Does Santa Fly This Far South?

I have not lived in FL for many years, but I can always remember the intense summer heat- and it was pretty much summer all year long. People flock to the beach in an effort to brown their skin and cool off in the water. But you cannot escape the heat- as you lie on the hot sand, sweat oozing from every pour in you body, wishing of nothing more than ice cold water to melt the feelings away- if even just for a moment. So you go into the ocean- hoping to cool down a bit- but all you have is a warm and unrefreshing, hot bath that coats you in salt and sucks all of the moisture out of your skin. It is why I moved from FL. I never enjoyed the heat.

It is finally summer in Argentina- and Xmas is just around the corner. However, it's just not the same without snowmen, snow, skiing, and friends and family huddled around a fire place. Take away a place that feels like home, the people you love, Christmas trees and Christmas decorations, Christmas shopping, Christmas dinner, etc..... It really does not feel like Christmas at all. It is sweltering hot here too and abnormally humid- as though you could swim through the air. We made this even better by driving 1200 km in Jorjito. Jorjito does'nt have AC- and even better, you cannot turn off the heat. So- 90+ degrees with the heat blasting for a solid 14 hour drive..... well, you get the picture. Needless to say, Jorjito will not be used for a road trip again.

We miss our friends and family tremendously and are both ready to hop on an airplane. But still- there is a strange captivating charm about all of Argentina- even in the moments when life is hard and you're homesick- there is something that draws you in, making the thought of leaving just as sad and terrifying as the thought of staying. So, we will stay for a bit more- undecided of what is next to come- perhaps moving Xmas to July, when it feels like a proper time to be festive here. We love you all.... Have a very merry Christmas.

Move Over Peter Pan.....

One of my favorite things about traveling is meeting other travelers and hearing about their adventures.

We met a woman yesterday. She was sitting alone in a cafe that Greg, Jeff, and I were in. She was eating a dessert that was shaped like a penguin- and we were wondering what it was filled with. As she bit off the head of the penguin, we all leaned over to try to get a glimpse of the mysterious dessert- thinking it might be filled with dulce de leche.... Her face looked pained as she took the bite, and she noticed the three of us staring at her. We had too many beers to remember the social rule of not staring- and we could not turn away as we wanted to know what the penguin was filled with.

Unable to see, we finally asked her- in Spanish- what was inside of the penguin. She looked confused- because she was British and only spoke English..... always funny in a foreign country- deciding which language to use. She was a bit upset at biting the head off the penguin shaped dessert- explaining the look on her face prior.

So we invited her to join us- and she happily did. We spoke for almost two hours about her travels and learned more about her story. She is about to turn 60. She had a brain tumor about five years ago, and she recovered. Ever since, she leaves her husband at home, packs up her back pack, and spends October- December traveling. She was about to embark on an adventure to Antarctica, which is why she was down in Ushuaia. She abandoned the thought of saving money a few years ago- now anxious to spend it, as she realized that we never know when our last day will arrive. She said she worked so many long days for so many years- and she was only now really beginning to live her life. Her husband was not up for traveling out of a back pack and staying in hostels- so she said it is better to leave him. Her kids- my and Greg's age- think she has gone off the deep end.

I loved this woman for so many reasons.... her sense of adventure, her idea of what a woman her age can and cannot do, her new found appreciation for the beauty of life in all forms. But most of all, while Greg and I have had our doubts about our decision to come down here- as all of our friends are getting married, having children, moving up in their careers, etc...- it reaffirmed our decision and our beliefs about "what we want to do when we grow up". There is an amazing world to see, and you just cannot see it in 2 week vacations once a year. So while at times we have visions of settling down, I am not sure either one of us will end up settled in the traditional way. We are searching for alternatives- and things are looking good... we are meeting the right people at the right time to make our vision of life come true. We are holding onto the idea of Never Never Land- where you stay young and can do and get whatever you put your mind to. While many people laugh and tell us we are crazy...... I think we are just taking the road less traveled.
and that will make all the difference......

Road Trip.... Take a Prius!

As we make the trek down to the end of the world..... we find out some interesting facts about Argentina.

Paved roads are a luxury. One that people in the US take for granted.

A gas station does not always have gas.

Every city ,however, has a casino. Perhaps it's to keep you occupied while you wait for the gas station to get gas.

