconds, she gave me the name!

As soon as I got home I youtubed El Meneaito, sure enough, that's it: the key to my heart, a tune that gets my heart beating faster than a double espresso. Before you follow the link, a few words of precaution: if you are reading this while working in a middle school, a church, or Bangladesh, better save it for another time. It's straight 80's with gratuitous flesh, gyrating, and glowing neon. I justify linking this video because it's the original, straight from the horse's mouth. (In this case the horse is Gaby, I suppose.) While the dance in the video is not precisely the same as what can be seen in discos or weddings, it's hilarious nonetheless. Use your discretion and enjoy!

Of Futbol Rivalries and Outer Space

2008-05-04T13:27:00.002-03:00

Sundays are particularly silent in the city and today it will be exceptionally so as everyone parks themselves in front of a TV to watch one of the biggest futbol rivalries in the world: Boca Juniors vs. River Plate.

This being a TV-free apartment and me being unwilling to fork over the $600 (correction $1050) pesos many tourists pay to see the match live, Leah and I are once again grateful to Seba, in whose home we will watch the showdown. I've yet to choose where my loyalties lie. Although, a couple of weeks ago I did run into some Boca players. Literally. Their mammoth bus was blocking the sidewalk in front of the 5 star Intercontinental Hotel, and, consequently, my way to work. Grumpily I took a detour around the front of the bus and who should be disembarking but a flurry of blue and yellow. Cool. Some of my futbol fanatic students salivated over this story.

Transitionless change of topic!

There is special and senseless pleasure that can be found in baking a cake for absolutely no reason. Sitting around and chatting about our futures: dream jobs, studies, husbands, and homes, Leah and I felt the urge to make this Purposeless Cake. Baking in our oven is a gamble, with no way to gauge the temperature, but success was in our stars. The excess batter poofed up out of the little pan and resulted in this beautiful moon rising on our dessert.

Cut it in half with a layer of dulce de leche and covering with frosting, the cake accompanied our coffee and conversation delightfully. What a lovely but foreign feeling being able to offer the occassional passersby or visitor a slice of cake! How domestic of us!

Finally, I leave you with a picture of the artwork newly adorning our kitchen walls. My flatmate Guille is the visionary and my other flatmate Arjun took the initiative to frame it and put it on the wall. This masterpiece is dated 10 April, 2008 from Leah's 1/2 Birthday Celebration where we played Pictionary at Jobs, an awesome bar with not only pool and darts, but also archery and board games. Imagine, if you will, that you are playing Pictionary and this is what you've got to go on... Any guesses?

That's right! 2001 Space Odyssey. Priceless, Guille!

San Telmo's Graffitti Gallery: A Plaid Clad Fellow

2008-04-30T16:34:00.010-03:00

Time for the latest installment in San Telmo's Graffiti Gallery!!!!

There is a heightened urgency to document my faves with photos because that smiley bird I introduced has been painted over!! I am now acutely aware of my responsibility to immortalize good guerrilla art before it's too late. These gems won't always be with us.

Yesterday I took advantage of a late cancellation of an early morning class and used my free time to walk down the San Telmo's historic streets. Yeah, it was 7 blocks out of my way, sure it was freezing (first day for the coat!), but duty was calling (not in that way). For sentimental reasons, I took Chile- on which is located my old hostel home, Tercero del Sur, where I lived during my first month of apartment hunting. Slowly sauntering along the cobblestones, I reveled in being so much more comfortable than when I first arrived; I'm free of the burdens of the Lonely Planet and street maps (usually). While my mood was tan tranquila, I was hunting with a particular purpose: to snap this familiar face:

dig the plaid!

This guy's also staking out a fabulous location on his corner of Chile and Bolivar streets. For sweet breakfast temptations, there's none better than Del Amanecer Panaderia. At Chile 571, it's just a half block from our stylish friend. Don't take my expatriate, rose-colored words for it, even Seba, my official native Buenos Aires opinion-giver agrees that this bakery is the bomb. After photo-taking, I treated myself to a buttery honey medialuna and coffee. Yay for the occasional delinquent class-skipping students! There's nothing better than old friends and sweet treats on cold mornings.

