The Hood:

Really living in Buenos Aires

 

So, this is how I got to Buenos Aires: Business class.  And yes, the seats did recline fully and no I didn't have to ask for the extra pillows.  The only real complaint I had: they ran out of the cereal and fruit breakfast trays.  Wait, breakfast doesn't come on a tray in Business; it comes on a white tablecloth and sleek, modern ceramic plates.  They of course made up for the fact that I had to eat the hot breakfast with a liberal amount of champagne.

I don't think I had any real expectations before heading down here; after all, it is my first time in South America.  Of course, everyone assured me that I was going to love it and that, like Paris, Buenos Aires was romantically, tragically beautiful and *very* European.  I am not sure what that was supposed to mean, but I think they were alluding to the scarcity of rice and beans on restuarant menus and kitchen tables everywhere.  My boss even scoffed at Caribbean cuisine the other day when we were discussing the Dominican Republic.  Of course, they (everyone who had previously traveled to Buenos Aires) were right.  I have never been to Paris - except for once in a dream when I ate mangoes on a hill overlooking a medieval Seine - but Buenos Aires is it's very own.  European with a latin twist, maybe.  Some areas are gorgeous.

And then, there is Almagro.  In most tourist maps Almagro doesn't even show up.  Why?  Because Almagro is pointedly, proudly porteño.  There are perhaps two tourist worthy landmarks in the area: Abasto Shopping (which is actually in the neighborhood that borders mine) and Las Violetas (decidedly one of the most beautiful cafes in the city).  During the day Almagro is chalked full of middle class families, students, family run groceries, quaintly tucked away pastry shops, cobblers, laundry mats - full service - cafes selling coffee and medialunas, pizza shops selling fresh raviolis.  Bus routes 146 and 105 screech down Diaz Velez and connect us to the pulsing city center at all hours.  There is even the occasional botellero who clops by in the morning in his horse drawn buggy chocked full of botellas rescued from every curb, gutter and trashcan in a ten block radius.  Doesn't it sound quaint?  

My Aunt (Cookie for those of you who know her) thought so too.  Imagine our surprise when we walked up to 4474 Diaz Velez for the first time.   In fact, as soon as we got back on the SUBTE (subway) we swore a pact not to divulge any particular information regarding the location, the neighborhood or the house outside of pleasing generalities.  

But the truth of the matter is, having just celebrated my one month anniversary here in Bs As, I've decided that Almagro isn't all that bad.  Just give it a chance:

Please don't panic, Mom.

I know, right.  Cookie's exact words: "You're living in the hood."  And yes, Almagro is the hood, but it's my hood now.  Being blue collar and middle class means that the majority of people who live and breath Buenos Aires live here and live like I'm living (maybe with a little less fiscal flexibility) with no complaints.  

 I see them when I go take my morning walk in Parque Centenario; I squeeze in beside them on the overly crowded city bus.  I smile at the verdurero who I buy my vegetables from even on days when I am not buying anything; I watch them coming and going from the porch balcony on a lazy Sunday just like I watch my neighbors back home.

Sure, the accommodations are pretty Spartan by maybe even dorm standards.  This is my bedroom window.  I like to sleep with it open, but you can pretty much hear every word - or every wailing baby or angry wife - from the adjoining buildings that magically crop up in a crosshatching pattern around us.  But on a cool, sunny morning at 7am there is nothing better than the sunlight, faint smell of the empanadería two shops down - maybe that is my imagination - and (again) the familiar screeching of bus 146 pulling up out front.

Okay, and the mattress is pretty terrible.  I mean, it felt good that first night and maybe the second, but it really is a dreadful, spongy thing.  Don't even get me started on the pillow.  It is the most European thing I've found here in Buenos Aires... Like those tile floors?  Cookie did too.

Taking it all in stride, I have to say that I would rather be living here - in what could reputably be called the *real* Bs As - than anywhere else in the city.  Do I suspect everyone is trying to pick pocket me - yes.  Do I walk quickly and with my best Argentine scowl at night - yes.  Am I glad my big red door (that has been painted red three times) has three locks - yes.  Does it all feel like home at the end of a day - you bet.  

Happy to be here.

With my bubble.

-S

Vocabulario de la bitácora:

el botellero - n. a person that collects plastic bottles from the trash to be paid cash for recycling them.

la botella - n. a bottle

unas medialunas - n. small croissant like pastries (made either either butter or straight up lard) that are often eaten in triplets for breakfast with a coffee.

el verdurero - n. a man that sells vegetables; a green grocer.