There are often stretches of 300+ km without gas stations.

This makes me worry- because the gas station does not always have gas.

There are more guanacas (they look like llamas) than cars on the roads that have no gas. A tourist office will tell you to pack blankets in case you have problems.... like running out of gas.

We, luckily, did not run out of gas (close, but not quite).......

The 'A' Factor

Greg and I have been "factored" several times every single week. We thought we had bad luck- and then we realized that everyone gets factored. This makes me happy and sad all at the same time.... perhaps there are no travel gods.....

What exactly is getting factored? Well- it is when something goes wrong- even though the chance of something going wrong is incredibly slim. It is when a trip to the grocery store half a block away to pick up milk takes 4 hours. It is when all of your friends that come to visit you have to go to the hospital the day they arrive due to some strange affliction. (Most recently this was Kiley- who came from Iguazu falls to meet up in Bariloche. He was bitten by a mosquito that made his leg and foot swell up and turn blue. Apparently the little mosquito lays worm eggs when it bites you- only to be cured by staying off your feet, taking antibiotics, and not drinking). It's when there are no speed limits on the highways for your road trip... but the roads are too unmaintained to go more than 60.

We recently were responsible for factoring ourselves. Greg and I have overstayed our 90 day visa by several months. The consequence is paying 300 pesos upon exiting the country. Well- we decided to take a trip to Ushuaia- where you cross into Chile briefly before getting back into Argentina. We had our money. We were ready to pay and get on with it as we approached border patrol. It was a Sunday..... and also a holiday. This should not be a huge problem.....

We go through border patrol- and they look at our passports and start laughing. Never a great sign....they tell us we have overstayed our welcome and we need to either pay a fine or fly to Ushuaia (since we would not be leaving the country if we flew). We considered flying- but we had a problem. We had a rental car... and another person who was not on the papers for the car, as you are only allowed to have two people on the papers and Greg and I are driving back from Ushuaia alone. So- we wanted to pay the fine. Well, the fine has to be paid in a town 75 km from the border at a government office. The government office is only open from 8-12 M-F...and it was Sunday.

So we stayed the night in a dingy oil and wool town. Not exactly a site to see....

We wake up at 7, pack up, and go to the immigration office. We wait for 20 min., and we get the paper we need after another five. This was just way too easy. There was just one catch.... the fine needed to be paid at the "Banco de la Nacion". It is around the corner and opens at 9 am. Then we need to bring back a receipt to this office and they will give us a special paper to cross the border. It's 8:40.... we have 20 min until the bank opens.... we might actually get out sooner than later!

We arrive at the bank 2 min. later and my jaw drops to the floor.... there is a line of about 500 people going around the building. Popular place apparently. We have until 12 to get back to the office or we will be stuck for yet another day in the fabulous Rio Gallegos.

An hour and a half later, I have moved forward less than 10 feet. I fear that this will be an all day event..... and inside the bank, the line looks like Disney World. I tell Greg to see if we can find a person we can pay and then get out of here....

And he does! He walked into the bank, told a guy we had a flight to catch and we were going to miss it if we could not pay the fine now, and moments later a very nice Argentine came over ranting about how the country was a "quilombo" (cluster fuck). He took our money- stamped and signed a paper- and sent us on our way....

BTW- this bank is where the entire city has to pay for anything government related. There are two windows to help people- and they each get a ten minute break every hour in order to have coffee and mate. Efficiency at its best :)

"I Can See Clearly Now"

I have realized that I am not a city girl. I tried to be- and I was for almost 6 mo.- but I have now wiped myself clean of the slime left behind by the buses and filth of Buenos Aires. I love Buenos Aires- it is truly an amazing city. However, it is the last place any person should visit on a trip to Argentina.

In the past few weeks, I have seen lakes the size of Texas spitting on the mountains they lie in front of. I have seen glowing glaciers the size of Buenos Aires holding contests with the sky of who could be the brightest blue. I have been temporarily deafened by their thunderous crash as fragments plummet hundreds of feet into the lake below, silencing crowds of people and sending their jaws dropping to the ground. . I have been sprayed by "Right" whales and their young as they curiously try to get a glimpse of the boat of people trying to get a glimpse of them. I have waddled next to penguins and watched the mothers feed their newborn young.

