Carry-on limitations are really hurting readers

To the point that one traveler is smuggling Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in his pants.

Not only did I dodge a full body scan and gate groping, I also got to enjoy some book bums.  Literally.  At the very least, airports are still hilarious.

RRT is finished, time to consult my checklist

Thirteen days after embarking on my brilliant/unusual/foolhardy/pick-your-adjective Resume Road Trip, I returned to North Carolina and my fluffy bed.  Time flew by during my travels, and I couldn't have asked for a more enjoyable experience.

But since this trip was more than a mere joyride, I must now utilize the left-side of my brain to analyze my success (or lack thereof).

Taking a shot while crossing the Bay Bridge in MD (don't try this, kids)

What a Resume Road Trip is good for:

• Getting to know new cities
• Finding out what businesses/industries are prominent in the area
• Determining whether you would want to live there 
• Determining whether you could afford to live there

What a Resume Road Trip is not good for:

• Going on job interviews
• Actually getting hired

The chaotic nature of such travels is not conducive with the playing-hard-to-get game of landing interviews.  Although I did meet with some prospective part-time employers, the real reward is knowing where I should be focusing my job search.  My top pick of the three is the Big Apple (duh).

Snapping again across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge into NYC

New York City is the place to be for the artistically inclined and highly motivated.  I love that in a single day you can overhear more conversations in a foreign language than English.  I love that creativity seems to be a part of the city's DNA.  I love that I can eat ANY international cuisine, and it's always authentic.  The downfall of the City That Never Sleeps is, well, just that: The drive to succeed in New York means long workdays (think 9 a.m. to 7 or 8 p.m.); overly competitive peers; and sometimes cutthroat work environments.  Not exactly my ideal.  Also, the rent is too damn high!

Washington, D.C., is a close second behind New York in terms of relocation appeal.  Having interned  in the District two years ago,  I'm already familiar with the area and know where to find good food, economical apartments and squirrels that play tug-of-war over a peanut.  While the city might not be as exciting as NYC, there is no shortage of international flavor, museums and other 20-somethings.  The drawback of life in D.C., is the attitude.  Most businesses— whether they be lobby firms, publications or bookstores— revolve around politics, which many people take very seriously.  As someone who doesn't enjoy heated debates, I worry the pugnacious political culture would wear me out.  Out of town, that is.

Philadelphia didn't have much of a chance.  Of the three cities on my tour, Philly was the one I had not yet visited, and I only gave it one day to make a good impression.  Not fair, but in the interest of time, I decided to trust my instincts and discard it from the search.  The City of Brotherly Love has a plethora of history, old architecture and activity.  I'd like to go back and visit, but I don't think I want to live there.

For your Halloween viewing pleasure...

A Snookie Scarecrow,

As part of the Peddler's Village scarecrow competition in Pennsylvania. 

If you want to get the skittles scared out of you, I recommend Paranormal Activity.  Just be sure you're not staying in an apartment with creaky pipes.  Otherwise, It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, is always an excellent choice.

RRT Part 3: Holy Cream! I'm in NYC

Check out the stadium seating in Times Square

Bright lights, Big city.  Although I assured everyone from my mom to my aunt to my friends that driving into New York City would be a piece of cake, my stomach was roiling with suspense. Surprisingly the drive was less stressing than the one from Maryland to Pennsylvania, and I arrived safe in sound in Brooklyn after passing blocks and blocks worth of 20-something hipsters— they're good for gauging the safety/sketchiness of an area.

The funky Hearst Tower

My last visit to the Big Apple was in 2008 during my senior year spring break.  At the time I felt overwhelmed, overcrowded and generally uncomfortable by the concrete jungle and its 8 million inhabitants.  This time has been completely different.  The city exudes excitement and possibilities and a bit familiar (I even ran into a friend from UNC who's now in law school).  I'm not sure whether this difference can be attributed to me, having been indoctrinated into city life in D.C. and then Buenos Aires, or whether it's the city.  Manhattan has created new outdoor piazzas in Union Square, the Flatiron District and even Times Square.  My friend says this is part of an attempt to give the city back to the people.  Whatever the reason, I love it!