Desde la Cabina: Workin'

Working hard, trust me.

Today, I went to my first conference.  Not only did I not show my driver's license (not even once), go through a metal detector or give my full name, but I even "posed" as a professional interpreter and, just to make it all the more authentic, a native of Argentina.

"La cabina": The system is pretty simple.  Martin wears a head set that channels the presenter and then speaks into the microphone, which projects his translation to the wireless headsets the members of the audience are wearing. 

The headsets.  My job was to hand them out at the beginning of the conference, noting each headset number with the audience member's last name.  We only had about 45 people attend, but the company has a store of about 200 of these babies.  

As you can imagine, mostly, I just tried to blend in.  Martin - a professional and an Argentine - did all the real work.  YPF, a major refiner and exporter of oil and gas here in Argentina, held a conference on energy issues in Argentina for a group of masters students from Notre Dame University in their beautiful thirty pico story office building in Puerto Madero.  Since it was going to be a short conference, and for a group of about forty Americans to boot, Martin thought it only appropriate I substitute for his real assistant, Augustín.

View from the 27th floor of YPF.  The clouds cleared up by lunch time and revealing a spectacular view.

Once the speaker started the presentation I monitored the audience for a few minutes to make sure there were no problems with the headsets before I got to put on my own and squeeze into the cabin with Martin.  At the office, when I work with the transcripts and recordings, the tape is often done in a single channel: just in Spanish or just in English.  Some recordings have both and we call them "dual channels".  In the booth with Martin I hear what he hears the speaker saying (through one side of the headset) and then I automatically hear his translation because we are sitting side by side.  Martin, however, only hears the speaker.  I can tell you, it is pretty startling to hear the two languages happening... well... simultaneously.

Inside the Mother Ship.

 During the question and answer session I got to stalk around the room handing out the microphone.  Martin and I laughed later because some of the students would only talk to me in Spanish.  I guess I did a pretty good job playing dress up.  The speaker, however, was a bit wiser.

"Where are you from? North America," he asked me in Spanish after the lecture.
"Yes, the United States," I replied.
"Ah, that makes sense.  You speak very well, but your accent... you aren't from Argentina or Uruguay.  How rare," he laughed.

If I had walked into the room with a cup of mate and a thermos under my arm of hot water they might have mistaken me for a uruguaya.  Still, for being a green little Yankee (and yes they call us 'yankis') I did right well for my first day.  No one laughed or pointed and I understood about every third word.  From the SI perspective, that's good.

At the very least it was decided that I was much better looking than Augustín and, therefor, welcome to come back.

Hasta pronto chicos

Vocabulario útil de la bitácora:

• pico: or something... "ish"
• uruguaya: a female resident of Uruguay
• Hasta pronto: 'see you soon'

Visiting the River Delta

A little town called "Tigre":

That's right!  Your Spanish is getting better!  And yes, I did go visit a town called Tiger.  

If you've ever seen an Argentine drive *anywhere*... you'll understand just how this happened. 

Tigre is an easy hour to an hour and half trip by train and SUBTE (subway) outside of Buenos Aires and a favorite spot for Porteños seaking a little rest and relaxation.  While I may not be a real porteña, I can assure you that once I got over the harrowing train ride from Retiro to Mitre - at which time we boarded the very touristy little train (Train de la Costa) that carts two air-conditioned cars from Mitre to Delta - I felt as relaxed, refreshed and renewed as any other porteño.

One look at one of these slick little "lanchas" and you'll want to hop on board.  Sure I was a little worried were were going to be swamped by the wakes of larger boats, but these little things are as smooth and steady-as-she-goes as they get.  They are also kind of chic.

Yes, the river is brown!  That is because the Delta is fed by a number of streams and small rivers that run through nearby rainforests.  Very nutrient rich waters.  As surprising as it may sound, although the it looks grubby the river(s) didn't smell in the least - a welcome change of pace after Buenos Aires.


The Delta has a great weekend arts and crafts fair as well.  Although there was a really great selection of cheeses, oils, dried flowers and lots of woven reed baskets, hammocks and any number of delightful other arts and crafts I didn't make it back with a single one... A shame.

The delta is actually also very highly populated.  There are lanchas that run during the week, much like public buses, to and from the islands.  There are also floating super markets that, if hailed properly, will stop at your dock and stock you up on anything from dulce de leche to panty hose to fuses.  If you like your neighbors you build little wooden walk-ways that connect your private "islands".