On a separate note, I know that what I'm about to write may cause to judge my musical tastes, but ever since Tonga gave us tons of music to download, I am completely Justified. It's changed my life.

Hee gets Hitched!

2008-04-28T23:59:00.002-03:00

One of the pleasures of living in a big city is that they are often cultural melting pots in which many delicious flavors blend together. As luck would have it, during the weekend I got to enjoy this aspect of urban life. Friday night I went out to Plaza Serrano to enjoy the breezy weather and a cold beer with my Peruvian friend, Armando. Sunday I went to see a cheap but classy tango show at the Teatro Empire with my (formerly Yugoslavian but now) Bosnian friend Esma (who I met in Costa Rica). However, it was Saturday night which stole the show- Hee and Ariana's casamiento!!

Hee is one of Leah's English students. Not only is it fun to talk about Hee, what with having a pronoun for a name; Hee is particularly generous and thoughtful, giving Leah 3 invitations and placing us at a multilingual table where guests not only spoke Korean and Spanish but also fluid English. Hee's a great guy, eh?

Even though I've waitressed 150-odd weddings in my lifetime, the magic is never lost on me. I'm a sucker for tradition. Culturally we were in for a two-for-one experience as Hee and Ariana are Korean-Argentinean. Being Korean and Protestant, we thought the affiar would stay on the conservative side. However, in the end, this is Argentina. Thus, after the ceremony and dinner, the dance floor was packed, fine Mendozan Malbec started flowing, and round after round of tasty morsels were delivered to our tables. By 4am we were exhausted and trudged to a taxi to make our way across town to our cozy beds. The party was still in full swing at that time; I'm sure it didn't wind down until breakfast was served at 8 in the morning. Seriously. 12 hours since vows were exchanged!

I love chopsticks

20 varieties of Korean cuisine!

Desserts- way tastier than they appear! The pastel balls with sesame peanut filling were a sweet flashback to Hong Kong.

Hee breaks it down.

Last week also marked one year since I left the States to teach in Bangladesh. I thought it might be fun to reminisce by posting some photos of a village wedding I enjoyed about one year ago at this time.

Please forgive the tiny photos, I had to rip them out of my Facebook albums. AND since Blogger is not in the slightest bit user-friendly I'll make a separate post instead of trying to drag and format them to come down here to the bottom of the page. Forgive me, my upstairs neighbor is blaring Tainted Love and I just don't have the patience.

Weddings here and there

2008-04-28T23:58:00.001-03:00

Here are my tiny Bangladeshi wedding photos. First I'm yellow from being tumeric-ked at a Gaiyer Holud festival the night before the wedding. Then you see rice from the reception feast. Me and my Aunt Deb in our best formal wear. Finally, the colorfully bedecked couple.

What a difference a year makes!

All locked up

2008-04-25T05:55:00.000-03:00

This morning I am experiencing a highly unusual moment in my life, or I suppose the life of almost any twentysomething. I woke up 2 full hours before my alarm clock on a Friday- yeah that means at 4:30 AM I couldn't catch another ounce of sleep. I've seized the moment, already bathed and breakfasted an hour before I need to be out the door! Thus a moment to introduce you to our across the way neighbor:

Well, his door anyway. As you can see, he's a guy who takes safety seriously. Catching a glimpse of whoever lives behind this well-guarded home is rare, but I always know when he is coming and going. His song is jingling of keys and the turning of multiple locks, a clinging and clanking series of steps he takes on both sides of the threshold. Go ahead, count the locks on his door... 5 keyholes and there's no telling how many chainslides on the other side!! Makes me feel like the 3 keys between me and the streets means I'm living life on the edge.

Meanwhile, aren't the doors of our building lovely? Here are two bits of my everyday comings and goings for your visual feasting: our elegant peephole and grand doorknob.

Thanks for the photos, Leah!

Energy at 7AM on a Monday

2008-04-21T16:59:00.011-03:00

I woke up with my alarm at 7AM and among my first thoughts was "wow, I feel well-rested!" Quite rare for a Monday morning, no?

