Here are some items for consumption in my apartment currently.

1.

I never really have cravings for potato chips, but apparently Max does (This does not extend to sweet potato chips, however. Mmm). These are actually more like rice chips, maybe? You know the sort of light, puffed air, white and orange tinged things that they put in a basket before your appetizer at Thai restaurants? They don’t really taste like anything, except for a hint of fish, and yet they are really addictive? These chips had that texture, if not the flavor. The flavor was sort of a slightly spicy sour cream and onion. My guess would be that even the specialty Lay’s flavors have to use whatever crazy chemicals are already in stock. Kind of like this bizarre experiment, but without the taste bud confusion. Anyway, they weren’t bad, and for less than 3 pesos a bag, I might bump that up to “above average.”

2.

You read that right. Tomato marmelade. Max, who has, in my opinion, an unnatural loathing of tomatoes, thinks this is really excellent. So thus everyone must love it, clearly. It’s sweet, but not too sweet, and tomatoes have the right sort of texture for jams, it seems, as they don’t get too mushy. I suppose you want to know who Don Lorenzo is. I would as well, but am not feeling like researching at the moment. We found it at the Feria de Mataderos, where they had many other marmelades on crackers, and we could have as many as we wanted. And one jar is 5 pesos, two for 9, and three for 13! I really might have to smuggle back several jars, including their dulce de leche, which I have been eating by the large spoonful. Speaking of which…

3.

Bailey’s pales in comparison. This is insanely sweet, creamy, and tasting of caramel, where Irish cream doesn’t really have a distinct flavor. And this bottle, as the label states, is spiked with anise seed, making it slightly spicy and oh, so yummy. You can drink it out of the bottle, but adding a shot of milk turns it into liquid candy. A couple we know jokingly suggested that they give it to their children to help them sleep. I still want to mix it with coffee to make a caramel macchiato type of thing. And there are so many other liquors to try! We got this one at the smaller fair in San Isidro for 12 pesos, and we have to go back soon to get more. Not just the other dulce de leche varieties (with coconut!), but strawberry, peach, limoncello…getting drunk never tasted so good.

4.

Okay, so this isn’t a food, per se, but we have been drinking it with boiling water, so that at least gives it the beverage qualification, right? Anyway, I find the concept really amusing. I mean, imagine the meeting where the executives are discussing this. Aspirin is great and all, but just imagine mixing in some caffeine or vitamin C! Consumers love hybrid products! Just look at peanut butter and jelly in the same jar, ketchup and mustard in the same bottle, the entire corn dog/pigs in a blanket concept! And hey, the idea has endless possibilities. Aspirin and diet pills, aspirin and birth control, aspirin and bubble gum! Apparently the company is just a Bayer subsidiary, but it seems uniquely Argentinian to me. With all the beef, dairy, pork, etc. consumption (usually all at the same time; let’s hear it for the milanesa completa!), a constant intake of aspirin is probably necessary to prevent a massive coronary.

So I haven’t posted anything for awhile, and I don’t want you to think that it is due to laziness. Well, due solely to laziness. Many reasons contributed to my lack of BA updates, such as:

1. I am annoyingly meticulous about what I write, in that I second-guess every word or phrase before writing it. I am doing it right now (I decided against writing, “every word, phrase, sentence, paragraph, etc.” in the last sentence because it seemed redundant and hardly lovable), even as I try to throw caution to the wind and just type what I mean as quickly as possible, before I can go back and erase it. This has been a flaw for me ever since I can remember; I never revise my work, having spent ages on it to begin with. In fact, this flaw combined with procrastination and disgust about the subject matter* resulted in a perfect storm of academic suckitude more than once in college. So from now on, my posts may not be quite as coherent or organized, but at least I will get my thoughts up before I forget the nuances of my experiences here (Grr. That sounded overly pretentious, but I am leaving it alone, damnit!).

*A primary focus of my Comparative Literature major was reading works in their original language. So when one of the books assigned for “Literature and Film of the Cuban Revolution” was a translation from the English version, I thought it pretty ridiculous. The author didn’t even write the Spanish translation, and it seems contradictory to a major theme of the book to read a version in Castellano. So that paper didn’t go so well. Ahem.