These stories go on.... I am shocked and amazed by what I have seen- and I had no idea Argentina held so many treasures. To come to Argentina and not see the wonders it holds is a tragedy. And... there is still more to come :)

So- while the city of Buenos Aires has a life of its own- a heart beat, veins, and people pumping through it at an incredible pace- I think I have found I much enjoy the life outside of the city. The soot and grime fogs up your eyes- and you think you can see clearly- but alas, after leaving the city for some time- I have found my glasses and have truly realized what an amazing country I am living in.

Little Ceasars would be gormet here!

I did not write this- but found it to be a very accurate description of how I and many other expats feel about pizza in Argentina.......

"For the most part, don’t even bother with pizza in Buenos Aires. It’s about the most disgusting thing ever cooked in a country full of things that are perfectly cooked. Get thee to a meatery and skip this nonsense.

Don’t believe me? Witness big goops of cheese that taste like year-old butter. Add Oregano to cover the sweating fromage, which overpowers any hope for a cohesive taste. Toss on green olives the size of human testicles, just to make the whole thing seem even less palatable than…testicles.

The cheese is the problem here – somehow the Argentines know what to do with the meaty part of the cow but they have no idea what to do with the milky part. It sweats as if masturbating, defending a pie of oozy things that can’t be wiped up with a paper towel (it adheres to the slop and only makes it worse).

If you must eat a pizza in Buenos Aires, I highly recommend that you eat out. Anything delivered will arrive on one side of the box, looking more like a swollen eye than a pizza pie."

Jorgito- (Hor- he-toe)

Our "new" little engine that could..... He wears a lovely shade of silvery/grey. His body has arthritis, but the WD40 helps. There are a few bumps and bruises, but all in all he looks good for his age. His eye sight is good- but a bit dim at night. His pedometer gave out long ago- stuck at 50000 km- and his pulse rate is incredibly low- locked at a firm 10km even when he is fully exerting himself. As you can imagine, his heart is in fantastic shape- as good as a 20 yr old mans! His ears have been severed- or stolen- so he no longer sings (the speakers and radio have been ripped off). He can give off heat, but doesn't know how to stop completely when I have been adequately warmed- and cooling is not an option. His doors open when you roll down the windows and if it rains, he cries- letting all of his tears well up on the passenger side floor. And no need to worry about locking your keys in the car- Jorgito's locks are just for show. But we love Jorgito dearly, as he helps us blend right into the Argentine culture and allows us to see more of the breath taking place we currently call home.

Buying him was a lot like picking my computer up from the airport a few months ago. IT involved quite a few offices, hours of time and waiting, and of course lots of papers with lots of stamps. The car is officially in Greg's name ( I will not drive in this country- and I am not huge on driving stick shift cars- esp. ones that feel a bit fragile). We are not allowed to take him out of Argentina- unless we have an authorized Argentine person driving the car with an authorized paper and official stamp. These people can be hired- and you leave them at the border where they hitchhike back home. Getting this done is not easy... And you will be turned away at the border if you try to cross it as a non-native. Apparently, they are worried that you will sell the car in another country and they will not get the tax money. We are a bit frustrated by this one, as Chile is not too far from us and would be fun to explore (and they sell things like peanut butter there).

However, you cannot be pulled over- no such thing as a moving violation. So, go ahead...pass cars in school zones and ignore lanes, stop lights, and one way streets. The big concern here.... making sure you have paid all of the fees and taxes for your car. They frequently set up check points- where you can be made to stop- where they want nothing more than to make sure you have your papers. Oh... and also to make sure you have not been drinking. I have often passed people blowing into breathalyzers on the side of the road- just to make sure... The penalty for getting caught drinking and driving- well it depends on your police officer. It can usually be settled by handing over all of the money in your wallet. The fine if your police officer is not corrupt or if your wallet did not hold enough cash to satisfy him- merely a slap on the wrist and a fine- perhaps a few points on your record. And they wonder why their accident and vehicular manslaughter rate is the highest in the world.

The Little Engine That Could

I forgot to mention that Greg and I rented a house. It is at KM 21- which needs some explaining. Bariloche is a mountain town of about 150,000 people. The ski season ended about 5 days before we arrived. It is surrounded by mountains and on a huge lake, large enough to have tides (250 miles around I think...) The entire town- grocery stores, shopping, pharmacy, etc... is in town. Restaurants and breweries are the few things located randomly outside of town. There is one bus that will take you to where we live, and it comes once every 30 min. or so- no schedule, of course, as this is Argentina.