What was the ingenious alchemy of my weekend that produced this energy? It was probably a mixture of some of these elements:

Dancing to 80's music in comfortable shoes

Saturday morning tidying time. Yes it's true, I like to mop.

Going to Juan's 24th Birthday Bash!!!

Leaving Juan's birthday party early at 4:30AM, opting for some sleep instead of the sunrise.

Pancakes "picnic" for Sunday lunch, indoors, on the floor

Eating pistachio ice cream in the park

Practicing Spanish by reading a children's book by Maria Elena Walsh

Randomly running into a friend I know from Costa Rica in the middle of downtown rush hour!!!

Purchasing my first winter coat

Finding a buy 10 get 1 free Sandwich card from Mr. Miga with 9 circles already stamped!

Today I am also finished teaching early, home by 3:30 pm, I have

plenty of time to concoct the pea and lentil soup I make on a bimonthly basis to ensure that my diet includes a protein source outside of the frequent visits Leah and I make to Volta for 1/4 kilos of artesenal ice cream.

I leave you with a couple of pics from the weekend:

two fools who don't appreciate pistachio

Looking like hooligans as we wait on the curb for Juan's pal Pico

Uf, Me Matas!

2008-04-17T16:21:00.004-03:00

Piropos, pick-up lines, catcalls, come-ons: I suppose every culture has it's own brand of come-hither leers or cheers from would be seducers, but that of Buenos Aires is remarkable.

Yesterday, I woke for an early class after a late night out with Mono, Seba, and Leah (at the movies, of course). The usually frenetic streets are desolate at the 7:00 hour, so I was not prepared with the indifferent "I know exactly where I'm going and I'm in a huge rush so don't even think about messing with me" expression that any pedestrian commuter wears while bustling about. I was caught off-guard by a delivery man maneuvering an unwieldy cart of soda pop with one hand, the other occupied with passionately waving and blowing me kisses as he cheerily shouted "Buen dia, linda!". I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

This is a city where a gal will hear, on average, 3 come-ons a day. Lobbed from the lips of some of the most shameless chamuyeros of the capital, it is a rare moment when a piropo stands out from the usual lot which range from dull to disgusting. Those with some originality deserve to be noted. Thus I present to you the very short list of...

Piropos that Have Made Me Laugh

1. Ojos, me matas! - Look out, you kill me!

2. Adios, bomboncita! - Good bye, little chocolate treat!

3. Que pinturita! - What a little painting!

What to do when the Mercury Drops: See Movies!

2008-04-14T10:07:00.007-03:00

Without warning the temperatures have plummeted and my decorative scarves have become annoyingly practical. yuck. Being two tropically acclimated ladies, Leah and I seized the chilly and rainy days to catch up on sleep and while away the chilly waking hours in theaters around town to take in the Buenos Aires Festival Internacional de Cine Independiente. The movie selections are a roulette wheel of hit and miss, but at $6 pesos a pop, you can't complain too loudly.

Upon Sebastian's request, on Saturday hopped on Subte Linea B all the way to the end to the 25 de Mayo Theater where we watched a screening of Let the Right One In, A Swedish movie about adolescent vampires. One sentence summary: a macabre but surprisingly funny tale in which 12 year old boy meets vampire girl, who returns his affection by resisting the strong impulse to dine from his aorta and eventually avenges him against a group of schoolyard bullies. Use your imagination as to how... Not one I can recommend to you, Mom. Here's a visual anyhow:

After the gore, we returned to the cozy real world for a few delicious hours in which Guille treated us to a gourmet meal, painstakingly prepared and presented with flair as of yet rarely seen in this apartment.

For the Saturday night- Sunday morning showing of Antes que el diablo sepa que estas muerte (Before the Devil Knows You're Dead), we were satisfied from dinner and didn't have to smuggle in movie treats as we usually do. Though incredibly twisted and graphic at the start, so far this was my favorite movie and featured serious acting clout: of Seymour Hoffman and Ethan Hawke.