2. Our internet in the apartment ranges from barely adequate to completely non-functional for hours at a time. Granted, I could write a post in Word or Pages and then paste the entire thing, but that would be sans the links, photos, clever pop-culture references (heh, I take that one back) that make blogs fun! We have been to various Wi-Fi cafes, but my laptop battery is pretty pathetic (no doubt my fault, as I never bothered to calibrate it). Plus, Max and I take advantage of decent bandwidth to make calls or play games. And the cafes have their own inconveniences, like having to get a new access code every 45 minutes (avoid The Coffee Store for internet, but not for coffee. You have to pay a little extra from a chain to receive something not burnt or weak in Argentina) or waitresses flat-out refusing to help (Via-Via on Chile between Defensa and Balcarce has the bitchiest woman I have ever encountered. I may have to write a post just about her) or networks disappearing periodically. And taking the subway to get to a cafe is a pain in my messenger bag shoulder and taking a cab kicks my bank account in its stomach ulcer that is leaking funds at a horrifying rate and…excuses, excuses. And here’s another one!

3. It is extremely cold in our apartment on normal days, and it has been unbearable lately. Of course, I do feel pretty luck to have been around for this weather anomaly, and the pictures on Max’s site are really lovely. But it is so cold in our living room right now! The radiator works whenever it feels like it, and it is in the upstairs bedroom. Heat doesn’t go down, or so pop science has told me. Our guests may need to bring sub-zero sleeping bags just to survive. And I can’t bring my laptop upstairs for more than hour due to the battery reason mentioned before. I am pretty sure that Max would be upset if I moved the transformer (We may go to see Transformers! aka “Loud Cars Smash Bang Twist Shia” just to get into a warm room for a few hours. Ratatouille, however, was really cute.) to the bedroom and Apple toys are twice as expensive here, so I won’t be buying adapters anytime soon. Hopefully, the Antarctic air will blow away soon, and I will be able to walk around and do something worth blogging about.

During our side trip to Uruguay, fire was on my mind. You could smell it everywhere, which, for me at least, was a comforting scent, wood and embers and smoke brings up pleasant memories: campfires, fireplaces, barbecues, candles. Now, obviously fire doesn’t always have such nice connotations, and I do realize that in this case, the fires were usually started by people huddling around trash cans. Nevertheless, the idea of flames was somehow comforting during what was a truly whirlwind trip.

Of course, I am getting ahead of myself, as we spent our first day in Tigre, a hour by train away from Buenos Aires (the ticket was less than a peso!) Tigre is probably way more fun in the summer, as you can kayak out into the Delta and see islands and wildlife and all that. Yet even with freezing temperatures at night, we still saw people out on the river, members of the various rowing clubs in the town.

And while they braved the cold, we walked around in a storm, becoming hilariously wet. Cars splashing water off the roads flooded from the Rio de la Plata all over us was really funny somehow, as well as the fact that all of the locals appeared to be in Tigre’s central landmark (McDonald’s) or the TRILLENIUM CASINO. And so we were pirates of the Sudestada, the southeastern wind from Patagonia, here to seek our fortune!

Unfortunately, after three floors of slot machines and 10 pesos in change, we admitted defeat, truly overwhelmed by the blinking, flashing, ringing, smoking, grumbling insanity of it all. It was flashier than I could ever describe, having never been in a real casino before, so I will let the photo speak for me.

I had also never been in a hostel before. Posadas de 1860 was truly the nicest one of our trip. It had just opened in March, was completely devoid of other guests, but everyone that worked there was really attentive and sweet. It was $12 for the night, and sadly cold, like everywhere else, but that may have been because of the lovely balcony in the room. I grabbed blankets from the other beds, and dreamt of the fireplace, always in the other room.

P.S. Since my blogroll is still having a nervous breakdown, and I can’t figure out how to get the pretty flickr link on the side, here is my flickr page, which has pictures from all over, not just Argentina. Have fun!

Really, any superpower would have helped me on Saturday. After all, isn’t it a common trope to have the hero save some hapless victim from a robbery?