I didn't make it here either; this is the very fashionable boating club for wealthier vacationers.  There is also a beautiful casino nearby and lots of yachts who are being dry docked for repairs.  Tigre is a great town and the perfect day trip from busy, dirty, loud Buenos Aires.  No wonder Porteños make the extra effort to enjoy an effortless weekend on the water. 

Useful travel vocabulary: 

• viajar: (v). to travel 
• Estoy viajando a Tigre - I am traveling to the town of Tigre
• Viajamos a Tigre este fin de semana - This weekend we are traveling to Tigre.  
• cúanto sale un viaje: how much does a trip cost?
• estoy perdido(a): I'm lost

Gnocchi Casero

An Argentine Tradition:

Porteño: (n).  a resident of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, Argentina.  

             (adj.) sharing particular aspects of a resident of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires.  

Please meet Susana.  She is also known as "Mamá Susana" and is the dueña de la casa.  

She drinks mate at least three times a day.

Smokes like a stack (but only on the patio).

She wouldn't shy away from elbowing her way through to the front lines of a protest - such as the smattering of demonstrations we've had around the city since the Estación Once tragedy last week.

And she speaks about six words in English.

Basically, she's a very good porteña.  

And te juro... can she make some delicious gnocchi casero.  

For those of you who may not know it, it is traditional in Argentina to make gnocchi (delicious potato dumplings) on the 29th of each month.  You might be asking yourself: isn't gnocchi Italian?  You would be right.  In the 19th century Italian immigrants flocked to Argentina and their descendants continue to uphold many of their traditions.  You can find fresh raviolis about as easily as you can a beef empanada here in Buenos Aires.  Pizza and gelato abound as do a number of verbs like laburar that come directly from Italian.  Street names like "Scalabrini Ortiz" and subway stations like "Carlos Pellegrini" are about as common as the street vendors, pungistas and alfajores.

On Wednesday I came home and found Susana waiting for me.  

"Después de comer, este, voy a mostrarte como preparar los gnocchis, dale," she said.  

After your snack I'm going to show you how to make gnocchi, okay?

[Sarah: eyes as big as saucers.  Heart flutters and thinks: She must like me. ] 

"Dale."

I watched as she dutifully instructed me in how to make the gnocchi (with very little measuring and or specifics, mind you), explaining how insipid the pre-made gnocchi in the súper (supermercado) really is.  Best of all - although she isn't technically responsible for any of my meals except for breakfast - she made sure there was a plate, resplendent with tomato sauce and cheese, waiting for me when it was time to eat.  Did I mention there were seconds?  It was one of the best meals I think I've had so far in Buenos Aires.  

Gnocchi Casero

A recipe from Susana Saliva 

1 medium potato (per person)

1-2 eggs (for 3 potatoes, 1 egg is sufficient)

1 1/2 cups of flour (more or less)

salt (generous)

Tomato sauce (your favorite variety) 

Queso fresco (or your favorite Italian blend)

Preparation:

1.  Peel the potatoes and boil them in salted water until they are fork tender.  Drain and allow to cool for 2-3 minutes.

2.  Mash the potatoes (Susana uses a ricer or something similar that I can't even begin to pronounce the name of).  Add the egg, lightly whisked, until both ingredients are combined.

3.  Season with salt.  Remember, potatoes need a significant amount of salt and this is one of the only times you really get a chance to season the gnocchi dough.

4.  Add the four - Susana started with what looked about like a cup.  Mix it together gently with your hands until it is mostly incorporated, then knead it on a floured counter top until the dough is smooth and elastic.  You will probably need to add a little more flour as you go.  You don't want the dough to be tacky to the touch.

5.  When the dough is just right (see photo) pull off pieces and roll them into little gnocchi whips.  Dice the dough (about every 1/2 - 3/4 of an inch) and then, using the tongs of a fork or a special gnocchi tool, roll the gnocchi.  The grooves help hold in the steamy sauce.

6.  Cook the gnocchi in salted, boiling water.  When they are done they will pop up to the surface and beg to be eaten.

7.  Drain and serve with sauce and cheese.  Oh, and make sure to hide a little cash under one of the plates for good luck.  Susana found ten pesos under hers :-) 

Buen Aprovecho!

Useful vocabulary from this post / El vocabulario útil de la bitácora: 

• dueño(a): n. owner 
• mate: n.  a popular beverage, similar to tea, in Argentina, Uruguay and Brasil (among others)
• "este": an expression used liberally in Argentina, much like the "uh" or "um" of North America
• "dale": an expression similar to "okay"
• supermercado: n.  the grocery store