So- if you haven't guessed by now, we live 21 km outside of town. When we booked it, we were training for the marathon and running 21+ km on a regular basis. It really didn't seem that far.......

So now we have a car (details of buying it are worthy of their own blog post). A 1990 Renault 12- that runs off natural gas. Natural gas is 1.25 pesos per liter, and regular gasoline is 3.57 per liter. For those of you living in the US and not living like the rest of the world and using the metric system, there are approx. 4 liters to a gallon. We can switch to regular gasoline if needed- but find the natural gas to be the best thing about the car.

The best part is that we can probably sell the car in 4-6 mo. for exactly what we paid for it, if not more. Used cars are ridiculously overpriced here- so if you have an old car that is worth nothing in the states, bring it to Argentina- you will instantly triple the value of the thing. Needless to say, we can now drive and explore the rest of Patagonia- spending about 16 pesos for every 400 km we go.

A few fun facts before I go. The speedometer on the car does not work. While we were worried about speeding tickets- police in Argentina are not allowed to pull you over for anything at all.... there are no such things as moving violations. Government offices in Argentina- those needed to fill out the paperwork for buying a car- are only open from 9-12 M-F. You need to go to 4 different government offices to get random papers in order to buy the car. You need to go back to three of them to get stamped after completing different forms. Shaving cream stops windows from fogging on a car. Stereos are not common in cars- and are commonly stolen out of cars. Water pouring in through the window seal can be fixed with the addition of a few towels in the car. Locks on cars are overrated. Stop signs are arbitrary- just pay attention and honk a lot.

More on this another time :)

Never a Dull Moment

Argentina- it has taught me more patience than I could have ever thought possible. The simplest tasks take all day- and I have yet to have even half a week where everything goes smoothly. However, I have learned so much patience that the ridiculousness of my situations no longer phase me. I started school again at the beginning of October, and of course, day one was filled with chaos- just as the last semester beginning was.

I had just finished my shower when the doorbell rang. Greg answered it- and I went about my business. I quickly learned that a pipe had broken and was causing water to pour into the apartment below us. The apartment below is actually an office- and the water was conveniently pouring directly onto a computer. The computer gods had chosen another target, at least!

However, this was a problem. We immediately had to turn off the water in the entire apartment and call our landlord. Well, our landlord- a 29 yr. old California girl whose parents had bought her this apartment- was in Mexico and then headed to the US for a few weeks after. She also forgot to leave someone in charge.... So Greg and I moved into a hotel for 3 days while we tried to sort things out. We had no water, afterall- so no toilet, shower, sink, etc.... By the time the plumber was called- it was now Friday afternoon and the people below had left. The plumber needed to get into the apartment below in order to see what was going on. He looked at things in our apartment and turned on the water for a while. But no more could be done until he could see below. So now we were stuck until Monday.

Monday comes- we come to apartment and meet the plumber. We are greeted by a note (written in English- really terrible English- but the point was made), stating we are being sued by the people below us for not shutting off the water. Apparently, the carpet had gotten wet and the computer had been moved back to right under the hole with water pouring through it. The plumber had turned the water back on to try to assess the situation- but apparently this was still our fault.

The plumber says he needs to rip up the floor- new floors I might add (the apartment was completely gutted and redone before we moved in). This will take a week- in Argentine time that is. Our landlord- still in another country- asks us to move out that day. Great- we have a marathon in just shy of a week, work, school work, and four hours to find an apartment when it usually takes a few weeks. So we search for a place, pack up , and move into a studio apartment that is about the size of my bedroom in the States. We decide to move out of BA completely and go to Bariloche- about 1200 miles south of BA in Patagonia.

So now, here we are. It is beautiful- breathtaking really. And it all worked out. The only catch- we have had winter now for over a year- and we were eagerly awaiting Summer and warmth- and we woke up to several inches of snow. It has not let up all day- and is not supposed to for as long as the weather website shows. I will wear flipflops and shorts again one day.....