Max and I were walking to museums on Avenida del Libertador, and accidentally skewed right onto a different street that passes by the law school. We noticed that we were on the wrong street, but we saw the giant flower in the distance and wanted to take a picture. Suddenly, we felt something wet. And sticky. And smelly. And green. It was my worst idle nightmare from living in the city for years. A pigeon letting loose onto clean clothing and hair. I always wondered if my office would accept that as a fair excuse for showing up late for work. I mean, it must happen to people every so often. Right?

A pair of women came up to us and offered water and tissues to help clean up. In fact, they physically cleaned us, vigorously wiping and soaking and well, distracting, as you clever readers have no doubt guessed already. Max was terribly sweet and was just thinking of getting me clean. I too, knew that he really wanted to see the museums and taking a cab back would be a waste of time. This went unspoken, and we focused on cleaning. The women kept making comments about the importance of cleaning right away and using proper techniques, and since they were older, I took this as motherly advice. Bear in mind that they kept us turned towards the street the entire time, moved our heads to look for hair stains, and tried to take off my purse once. Max took off his jacket and sweater, and, sadly, his camera bag. They walked off with his beautiful, expensive, SLR wonder of a camera, and his credit card, and we realized the loss a second too late

(Please offer support to Max on his site. He is really upset, and will be asking for donations soon. Even a few centavos would be a generous gesture to make him feel better.)

We tried going into the law building to ask about cameras, and even went so far as to fill out a police report, but it will likely be in vain. The tourist police officer was super-nice, in comparison to the utterly patronizing regular police officers who kept patting me on the shoulder and telling me to calm down. I sort of wanted to punch them. I feel incredibly stupid, especially because I had read about this same trick on a government fact sheet before leaving the country. So here is another warning to add to the pile. It makes me think that the U.S. idea of personal space is a better idea. I mean, in what situation is it okay for perfect strangers to touch you all over? (Insert dirty joke here, kids) We are adults; we could have cleaned ourselves. Instead, they cleaned us out. Ouch. I might have to retract that last little play on words.

And finally, a different sort of warning entirely, and one really unrelated to Argentina. Stay away from this:

Seriously, it is the worst toothpaste conceivable. It falls off the toothbrush. It doesn’t foam up well, if that makes any sense, and remains chunky. However, what made it utterly wretched was the flavor. Apparently, peppermint to the max! means to the point of pain. Not dentist-cleaning pain. This is somehow worse, a searing and frozen experience. It lasted forever because I didn’t want to waste money on more toothpaste, but since I couldn’t brush for more than thirty seconds at a time, my teeth probably suffered doubly. I haven’t used enough Jason products to condemn the whole company, but the painful memories are going to prove difficult to forget. Anyway, the lesson here is personal space and toothpaste without punctuation. Clearly.

from La Boca is my current advice. Granted, I have only been in the neighborhood once, but my opinion is pretty set: La Boca sucks, and not in any sort of pleasing way.

We decided to bike there one afternoon (a while ago, actually, because of sickness, so if this memory seems a bit exaggerated, that’s why) to sightsee. The ride itself is only a half hour from San Telmo, if that. No hills really, but traveling in the quieter, residential areas of La Boca was mildly unnerving. The streets were basically deserted, except for the occasional stray animal. Everywhere else I had been in Buenos Aires had plenty of people about, or at least plenty of cars. And, of course, the guidebooks all have fairly threatening warnings about traveling on the side streets of La Boca, especially with cameras, money, etc. So I was worried, especially since Max didn’t know the route by heart and we had to look at the map. This isn’t really a reason to dislike the neighborhood, but it did color my mood.

Once we arrived at the main streets, all the buildings were brightly colored and people were selling their wares. In fact, one man offered us tango lessons. Again and again, and angrier each time. Seriously, we made an effort to not bike by his corner again because he would not stop soliciting. Meanwhile, the only police officer I saw glared at us. I swear! This may have been due to the sheer number of tourists around that day. Maybe it was because they weren’t walking amongst the locals, but I noticed more foreigners than ever before. And I couldn’t figure out why. What was the main thing that people came to see? There was a small museum that we admittedly didn’t go into, and a soccer stadium? I think? People do like sports.