Sharing the doughnut ice cream sandwich

The job search part is going so-so with success rate being about on par with D.C., which isn't bad but isn't wonderful either.  My mission before departure is to get one more interview or follow-up contact.  In the meantime, I'm savoring the hustle and bustle and the crazy foods... like doughnut ice cream sandwiches from Holy Cream.  Is this a potential competitor for another blogger's doughnut burger?

RRT Part 2: Chicken Cheesesteaks and Philadelphia Idol

Kiddies exercise their bill of rights outside the Constitution Center

My second stop along the RRT was trickier than the first. For one, I've never been to Philadelphia and had no idea what to expect.  Also my relatives in Pennsylvania live more than an hour away from the city, which required me to do some planning before I went downtown (heaven forbid).

Although I didn't feel any brotherly love in terms of employment, I did have some quintessential Philly experiences like:

• Taking a bus tour around the city with a very enthusiastic, booming tour guide named Ernest
• Learning that Philadelphia's City Hall boasts the highest statue atop a building
• Eating an authentic Philly Cheesesteak (okay, technically it was a chicken cheesesteak)
• Realizing that Benjamin Franklin will always be the original American Idol in Philadelphia; Sorry, M. Night Shyamalan and Danny DeVito
• Seeing the boat in which Vito Corleone traveled to America in The Godfather Part II

The cheesesteak master shreds my chicken-onion-cheese mix

I was able to rule out Philadelphia as a prospective candidate— chalk it up to gut instinct and some unfavorable similarities to a certain metropolis in South America...

Still the trip was a success: I'm one stop closer to finding my ideal spot, and I had a wonderful time visiting with family I hadn't seen in years.

Next up: Surviving the New Jersey Turnpike: A Southerner's Guide to driving in the Big Apple

RRT Part 1: Washington, D.C., also known as 'Little Argentina'

It's Sunday night, and I'm already five days into my Resume Road Trip (let's just call it RRT so it sounds more important and I can type less).  I've already completed the Washington, D.C., part of my tour as I type away here in my relatives' home just an hour outside of Philadelphia.  Tomorrow it's back to the job-hunting grind but for now let's catch up on the Capital.

It's a long escalator ride out of Dupont Circle

My admirable yet naive plan to set out at 0600 hours Wednesday morning to avoid traffic from Research Triangle Park and arrive just around lunchtime in D.C., was short-lived: my official departure was 9:46— whoops.  The five-hour drive north was pretty uneventful until I found myself on the wrong side of the Interstate 95 split— whoops again.  Somewhat arrogantly I assumed that six months commuting into the District made me knowledgeable enough to navigate find my way to Anne Arundel County.  You know they say about people who assume?  They end up in Southeast D.C.— giant whoops.  I think it's safe to say that I have a sketchball magnet lodged in my cranium.

 The first day of job hunting (Thursday) was idle and painful and delicious.  After being unceremoniously rejected by the Argentine Embassy (can someone explain why Argentines work at the U.S. Embassy in Argentina but Americans cannot work at the Argentine Embassy in the U.S.?), I caught the GUTS bus over to Georgetown University to meet a friend for lunch.  After some tasty Thai food, what do we come across?  Why no other than Argentine-style "gelato."  DolceZZa is a bit pricey, but the selection of about eight water-based flavors, which were the smoothest sorbets I've ever tasted were well worth it.  With flavors like "Avocado Honey Orange" (delicious, btw) and "Georgia Butter Pecan," I think DolceZZa easily blows Argentina's heladerias out of the water.  Ironically enough this location was right next to a street called Volta... tell me that's not bizarre.

Alfajores in America! Find them at DolceZZa

After foodie heaven, I had to come back to earth and face the fact that my lovely Enzo Angiolini ballet flats were hellbent on murdering my feet.  I hobbled back on the GUTS bus to Dupont Circle where I then met another friend for dinner (seeing a pattern?)  We were a bit dubious about an all-vegan restaurant, but Cafe Green served us deliciously rich food at a delightfully low price— hallelujah!  My vegan burger of lentils and beans was scrumptious and my friend was impressed with her veggie chili and humongous cornbread loaf.  Two years ago I had tried Cafe Green's sister store, Java Green, and left unimpressed.  Perhaps it deserves a second chance.