Break It Down

So.... The marathon is over. I could not be happier. When I started the training process, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I figured that since I could run one mile, how hard could doing that 25 more times really be? Needless to say, mile 26 is not as easy as mile 1 :) So I thought I should break it down.... Please excuse the randomness of the order :)

15- most miles I had ever run before starting to train.
1- number of times that I did that
3- usual max I could run
6- # of knee surgeries endured prior- and the reason I am not a runner
10- minutes it took me to run an easy mile in the beginning
8:20- minutes it took me to run a mile easily in the end
5- # of stray dogs that randomly decided to join Greg and i on our training runs
1.2- average # of miles run by each dog that joined us
47- Gatorade's drank by Greg and I during the training
47- Gatorade's drank by Greg and I during and after the race :)
18- "# of weeks until glory"- as put by Hal Higdon... also known as # of weeks of self inflicted training pain
458- miles run in the 18 weeks- not including the marathon
138,336- distance in feet of a marathon
1,660,032- distance in inches of a marathon
2,1418,240- distance in feet I ran during marathon training
29,018,880- distance in inches I ran during marathon training
70.6- hours spent running for training
37- times I wanted to quit
Infinite- times I cursed Greg while running
Infinite x2- number of apologies given after cursing Greg
916,000- steps needed for Greg to run 458 miles (approx.).....
1,374,000- steps needed for my fabulously short legs to cover the same distance
8- blisters on my feet throughout the training
13- miles I now think are easy to run
10- water bottles I dumped on my head during the marathon
3- Gu's needed while running
4- times the Gu made me vomit while running
4- times I was knocked down by other people during training
4371- dog piles I jumped over while training
0- dog piles I stepped in while training
178- times I have circled the track around the park in Buenos Aires
3- toe nails lost while running the marathon :( (due to the wet socks from pouring water on my head)
2- times I cried while training
2- pairs of shoes worn out
18- ice cream cone rewards
90- age I felt the day after the race
67- age Greg felt the day after the race
2- days it took to be able to walk down stairs
3- weeks it takes for your body to completely heal
40- minutes it rained during the race
70- cost in pesos to enter the race
2:13:10- time it took for the winner of the marathon to run the race
4:18:15- time it took me to run the race
2:05:05- time spent relaxing by the winner before I could join him
4:32:08- average time to complete a marathon in the US... for a MAN
5:06:08- average time it take to complete a marathon for a woman
1- percent of people in the world that will ever run a marathon
Priceless- finishing it and having the medal to prove it!

And a quote from Lance Armstrong that I could not agree with more...

When Lance Armstrong ran the NYC Marathon last year, he was quoted as saying, "Even after experiencing one of the hardest days of the Tour nothing has ever left me feeling this bad...[it was] the hardest physical thing I have ever done."

Just another day in paradise

Yesterday, I was on the bus that I normally take home from work. To go 3 miles usually takes about an hour. My Spanish flash cards help this hour pass quickly. There was an unusual amount of traffic- even for BA. When I looked out the window, I also noticed that we were not on the street we usually take home. The same bus line will often have different routes- and the only way to know is to ask the bus driver. I was worried that I hopped on one of these different routes. However, we were only a few streets away from the normal route and headed towards my home- so I just waited it out.

While looking out the window- I noticed a few hundred people sitting in the middle of the street that we usually drive down. It is a major street- and the whole thing was blocked by people- just sitting there- no signs- no tape to close it off- nothing. It was a protest.....

The government here decided to raise the energy prices 400%. This is not a typo.....The best part is that the congress here actually voted down the increase. The President decided to enact it anyway. This is completely illegal- which does not mean much here. So the people were sitting near the Casa Rosada- blocking major streets to protest. There is also some confusion now over what to pay for the gas and electric bills. Many people say to just pay the old amount- and then they will not shut it off. Others warn that they will shut your electricity off if you do not pay the entire amount.

The thing I find most interesting about all of this is the way things are handled. There are usually small protests going on somewhere in the city almost every day. But they are small and do not last very long. Then the people just let things go and attribute it to the way things are. For this reason- it is hard to blame the government for the problems in this country. I would attribute it more to the people for allowing the government to control them. The police would never stop a riot or arrest anyone- unless they were too violent. So it is the people's fault for allowing the government to walk all over them. They expect the government to steal their money, charge ridiculous tariffs on random things, and hold back the economy by making it very difficult to import items. If they truly wanted it changed- they would start a revolution- and they would win......