When we stopped to eat, we met some tourists that I honestly wanted to slap. We decided on a random outdoor cafe so we could keep an eye on our bikes. A woman walked by, holding the hand of a toddler. She was selling magazines for 2 pesos, as part of a program for the homeless. Here’s the info, if you speak Spanish. The sellers get to keep 1.30 from each magazine they sell. Granted, I didn’t know this until I bought one, but it was 2 pesos. $.66. Why not? Meanwhile, there were two middle-aged couples sitting at the table next to ours. When the woman tried to sell a magazine, they said that they didn’t speak Spanish. She suggested other languages, and they laughed, and said, “Japanese.” And then they continued laughing as she walked away. They were obviously from the U.S. They started talking to Max when they noticed his Columbia jacket, and apparently they were visiting Argentina to hunt geese and ducks. I am not trying to draw a connection between laughing at the homeless and shooting birds, because perfectly kind and generous people go hunting. I know them. Unfortunately, this is how this story happened.

Finally, the food was just awful. Wretched coffee, a salad, some bread, and one empanada all for 30 pesos. I know that it’s only $10, but that is some serious price-gouging for what I had come to expect from Buenos Aires. You could get 20 empanadas for that amount. Two large pizzas. One really nice bottle of wine. I could go on, but you get the point. And here’s the thing about salads. They list everything that will be in the salad on the menu. So ensalada de rucula is just that: a whole bunch of arugula (They bring oil and vinegar if you ask, though). I had forgotten that fact, and so check out my bitchin’ carrot and egg salad (all for the low, low price of 15 pesos)!

Great colors in La Boca, wouldn’t you say? Bah. Some of the local artists did have some interesting things, so I may come back just for that. And the artist who sang Queen’s Bicycle Race as we went by does have a special place in my heart. If you have limited time in Buenos Aires and, um, a cape? wings? hollow bones?, fly over La Boca to see the pretty buildings. Otherwise, La Boca might just swallow you whole. That’s what she said.

Based on my initial research (read:Wikipedia), I was not yet able to discern whether those with the ability listed in the title of this post were immune to such provincial ailments as allergies. It is probably tempting fate to believe that anyone could escape a condition so frighteningly large in scope; therefore, hubris is totally kicking my ass right now (Even going so far as to erase parts of my original post, which I think is taking it a bit far, as I never claimed I knew a thing about html codes or whatnot.)

It is 6 am here, and I haven’t really slept all night. I could list my symptoms for you, but that doesn’t really sound like compelling reading. Suffice it to say that when I put them into WedMD, 20 conditions came up, including whooping cough and foreign object in the nose. That’s right. In case you weren’t aware. Anyway, that function of the site is pretty hilarious if you want to kill some time. After all, if you are, oh say, bleeding from the eye, staring at the nearest computer screen should be your first move.

Back to my problem, as compelling as it is. Seriously though, and this is probably induced by watching the House season finale tonight, I am baffled as to which allergens are attacking me. See, I was sneezing fairly often for about a week or two before I came to Buenos Aires. And it didn’t start really bothering me until last night. I tried changing my nose stud last week, to no avail. I wouldn’t think that the allergens are environmental, as these are environments in two different continents! What hates me enough to make my whole face and throat ache just when we were going to go out drinking? (And to your right, you will see Kira Snyder, frequently known for being typecast as the long-suffering victim. Do play your tiny violins for her).

Wow. I need to make more sense. Oh! There are plenty of 24 hour pharmacies in this city, or at least the chain Farmacity (too cute!) has plenty of them. Of course, I haven’t gone yet, but I may have to force Max as soon as dawn breaks. And I am really hoping he can find some soup. I have noticed a lack of soup on menus in restaurants so far, and I loves me some soup. Speaking of food, we went to the market yesterday morning (when I was feeling perfectly fine!) and bought a loaf of bread, three rolls, and two little croissants (medialunas! again, way too cute for words) for 5 pesos, a bunch of bananas and 6 really little plums for 6 pesos, and erm, some other things that I would have to wake up Max for the cost. It is a really cool market, with separate stands for fruit, bread, meat, cheese, etc. And then we put our items in the baskets on the front of our bright orange bikes and took them back to the apartment. It was ever so charming. Before “allergies” made it so I can’t go one minute before needing another tissue. Sigh.