It was a good thing that I had no social engagements on Day 2 or it would have been just as unproductive.  Wearing several pirate band aids and my more comfortable ankle boots, I zoomed around D.C.: Arlington, Tenleytown and the Northwest quadrant.  With precious little time to dine, I ended up passing by the very spot I've been wanting to try.  Julia's Empanadas aren't Argentina-style per se— they're far too big— but my vegetarian one stuffed with collared greens and peppers was the perfect confluence of America del Sur and the American South.  According to the website, the vegetarian crust is made from butternut squash, which would explain the different consistency. 

At night they come alive and battle... or is that Night at the Museum?

The week finished with one of my favorite activities: Scaring my youngest cousin, who I like to call Twinkie Brain.  My cousin, his parents and I went to a haunted trail at a nearby farm.  While my aunt had a giant spider fall on her and Twink was repeatedly chased by Jason, Michael Meyers and a chainsaw-wielding Texan, I jumped and laughed the whole way through.  Too bad I'm still too yellow-bellied to watch Paranormal Activity.

The Resume Road Trip: A plan so half-baked I might get salmonella

Now that I'm back in the U.S., no one really cares that I can both speak English and teach it.  I might have have huffed and puffed about the process of getting a job in Buenos Aires, but at least opportunities existed and prospective employers were hiring.

Not quite the case back in the E.E.U.U.

Top off this predicament with the fact that I'm not sure whether to continue in the field of journalism or pursue another career.  Also, I'm not really sure where I want to live.  San Francisco and Austin, Texas, appeal to me the most of all U.S. cities, but unfortunately they're a good deal away from the family and friends I've just come home to.

So, in an attempt to A. figure out where I want to live B. figure out what I (sorta) want to do; and C. determine if those two can coexist, I've set out on a "Resume Road Trip." The tentative plan has me passing through D.C., Philadelphia and New York with possible stops in Baltimore and Boston depending on how exhausted I am.  It's kind of like doing a road test for the Find Your Spot quiz.

Although I have an idea of companies and places to check out, this trip is largely intuitive, not logical.  Armed with the latest copy of What Color Is Your Parachute?, a new cell phone and a suitcase full of interview clothes, let's see if this half-baked scheme can prove fruitful.

Córdoba: It's like going back to camp... with beer

Although this wonderful trip was precisely two months ago, I think it's still worth retelling the "Tale of TEFL Goes to Germantown."

Thanks to the 9 de julio holiday, we had a three-day weekend— plenty of time to travel to Córdoba, which is just a short 10-hour bus ride away.  Often referred to as the "culture capital," Argentina's second largest city is home to several universities, fancy Jesuit architecture and some impressive museums, or so I hear.  While most of you would expect to find me on a culture tour de force, you must remember that I was traveling with a group and was happy to relinquish my plans to the collective will.

We spent just a single hour touring the actually city of Córdoba and instead sought greener pastures in the surrounding sierras.  And I must say, it couldn't have been a better vacation.

Whether we were motorboating in Villa Carlos Paz...

Riding in boats with boys

Enjoying a family dinner at the hostel...

With wine, of course

Hiking in La Cumbrecita...

Let's hope I don't fall off any mountains

Admiring the Sierras of Córdoba

We found the cemetery from Zelda— or so Wade claimed

Pretending we're in Alemania at Villa General Belgrano...

Finally some quality cerveza

If it weren't for the flags, I would have started saying Guten tag

Did I mention that we were there during the chocolate festival?

Taking a one-hour stroll through the city of Córdoba...

Converted church, lovely

Walking triumphantly off into the sunset— er, sunrise

Café & Mate goes Stateside

Dear devoted blog readers (yes, I mean you, Kiersten, Aunt Roz and sometimes Dad),

I'm back in Los Estados Unidos!  Two weeks ago today I returned to the motherland dressed in my knit dress, leggings, boots and peacoat.  Obviously, I nearly passed out while exiting the airplane in Raleigh-Durham.  It was only about 95 degrees, which from what I hear, is nothing compared to the dog days of July (think triple digits).