Sleep On It

Everywhere that credit cards are accepted, their are signs showing very large discounts for using them. The movies offer two for one tickets if you have a certain bank's visa, restaurants offer 30% discounts, clothing stores offer discounts, even grocery stores give you 20%. the card varies from place to place- but i thought it was a bit unusual. Surely in the US you are not given discounts for pulling out the plastic. So I started to try to figure out why.....

So picture this. You have your money in the bank- maybe a significant amount that you have saved up for decades. The national debt is out of control (which of course would never happen in the US) and the government decides to take over all of the banks, take the money-your money- and use it to pay off the national debt. You are given a piece of paper- an IOU essentially- that says the money might one day be paid back- without interest- hopefully within the next ten years. Then ten years go by- and you are told that you will never get all of your money back.... but you can have maybe 60% of it back at some point.

Unfortunately, this is the reality for Argentines who trusted their money to the banks. The government defaulted on 100 billion of the people's money. As a result, no one trusts the banks or wants to put money in them. So the banks- to encourage you to use them- offer large incentives. While some people will use the banks, people with money use it to invest in businesses and real estate. It is a positive if you are trying to open a business and need a loan- you can find angel investors rather easily. The rest of the Argentines hide the money under their mattresses.

But it gets better..... since no one uses the banks, this is primarily a cash transaction country. So you go to an office to pay for your electric bill. You spend a day registering your car- paying several fees at different offices throughout the city. You wait in line for hours on pay day to cash your check from your employer- which luckily only happens once a month..... but on the same day for everyone. The side effects of not having a banking system that you trust go on and on..... And of course is something you take for granted as a US citizen.

The banks also recently wisened up. They realized that most of the people using the ATM machines were foreigners. Up until a month ago- there was no fee to withdraw cash from an atm. They just recently implemented an 11.50 peso fee at all of the ATM's - which are conveniently owned by only two companies.

An Eye For An Eye?

I find it hard to believe that I have been here for almost four months now. I have become well versed in protecting myself from the local scams. I no longer feel badly about having a taxi driver hold up a 50 peso bill he is about to give me in the light to make sure it is real. My personal space boundaries have gone away after hundreds of subte and bus rides that are so packed, you often miss your stop because you cannot move to the door. My shoes have developed radar systems on them- sensing that I am approaching dog poo- and creating the appropriate maneuvers to keep me from stepping in it. It no longer amazes me that there are more people in the lines at the grocery stores than food in the isles. The strange fashions no longer give me the giggles, and I have even considered buying a pair of leggings and neon shoes (not quite there- but closer). Many would even be happy to know that my patience levels have also increased drastically- in most situations anyway.

However, the one thing that I would love to figure out is if we treat foreigners with the same disdain as they are treated with here. I have learned that we do charge citizens of certain countries large fees to enter the US. But do we try to over charge them for things, purposely try to rip them off and take pleasure in doing so, or have separate prices for natives vs. tourists?

Restaurants here try to add things to your bills or charge you for a more expensive bottle of wine than you ordered. When Greg and I were looking for airline tickets- the prices for non citizens are two times what they are for citizens. So- is it a tit-for-tat thing? Do we impose Gringo taxes?

While I do love many aspects of Argentina, it is a bit insulting to always feel as though people are trying to scam you. It is as if they are saying "Go back to your country- we don't want you here- but leave your wallet and send checks to support our economy". I now accept it as part of life here- but I would be a bit dismayed to find out that we also treat other foreigners this way. I would love thoughts and comments on this subject..... and will just assume that we are not that low in the States for now.

Humpty Dumpty

I have never been a runner. I would even go so far to say that I actually immensely dislike it as a form of exercise. I loved sports and dance, etc.. and have always been athletic, but the idea of running several miles never really appealed to me. When I did run, I ran fast. Very fast. But never for long distances. At 5'2 (ok- 5'1 and 3/4), I am probably not meant to be a long distance runner either. For every two steps Greg takes, I take three.

However, I have always wanted to do a marathon. Only once. And the opportunity presented itself- while down here in Buenos Aires. After five knee surgeries- I also figured a sixth one would be tolerable.

While the city has several wonderful attributes, clean air is not one of them. Oxygen is actually pretty hard to come by- that is oxygen free from exhaust, parilla grill smoke, and cigarette smoke. But here I am, towards the end of my training- with about 5 weeks to go until the big day. We only now just found out that we can run in the ecological reserve- a five mile dirt path loop, free from cars and dog poo.