Sunday evening's showing of It Does Not Hurt, was a huge flop. Generally I would be open to living almost anywhere, but after this film I am thanking my lucky stars that I was not one of these Russian adolescents; making bad jokes while constantly drinking vodka to the tune of a very limited 4 song-4 chord soundtrack. As fate would have it, this was also the movie we invited our new friends Rudolfo and Pablo to see with us- but they kindly did not judge us for it.

All of our movie-seeing and hybernation did not ward of the imminent coughs and runny noses the cold weather brought. Today Leah and I both feel wretched; I think I will take my first sick day off of work tomorrow and go watch more cheap movies.

On the brighter side, the aforementioned new friend Pablo is a chef and is coming tonight to teach us how to properly cook some fish. Additionally, Sebastian will be here in 2 minutes. He doesn't know it yet, but Leah and I will make him read us some stories in Spanish as we drink hot tea snuggled up in our beds.

Fiery Friday: The 2008 Olympic Torch in Buenos Aires

2008-04-13T10:50:00.006-03:00

Not one to be ashamed of bringing you day (or two) old news, I'm thrilled to tell you that on Friday the Olympic Torch passed through Buenos Aires- one of only 2 American cities (San Fran.) to enjoy the honor this year. I was there for the festivities. Oh was I there!

Early in the afternoon, crowds of spectators and protesters with banners denouncing China's human rights issues as well as banners denouncing the denouncers flooded into Plaza de Mayo with great pomp and flashy garb. Initially I thought it was one of the daily demonstrations that take place in the downtown square; it was the helicopters, bright red Beijing propoganda, and Tibetan monks clued me into the fact that this show had international attention!

Heading down Reconquista after my afternoon class, I came upon the mess at an advantageous angle to penetrate the masses. I elbowed my way to the front of the spectators. Shoving and squeezing through the crowd, soon there were only some measley iron barricades between me and the torch-track. On my tiptoes, I twisted my neck round searching for the flame.

And did it ever come! Swift athletes careened towards us. The crowd surged to greet them. It was all sweat, cheers, jeers, and hot-blooded merriment! Just as the torch passed in front of my face, the horde became overwhelmed with passion. A hapless victim of the mass hysteria, I was flung over the barricade with animalistic fury. On my way to the pavement, my flailing arm struck the ancient torch! My sweater caught aflame! Who should be standing by but none other than THE Diego Maradona of Argentine futbol lore!! Diego expertly smothered me to the ground, speedy feet tap-dancing down my sparkling sleeves and extinguishing the perilous flames. I don't care what some people say about Maradona, in my eyes he's a 10.

That about sums up my story of the Olympic Torch passing through Buenos Aires on Friday. If you'd care for more objective coverage, you've come to the wrong place.

See More of BBC's Day in Pictures

Musical Stylings

2008-04-09T16:21:00.004-03:00

Oh Wednesday! Are you needing something to get you through the midweek blahs? Here is a picture that Frank took of one of those musicians from Plaza Francia. I tried my darndest to write him into the last post, but he deserves a space of his own.

Working pretty much as our own personal musician, seated within spitting distance of our blanket, we had to keep our giggles and stares discreet. All he required was about 4 liters of Quilmes Cristal and this inspiring instrument, and soon he was ripping his own ragtime rendition of the Entertainer.

I hope you enjoy him almost as much as we did.

On Plaza Francia and Sexy Brasilian Things

2008-04-07T12:08:00.019-03:00

By far and away my favorite way to squander a weekend afternoon is lounging around in Plaza Francia in front of the Recoleta Cemetary- and this past weekend both of my afternoons were spent doing just that. Luxuriating in laziness is just the perscription for recovering from a hectic work-week and from staying out until sunrise (which honestly is what even the most sensible and sane portenos do on weekend nights).