Although I'm no longer in the faraway (and far-more-interesting-than-Cary) land of Argentina, I still have a few posts in queue that I feel should be posted at some point.  After that, I'm not quite sure what will become of the blog— at the very least, the "Café and Mate" title will have to go.

In the meantime, let me share some of my more shocking reverse-culture shock sentiments thus far:

1. The weather (duh).  I started telling people in Buenos Aires, that I'm like a migratory bird: the weather gets cold, and I switch hemispheres.
2. Cooking. Microwave?!  Oven with actual temperature-gauge?  I don't need matches to cook?
3. Communication.  You understand me?  And I don't even have to think about what I'm saying (please note: this could lead to problems)
4. Ethnic variety, woo!  Although the porteños consider themselves to be a heterogeneous bunch, that variety only pertains to the European continent.
5. Size variety, uh... After living in a country that has the second highest rate of anorexia in the world, it's a bit of a jolt to return to the land of Supersize Me.
6. Appreciation (looks).  This ties in with #5.  When you're 5'8", not model-thin and have short hair, the sidewalk appreciation in Argentina is usually limited to lewd remarks and catcalls from Quosimodo-like men.
7. Appreciation (employment). Unfortunately this change isn't in my favor.  Suddenly I'm just another kid with a bachelors degree— no one cares that I know what a countable noun is, and no one wants me to teach them English!
8. Transportation.  I have to drive to get everywhere?  No confiteria or chino mercado just across the street?
9. Specialty food.  I've returned to the land of specialty salads, soy substitutions and international cuisine.  Hallelujah!
10. Climate control.  This might be the last item on my list, but it deserves to be #1 in terms of importance.  Air-conditioning is better than sliced bread.

Día del Amigo

No, it's not a fake holiday invented by the greeting card companies (how could it be in a city that doesn't even have greeting cards?)  But ask any Argentine about Día del Amigo, or Friend's Day, and he's sure to tell detail his celebration plans.

Although this holiday doesn't involve a day off from work, locals become more excited over Día del Amigo than say their Independence Day or Flag Day.  Restaurants are notorious for booking up a month in advance and queues of the reservation-less can last for hours.  Many of my students either celebrated at home or postponed their plans for the weekend, leading us expats to proclaim it "Semana del Amigo" or Friend's Week.

The Argentines were surprised to learn that we don't celebrate Friend's Day in the United States, since it is, according to them, an international holiday that started after the first moon landing.  My friends and I were surprised by this too and decided to investigate.  It turns out Día del Amigo does come from the Apollo 11 mission, although it was an Argentine teacher named Enrique Febbraro who first lobbied to make it a holiday.  Febbraro maintained that on July 20, 1969, everyone was friends with the three astronauts, and the world was united.

A chocolate mousse cake makes Friend's Day even sweeter

According to the highly reputable Wikipedia, Día del Amigo is primarily celebrated in Uruguay, Brazil and Argentina.  But given the history, I'm surprised Hallmark hasn't jumped on the bandwagon.

As for me? I celebrated Friend's Day the way I celebrate every holiday: with sweets (and friends too!)

Nine days and eight cows later...

There's something surreal about hosting company when you live overseas.  Think about two television shows that have completely different plot lines until a crossover episode tosses story arcs, characters and setting into a giant salad bowl.  While the episode might be chaotic with no clear direction, it's a guilty pleasure to watch two worlds collide.  In a nutshell, that's what it's like to have family visit you in a foreign country.

As I was getting back into the swing of things with my own Argentine dramedy (or is this a sitcom?), students would ask about my recent sabbatical.  To keep it short and sweet: We ate; we went on day trips; we took a bus tour around the city; we ate; we went shopping at the outdoor ferias; and then we ate some more.  Seriously, we must have eaten a small herd before the trip was over.

Although my uncle called me "comandante" a few times (type-A tour guide), all three of my visitors enjoyed their time in Buenos Aires and our day trips to Uruguay and San Antonio de Areco.  My uncle even said I might have a future in the tourism industry... yeah, no!