For the past several weeks, Greg and I have spent our mornings and Saturdays running. Today we had a training run of 18 miles. We have one last long training run of 20 miles- somehow a 12 mile run has become an easy day.

It is quite possibly the hardest thing I have ever done. I would equate it to giving birth once a week for a woman- no epidural offered. There is always a small part of you that wants to stop- you want it all to be over so you can have the end result. The part of you grows as the time goes by. And like the US deficit- once it gets going, it grows faster and larger by the minute.

Initially, it is easy to ignore. The mind is a powerful tool for pushing you beyond your limits. When you finish, every muscle- from your toes to you lower back- are cursing you. We usually get in a cab to go home- and I limp up to the shower in my apartment- every body part pulsating in pain. I think I fully understand what it will feel like to be 100.

So before- when someone said that they have run a marathon- I thought....wow that's great. I never fully appreciated the accomplishment it was. If I could run 1 mile, how hard would it be to do that 25 more times? Can it really be that hard? I have realized that their are limits your body has- it is not the invincible machine I once thought it was. And I have realized that mile 15 is not as easy as mile 1- at least not now....

So to those who have run a marathon- I salute you. It is an incredible accomplishment. I let you know if I make it through.

The Celebrity In Me

So- Buenos Aires is home to some amazing food, especially if you are a steak lover. However, when it comes to a good salad or vegetables, they seriously lack a supply. I recently went to a TGI Fridays to get a salad..... terrible, I know- but it is the only place that had what I was looking for.

So then I got to thinking- there must be a vegetarian or two in this country of 30 million people. While there is probably some tax imposed if you do not support the beef industry here- there mush be good vegetarian food to be had. So I went looking- and I found a few places.

Among them was a closed door restaurant. These are invitation only/ reservation only places- ultra exclusive- in the home of a chef. The menu is 4-6 courses and is set. So if you don't like the food- too bad. So I made a reservation at one of them..... 50 pesos- 5 courses- wine included- what a fantastic change to a 2 lb lump of beef on my plate!

It is called Donde Me Tragiste (where did you take me?) We arrived at a small gate to an apartment complex. Through the gate, you could see a long entrance way- lit only by candles. We rang the bell and waited. Moments later, a man came walking down the long entryway to welcome us. We followed him back and arrived at a small room- with four tables in it. Christmas lights danced to tango music. Candles provided the only other source of light. The coziness and scarce but fitting decorations on the wall only added to the experience. Throughout the night, four men with instruments squeezed into the room to play tango music.

Then dessert came- and with it a comedy show- loud, and flamboyant, and apparently funny ( not in English). We left four hours after we arrived- walking back through the very same gate - that on the outside looks like nothing special- but for those in the know- a treasure awaits inside.

Donde Esta?

So Greg and I are looking into options for longer visas than 90 days. While it sounds great to head to another country to renew your visa- it is not always cheap, easy, or quick. So- we found out that you can become a student at UBA and get a year visa. Sounds easy, right? But this is Buenos Aires...... a country designed to teach people patience.

So we go to the university, as directed by the website (it was even in English). We are directed to office #4. There are two other people standing in front of the closed door for office #4. They knock, and after a few minutes, a woman comes to the door. She is probably in her early 50's, but age has not been kind. She, like age, is also not kind. It was as though it were a major interruption to do her job. How dare we interrupt her.... couldn't we tell she was on a cigarette break. So- the people in front of us ask a question in Spanish- get an answer- and walk away. Greg and I go to ask our question, and the door slams in our face. So- we knock. And a few minutes later the same woman comes to the door. She and Greg speak to each other in Spanish- and I can understand that we need to go to another place first. She rattles off an address and begins to close the door. We stop her and ask her to write down the address for us- after all, it was if she was speaking Tazmanian Devil Spanish- too fast for even locals to understand.

So- ten minutes later we leave, address in hand. We decide to go the next day. The next morning, we take the bus to the address. We arrive at this building covered completely in graffiti, all the doors adorned with chains, and not a soul in site. The remnants of a business sign remain- faded- but legible. We were at the right place- but we were three years too late. According to the kiosko man (small convenient store that sells everything from gum to shoelaces to hammers), the ministry of education relocated several years ago. We get the new address and find our way there. I am beginning to feel as though I am on some sort of game show that my family set me up on to teach me patience. This is place is too much to be real sometimes.