seems like it should be more exhausting than it is often portrayed.  After all, I always find traveling really tiring, and yet using your brain should be easy?  At any rate, I am totally grooving on taxis here.  Usually, cabs make me incredibly nauseous, no matter how far I might be traveling or what time of day it is.  But for some reason, each taxi here is smooth sailing.  And the cars  have manual transmissions.  With wine in my stomach on the widest avenue in the world, I should be sick, sick, sick.  Maybe it’s the way that traffic flows, or the conversations with the cab drivers, or the low, low prices (we haven’t spent more than 15 pesos on a ride, $5, huzzah!), but I feel very healthy in the cabs of Buenos Aires.

Oh, and one conversation was about corrupt politicians that led into the need of accepting our old buddy Christ as one’s savior or somesuch.  Since the driver was old, speaking a language that I have not entirely mastered, and you know, capable of crashing the car, I decided not to push the religious buttons for once.

The subway is pretty great thus far.  It isn’t open past 11 at night, and there are only five lines, but we haven’t had any major troubles.  70 centavos a ride is excellent.  Of course, the first time I went into a station, it was rush hour.  And rush doesn’t really describe it when there are so many people on a platform that to rush forward too quickly would shove someone onto the tracks, domino-style.  I am barely exaggerating.  People just kept coming down, and Max and I got onto the third train came.  People pushed themselves out of the train and into the fray.  Max squeezed in, but I couldn’t get through, being small and all.  I shouted that I needed to stay with my boyfriend, but no one listened.  Thankfully, Max was able to yank me through.  It hasn’t been nearly so crowded since, so I suppose the lesson is every man for himself, in any country.

The bus system is crazy complicated.  Or I haven’t bothered to look at the maps really closely.  Decide for yourself.

Oh, and I want to save my bike judgements until we try another company that has bright orange bikes and baskets!  And 5 pesos an hour!  Love!

And walking makes me ever so happy, even while stopping every few steps for another picture (Check Max’s page for photos  until I can upload some).  Seriously, I think I would prefer the feeling of sore calves to a sore brain.  You know, if um, your brain hurts after teleporting.  In, you know, the world where people can teleport.  Right?

would have been nice. I am not sure why I always manage to overpack my bags, but I already have plans in motion for smuggling extra pounds of Argentine glory with a mule. Details to follow. So I barely managed to lug my bags through the airport to the bank, which apparently has better exchange rates that the currency exchange kiosks throughout the airport.

Quiosco. My name would be Quira under that translation.

I exchanged money. They wanted to see my passport to do so, and if it hadn’t been 6 am, I would have asked why. Actually, this whole post will end up being pretty useless for future travelers, as I didn’t explore the airport at all. It seemed perfectly clean and there were flat-screen monitors challenging the customs line to create anagrams. tablet=battle.

Oh! Here is some advice. When waiting for customs, a three-note chime would ring when the next person could go up to the booth. Max, the music major, tells me that it was a triad. If the line is long and you haven’t slept, this sound will bore into your very soul. So, um, wear headphones. A number will display showing the next booth available anyway.

The bags were heavy (have you heard?), so when a man asked if I needed a taxi, I said yes. Mind you, this was approximately 3 seconds after a security guard had handed me a flier, in spanish and english, instructing me to not accept verbal offers for transportation, and to walk up to the large booth in the center of the airport. You can’t miss it. I didn’t really miss it, so much as want to hand my person off to anyone that would take me to the nearest flat surface to collapse. So the fact that I ended up paying $15 USD and 250 pesos for the ride into the city was entirely my fault, as the airport was really trying to protect idiot tourists from the world. Oh, and the $15 was because the 100 peso bill was ripped, and so he said he couldn’t deposit it in the bank. This had to have been bullshit, but again, tired.

That reminds me…the name of this blog was determined at 2 am the day before my flight. doyouhavetheargentime.com, myfunnyargentime.com, superfunargentime.com, and various other miserable puns were on the table. So comment away, but have some mercy. This blog will not be clever. It may be helpful to travelers. We’ll see.