On Saturday Frank, Leah, and I packed my dependable Northface mochila with a blanket, some yerba, sugar, bombilla, and mate; and with noventa centavos for the bus fare in each hand, we waited for the not so dependable colectivo 59 to take us across town, where it stops just a block from the park. We moseyed slowly through the food vendors tempting us with pan relleno, sweet cakes, roasted peanuts, alfores galore, walking past the multitude of artisans in the expansive craft fair and stationed ourselves in our usual shady spot in a big grassy central space. Shortly thereafter, Sebastian joined us for some mate- I much prefer drinking mate with natives so that I don't look like the huge tourist poser clinging to my adopted culture that I sometimes am. Nonetheless, it was I who prepared the mate and passed it around, Sebastian claiming to know less about the process than I- yeah right.

As we sipped from the gourd we watched the circus of other park goers around us. Jugglers, tightrope walkers, and acrobats fill the park and hone their already quite impressive skills. Bongo players, dog walkers, coupled cuddlers, picnic eaters, hand standers, nap takers, people watchers, gossip makers, pot smokers, and newspaper readers are scattered around the park, all taking some respite from the gridlock of city life. It is well after sunset before everyone lazily clears out, recharged and relaxed- and again ready to dance until 6 AM.

Sunday we were back for more passive people-watching, but this time with a certain spectacle in mind. Note: if you happen to be in Buenos Aires on Sunday take my advice- go to the park, spread out a blanket in the grass, read the fat Sunday edition of Clarin, buy a cheesy pan relleno or some churros for refreshment, and wait until around 5, when you will hear some drums and odd stringed instruments start playing. It is time to watch capoeira.

While this blog will generally stick to all things Argentina, I've got to tell you about this martial art, which is very Brasilian and very sexy. Fluid and flexible bodies are inverted and twisted in play-fight dancing peppered with plenty of stunning acrobatics. Warning, it might make you feel a tad guilty about those churros you just devoured. A huge crowd stares smiling and slack-jawed at the show and everyone revels in the buena onda of the afternoon.

On our way home we all daydreamed of how awesome it would be to master capoeira. Out of the three of us, you can put your bets on the chances that it will be Frank who learns (though he already has something of a headstart with his black belt in Kung Fu). As for me, I'm afraid the only sexy brasilena flair I will incorporate into my routine are my new purple and maybe too trendy Havaina flip-flops. Ah well.

A quick congratulations to Leslie, you are marrying into one very hot culture.

Photos credits: Frank Wan

Follow the Cow!

2008-04-04T22:15:00.004-03:00

What happens when you take two semi-vegetarians with open minds and combine them with a ravenous college buddy visiting them in Buenos Aires, the most carnivorous capital in the world? The veggie-lovers are bound to commit grave- but admittedly delicious errors, consequences for which will be paid for the following day during more than one trip to the restroom.

Last night Frank took Leah and I out to the very well reputed Siga La Vaca, in Puerto Madero. It is not so often that we are treated to $49 peso dinners, so for this long-term buddy Leah and I decided to recklessly abandon our vegetarian diets and chew on chunks of chorizo, bistec, lomo and other cuts of meat that I haven't really incorporated into my Spanish vocabulary. When we first arrived our waitress explained the system: the price includes all you can eat meaty treats from the parrilla, a salad bar overflowing with fresh crisp produce, a decadent dessert (for me creamy flan with dulce de leche) and a litre of red wine, beer, or soda each.

With sweaty palms and sidelong glances Leah and I stepped up the grill. Candidly, I explained our situation to the asador: "We are vegetarians, how can you change our minds?" He was up for the challenge and piled our plates with juicy remnants of cow, pig, and perhaps deer. How did it go? Quite flavorful, I suppose I can see why people continue to eat animals. Will I be changing my diet? Nah, I've still got this nagging environmental conscience which is accompanied by no real craving for flesh.

After our initial first-bite drama, we spent the next couple of hours enjoying a sobre mesa, catching up and reliving our memories of studying abroad in Hong Kong. It was 1 AM before we started ambling back to our apartment! Though my stomach complained, I'm really grateful to Frank for treating us to this essential Argentino experience. Furthermore, not only have my iron levels been replenished, I'd imagine my calcium is sky-high from the TUMS I've been popping all day.

