Eat your heart out, Disney

Out of all the bicentennial activities and performances, the most impressive was the light show at Plaza de Mayo.  And while a light show might sound corny (think: Garth from Wayne's World playing with a Lite-Brite), it actually utilized cutting-edge technology.  Using 3-D animation, Argentina's 200 years of history were retold on the face of the Cabildo.  I tried visiting this colonial town hall in early March, but it was closed for renovations, including a fresh paint job to make it the perfect blank canvas for the light show.

Had the news cameras filming this amazing display not cut to President Cristina Kirchner several times (another political ploy if you ask my students), I would have thought that I'd been transported Disney World.  Ghostly figures appearing in the windows look like they came straight out of the Haunted Mansion.

But don't take my word for it.  Check out the bicentario light show for yourself.

Happy 200th, Argentina!

9 de Julio on May 25, 2010

On Tuesday, May 25, 2010 the great country of Argentina celebrated its 200th birthday.  Having missed the United States' bicentennial, I felt quite privileged to be in the capital for such an historic occasion.  I assumed that my Argentine-born-and-bred students would feel the same way.  But by this point I should have known better.  For weeks I had been asking them, "Are you excited about the bicentennial?"  The responses varied somewhat:

"No, not really. You see, it is all political..."

"The amount of money they're spending for the celebration! [Shakes head] That money could go towards..."

"Not many people know this but technically the bicentenario is in 2016 because..."

Even 9 de julio, the world's widest street, could not contain the crowd

Forget I asked.  Something that is equal parts annoying and adorable about the Argentines (or the porteños at least) is their unwavering apathy for anything that is remotely related to the government.  Still, I'm not one to talk.  The bicentennial festivities lasted four days and included concerts, a soccer game, an antique car show, the reopening of the Teatro Colon and even a 200-plus parade of llamas.  And how many of these grand affairs did I attend?

Cero.

Putting on our angry faces after a near-death crowd experience

Chalk it up to my general weekend laziness combined with crowd jitters, but the only event I attempted to take part in was the final May Revolution Parade/Light show/Concert extravaganza.
My friends and I braved the jam-packed subway to 9 de julio avenue with every intention of exploring the remaining exhibits (particularly the regional food sampling area).  One hour, a dozen lost children and several near-brawl eruptions later, we retreated back to quiet Recoleta to watch the festivities on television at a friend's apartment.

I must say, the view was much better.

My first missive from the Fortress

When I decided to pack up my life and move to the Southern Hemisphere, my family and friends offered me more support than my half-baked plan probably deserved.  Still, my mother did make one request of me: "Find the U.S. Embassy, and go introduce yourself."

The American Embassy, or as I like to call it, the Fortress.

Given her instructions and the architectural wonderland that characterizes Embassy Row in Washington, D.C., I imagined the embassy as this charming, neoclassical building amid a neighborhood of chic mansions.  While Buenos Aires does have a lovely grouping of embassies between Av. Del Libertador and Av. Figueroa Alcorta, the American one is not part of this cool crowd.  The U.S. isolationist philosophy holds true for its consulate, which is well removed from all the surrounding buildings.  Behind 12-foot walls is a plain government office that looks like some outstanding eyesore from the 1970s.

Over the course of my five months in Argentina, I've never had to go through as much security as I did to enter the American Embassy (and that includes a few turns through Argentine and Uruguayan customs).  After checking my hand sanitizer, iPod and lipstick at the front, I entered the heart of bureaucracy— it was not the kind of place you "introduce" yourself.

Nevertheless, I appeased my mother by registering on the State Department's website.  By sharing your information with the U.S. government, they promise to alert you of any problems while you are living or traveling in said country.  Today I received my first e-mail alert, which reads as follows:

Dear Wardens: 

The U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires has been informed that a protest group will block Av. Maipu in Vicente Lopez this evening, reportedly beginning at 1900hrs.  The blockage will reportedly be in the 2600 block of Av.Maipu, just north of the Residencia Presidencial. 

U.S. citizens should plan their movements accordingly, take common-sense precautions and expect lengthy transportation delays, if not total gridlock.  The local media will provide additional information about the roadblocks as it becomes available. 

First question: Since when are protests worthy of the State Department's time and resources?  Along with soccer and mate-drinking, protesting is the national pastime in Argentina.

Second question: Why are they addressing the expat and travel community as "wardens"?  Did I accidentally register as a law enforcement officer on the State Department page?

Just another of life's mysteries ...

'Bitter like life'

When half the classes you teach take place between the hours of 8:30 a.m. and noon, the topic of coffee is bound to come up at some point.  In many offices, espresso vending machines serve up just about every Argentine hot drink you can imagine: cafe con leche (coffee with milk), cafe cortado (small shot of coffee with a touch of milk), lagrima (hot milk with just a "teardrop" of coffee), cappuccino, tea with lemon, hot chocolate, etc.

"Cafe con Leche" by Reina Resto

Overall I find Argentina's coffee quality disappointing— a sin considering that the country is a next-door neighbor to Brazil and on the same continent as Colombia.  But for some reason, I love these vending-machine brews that pop out at the perfect temperature with just the right amount of caffeinated fluff on top to soothe your taste buds into the sweet-but-not-sugared, bold flavor.

My students, who mostly take their coffee with at least a little milk or sugar, were surprised to learn that despite my sweet and chipper personality (laugh if you must, but I actually am a rather peppy teacher), I like my coffee plain and dark, or simply, cafe solo.  To drive this point home, I even recounted a long-running family anecdote.  My Aunt Natalie, who would love lagrimas, once quipped that her coffee was, "light and sweet just like me," to which I replied, "That makes sense.  Mine is dark and bitter."

The students enjoyed this story enough that they took it upon themselves to teach me a little Argentine Spanish.  When ordering a plain coffee with no milk or sugar, one can say, "Amargo como la vida," or "Bitter like life."

And now it's my new favorite catchphrase.  I still haven't worked up the courage to actually say it when ordering for fear that the barista will A. not understand, forcing me to repeat myself and causing my Spanish-speaking confidence to drop faster than the peso's value or B. cock a dark eyebrow, chuckle and then begin talking to her coworkers in rapid-fire castellano about the crazy gringa.  After all, wouldn't you laugh if someone said they took their coffee bitter like life?

In the meantime I'm content to share this wonderful phrase with other expats, who find it as entertaining as I do.  One of my friends even asked, "So can you order coffee dulce como la vida if you like it sweet?"  We all glanced at each other, considering the possibility.  The quick, unanimous answer: Nah!

It's not like we're in Italy.