Here's a little recap of our adventure:

Day 1: Of course my mom makes a beeline for the Recoleta Cemetery

Day 2: Visiting Jorge Luis Borges and Carlos Gardel in Cafe Tortoni

Day 2: Shouting "GOOOAL" in El Caminto

Day 3: Enjoying a long lunch in Colonia, Uruguay— just mind the bird bombs

Day 4: Posing with the Terminator Flower

Day 6: Forty years later and they can still find their house in Vicente Lopez

Day 7: In the quintessential gaucho town of San Antonio (this ones's for you Aunt Nati)

Day 8: Shopping in Palermo Soho was, of course, mandatory

Remembering a true adventurer

It's been weeks since my last post and I've got oodles of stories and pictures to share.  But before I get down to recapping, I'd like to dedicate a post to my grandfather, Don Duncan, who passed away just last week.

Generally people credit my travel bug and wanderlust to my mom's side of the family since she and her siblings grew up overseas.  And while the Sancho-side has been a great influence on me in this respect, I would be remiss if I didn't talk about my grandaddy and his influence on me.  

Whether he was exploring the Northwest wilderness or carving hiking sticks out of birch branches, my granddad was always up for an adventure.  As a child I remember marveling at the breadth of his knowledge— this being the man who showed me how to make hollyhock ladies, brought me back a handmade barrette from Alaska and taught me early on that taking a "prescription" of chocolate chips is the best cure for the blues.  As I grew older, I admired how despite all this expertise and experience, he still wanted to learn more.  It's a mindset that leads people to explore, take chances (say, move to Argentina?), make mistakes and keep moving forward.

My granddad lived to be 83, and I don't think he ever fell out of that mindset.  That's the mark of a true adventurer: one who never ceases to wonder at the world and all its workings.

Just call me "Guía-N"

I'm very excited to announce that I won't be working or blogging through the end of the month because I am expecting GUESTS!  That's right: I just confirmed that my first (and possibly only) visitors have taken off from Dulles and are currently en route to Buenos Aires.

Essential goods for surviving Buenos Aires

While I have no Jell-o mold or flower leis to offer as greeting gifts, my welcome wagon is quite awesome if I do say so myself.  Each kit includes:

• a Cachafaz treat (hands-down the best brand of alfajores) 
• a packet of tissues (uses of which are described in the guide)
• Buenos Aires maps (including the indispensable Guía-T)
• a detailed guide, "Tips for Surviving BsAs," written by yours truly, which includes general tips and survival, my phone number and some Argentine Spanish.

For those of you who are wondering: the number one tip is to watch where you step, i.e. avoid dog poop and uneven pavement.  Anyone else who decides to visit me will also receive one of these amazing,  complimentary kit— am I selling this hard enough?

Now I'm off to have a great visit with my family.  I'll be back in July with plenty of pictures and stories to share.

'Romantic Argentina'

This 1932 feature on Argentina is wonderful!  While it might make you nostalgic for simpler days (notice the lack of protestors), you'll probably be too busy laughing at its delightful corniness.  There's just something about a 1930s announcer who pronounces the country's name as if it were an individual adolescent (Argen-Teen) that's equal parts charming and outdated.

Thanks to my friend Melissa who's been disseminating this gem among our expat group!

I really would like to know what happened to Venito and his rainbow-colored pigeons.

Comienza el Mundial!

El Mundial, also known as the World Cup, kicked off in South Africa Thursday and already the energy in Buenos Aires is palpable.  Since the game of soccer (fútbol) is not appreciated stateside the way it is in Latin America, Europe and basically the rest of the world, it has been exciting to share in the enthusiasm.  To better describe the atmosphere here, let me say that World Cup fever is a lot like March Madness in North Carolina but on a much grander scale.  While regional tournaments can prove divisive (Die Duke!), the World Cup unites Argentina better than any problem, protest or bicentennial celebration ever could.

Raining on our parade at Plaza San Martin

In the spirit of this camaraderie, free public viewing screens have been set up in Plaza San Martin and Parque Centenario.  Yesterday, two friends and I went to Plaza San Martin to watch Argentina's first game in the tournament.  Unfortunately the weather was less than agreeable (cold and pouring rain) so we only stayed about 20 minutes before relocating to a nearby cafe to see Argentina defeat Nigeria 1-0.