San Telmo's Graffitti Gallery: of Chirps and Churros

2008-03-30T21:30:00.007-03:00

Lately life has been decidedly rock hard. This moment in which I need some light-hearted relief provides the perfect opportunity to introduce what I hope will be a recurring topic on this blog. I bring you San Telmo's Graffitti Gallery: Visual Goodies Within 20 Blocks of my Bed! (I realize that if I relocate to another apartment during my stay in BsAs, this complicated title may require some editing).

Much of Buenos Aires has been decorated by guerrilla artists with aerosol cans and a penchant for super-saturated colors. San Telmo, my hometown barrio, is no exception, offering some of the city's most imaginative public art.

As today I would have to dig deep for some cheery and sincere salutations, for my first installment along this thread, I introduce a friend of mine who is dependable to do just that. He makes me smile with an aw'-shucks-maybe-life-ain't-so-bad shake of my head every time we meet, regardless of how cloudy I may be feeling. He calls the corner of Moreno and Peru home, giving us the opportunity for daily visits. Just a beak isn't enough to express his felicity, no no, it is with a gregarious grin that he greets his pals. While this is a simple and basically linear example of what Porteno Graffitti artists can do; it is precisely the economy of line and color that makes this piece so brilliant.

Ain't he a gem?

Another silver-lining moment of my day was strolling along Defensa for the weekly Artesanal Feria. Not only did I finally find an affordable and cute messenger bag with comfortable shoulder strap, which I have been hunting down for about a month now, Leah and I indulged in Churros Rellenos, i.e. sweet fried sticks full of gooey dulce de leche. The vendor winding his bike and churro basket was something of a visual delight as well....

ARGH!

Because I'm new to this blogging thing, I can't seem to to format this photo, so it is stuck up at the top- I can't tell you how irritated this makes me. Good thing I've got that bird around.

In memory of Grandpa

2008-03-29T00:29:00.004-03:00

I come to the garden alone

While the dew is still on the roses

And the voice I hear, falling on my ear

The Son of God discloses

And he walks with me

And he talks with me

And he tells me I am his own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever none

He speaks and the sound of his voice

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing

And the melody that He gave to me

Within my heart is ringing

And he walks with me

And he talks with me

And he tells me I am his own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

I'd stay in the garden with Him

Though the night around me be falling

But He bids me go; through the voice of woe

His voice to me is calling

And he walks with me

And he talks with me

And he tells me I am his own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

Cinco Mangos, Cornudo?!: 10 of Buenos Aires' Best Slang Phrases

2008-03-25T16:30:00.007-03:00

Here I am coming up on my three month anniversary with Buenos Aires, and I am just now taking the initiative to introduce my loved ones to my new love. My plan is that this forum will primary pertain to this, the Paris of South America- but I also hope to show that such comparisons to not do justice to Argentina's diverse capital. Sure it is probably the South American capital with the most European flavor, but I'm convinced that it has a palette all its own.

Now I confront the common problem for any inaugural blog, so much fodder at my fingertips, and such short 21st century attention spans. The solution, a concise top-ten list and a stunning visual.

Top-Ten Lunfardo (Slang) Phrases I have learned from Portenos:

(in reverse order and unfortunately with no accents)

10. Dale - do it, leave it, good, go ahead

9. Un beso, ciao ciao! - end your phone conversations with a kiss and some Italian flair.

8. Re - very

7. Barbaro! - Excellent!

6. Mango- peso (like "buck")

5. Chabon- guy

4. Cornudo/a - Someone whose significant other is cheating on them, discretion advised.

3. Che- hey (Guevara's famous nickname; particularly well combined with #1).

2. Pelotudo/a - as I understand it, it is synonymous with it's more famous counterpart, #1.

1. Boludo/a - big balls, amongst friends fun and light-hearted, otherwise exercise extreme caution

If I've got you hooked on lunfardos, check out James Bracken's Che Boludo!: A Gringo's Guide to Understanding the Argentines, perhaps not the most practical of BsAs guidebooks but certainly a hilarious one.

Ah yes, now for that stunning visual: me with my dear friend and flatmate, Leah.