And the party didn't stop there.  Another TEFL friend extended an invitation to watch the games at his friends' apartment in Belgrano.  The wife, Paola, is a lovely porteña who owns four restaurants in town and her husband Chris, is a native Texan.  We arrived in time to catch the U.S. tie with England and to gorge ourselves with the best (and biggest) meal I've had in a long time.  As a Texan living in Argentina, Chris knows how to combine the best of both worlds when it comes to preparing a steak.  The hot pink blush of the beef and the homemade barbecue sauce were enough to make us all swoon.

A house divided? I think not

If this first weekend is any indication, the month-long World Cup games will be a blast to experience in Buenos Aires.  I'll be cheering for my three favorite teams in the following order:

Go U.S.A.!!
Vamos Argentina!!
Andiamo Italia!!

Strolling around San Telmo

San Telmo: home of the tango

Since my first visit to the San Telmo Market one sweltering day back in January, I've been meaning to return when the weather was cooler and my wallet fuller.  Last Sunday (nearly six months later) I finally accomplished that goal.

The market was mostly the same: hordes of tourists, fresh squeezed orange juice, marching bongo drummers and plenty of odd souvenirs and baubles.  This time, however, I found myself shivering rather than sweating within the windy blocks of Calle Defensa.  At one point I almost bought an extremely dorky alpaca poncho simply to stay warm.  Luckily a 7-peso choripan kept me toasty enough.  Besides, there's no better way to spend a Sunday than wandering the eclectic, and often bizarre, market with a chorizo sandwich in one hand and a cup of OJ in the other.

No one was mugged in the making of this art

'Corto' apparently a no-go

BsAs prefers long and lustrous

Many of you know I have a hair problem.  Where some people buy ridiculously expensive shoes and others get a new tattoo, I take out any angsty/bored/time-for-a-change mood on my hair.  It's how I ended up with a pixie cut at 15, purple hair at 20 and a speakeasy bob at 23.  That same scissors-first, questions-later impulse has now made me the sheered llama in a country full of alpacas.

Just ask Natalia Oreiro

In March, I got my hair trimmed at an authentic peluquería one block from my apartment.  The episode wasn't traumatizing like my experience in Italy (picture a scary Italian woman with sideburns using her half-inch acrylic nails to comb in highlights), but it wasn't great either.  The diminutive man declared my hair seco y roto (dry and broken) without doing much to fix it.  Since then, my mane's looked like a nightmare so it was a wonderful stroke of luck to find Terrie, an Irish hair dresser/English teacher/anthropologist/expat.  She fixed my hair right up and now I have a cute new 'do.

Cristina isn't too keen on shorties

In just about any other international city, you'll spy people with crazy clothes and even crazier hair.  But here in Buenos Aires, long locks are the style of choice, barring the celebrated (but still vile) mullet.  I already knew this, but I was surprised today when neither my students nor my Argentine acquaintances made any comment as to the missing inches.  Of course, men might have missed it, but I know the women noticed.

Maybe they found it less than flattering?  Possibly they thought I didn't like it and therefore wouldn't want anyone to call attention to it?  Perhaps they assumed I'd had a crazy breakdown a la Britney Spears and hacked it all off?

Rebel without a weave

Regardless of the reason, I have crossed into the Land of the Lepers in terms of Argentine trendiness. Quiza my roommate (another outcast with hair above her shoulders) and I can start a bob coalition.

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.

April in photos

And so another month comes to an end!  April was particularly lovely in Argentina with cooler temperatures finally taking the place of hot, sticky days.  Here are some pictures from around the city, particularly the Recoleta neighborhood, which is long overdue for a blog post of its own.

An old Fiat on the cobblestone streets of Palermo Hollywood retains its charm despite a recent downpour

Palacio del Congreso, like its American counterpart, houses the federal government's legislative branch.

Unlike the San Telmo Market,  la Feria Artisinal in Recoleta is more tranquil with family picnics and lawn-loungers relaxing nearby

Angels and demons are omnipresent in the massive Recoleta Cemetery

Thanks to parents and care packages, our expat Easter was complete with jelly beans and egg-painting

The famous Cafe Tortoni offers history and ambiance but at the expense of quality food

The sky is aglow on Avenida General Las Heras at dusk