So we go to the "new" location. We are directed to an office isolated in a far corner. Another very enthusiastic and helpful woman greets us. In order to register, you must have a certified copy of your high school diploma sent to the school. Upon it being sent to the school, you must take the certified copy to a certified translator who will translate the diploma into Castellano. The certified copy must then be taken to another office who will give it their stamp of approval (hopefully), and then we need to bring it back to the office we started at (at the university), who will then give us a paper to bring back to the person we who was standing in front of us telling us the process. I am thinking the package people also take care of student enrollment processes.

So- we are trying to find other options. So far, the easiest way is to get married. We are trying to find a wife for Greg and a husband for me. We will be sending out invites to the wedding as soon as this is accomplished.

Pinocchio

I have learned a bit about the dark side of Buenos Aires. I spoke with a woman here who teaches Spanish. She began bragging about how much Argentines love to cheat foreigners. Really- bragging. It is kind of like gambling in Vegas- but with much higher odds. There is no guilt attached- no feelings of disgrace for malice intent towards the people that end up supporting many of the businesses here. (There are several types of businesses that exist here for the sole purpose of catering to North Americans and Europeans.... surgery centers, laser hair removal, condo buildings with $300K and up condos for sale (or rent), and most of the restaurants. Locals here rent an apartment for $200 (usd)/ month- If I wanted that same apartment... it would cost me $1500(usd) per month.

FYI...With the average salary of an Argentine being around 1800 pesos a month- a dinner of 100 pesos is not cheap. Even ice cream is around 10 pesos and coffee about 10-12. Would you pay $10 for a cup of coffee? Also- if you buy a house here, you must pay for it in cash. USD's- not pesos- and there are very few mortgages. If you are able to get a mortgage, expect to pay an interest rate of anywhere from 25-35%.

Back to the scams- counterfeit money is a very large problem here. If it is night time and you get in a cab, you should have small bills to pay with. The problem is that the ATM's give you 100 peso bills only and many stores are reluctant to give you small bills when you pay for things. They will often turn your business away if you do not have the small bills. So the cabs take advantage of people who try to pay with a large bill. They are notorious for giving out fake money. While you can easily spot the fakes in the light- there is often not enough time or light to get a good look. Bars and night clubs will also do this- and of course the tourists are targeted.

I met a mother and daughter from Canada who told me of a different experience. They were in a cab and needed to pay- but they only had 100's. They handed the cab driver a 100 peso note- and the cab driver quickly switched it with a 10 and told them they still owed 5 more pesos. They only had hundreds- so they knew what was going on. The cabbie made them go into t store to get change to pay him "the rest of what he was owed". I would have gotten out at this point- but they did what they were told and paid 105 pesos for a 15 peso ride. They will also take the money you give them, switch it for a fake- and then give it back to you saying you gave them fake money and they will not accept it.

I was in a cab last night and received a fake 50 peso bill. I knew exactly what was going on. They just feel different and the face was not in the bill when I held it up to the light- and I am cautious after the stories that I have heard. However, I was not in the mood to fight with a shady cab driver at 3:30 AM. So the guy got away with an extra $12.... I hope Karma reaps its vengeance. The part that really bothers me is the feeling of getting taken advantage of- or that many of these people get a kick out of stealing from you. There is not an option to call the police either- they are more corrupt than the cabbies. The first thing I was told by my Spanish tutor is to never get in the car with a cop. They will take all your money and valuables before letting you go. I am not surprised though, considering that they are vastly under paid and can earn a months salary in a night by giving criminals a free pass or robbing tourists.

I also learned that the bus companies have the biggest scam of all. When you get on a bus- you have to have monetas (coins) to put in the machine for your bus fair. There are no bus passes. You pay every time you board the bus- and you cannot use bills and get change. So monetas are hard to come by here. Everyone wants them for their bus fares- and stores are reluctant to give them up. Even banks seldom give them out. So- I always wondered what happened to the monetas. Why are they so hard to get.... it's not like there are magic monsters that live off monetas and consume the countries supply. No- the bus companies hoard the monetas and sell them to business at a premium. So if you buy 100 pesos worth of monetas- it will cost you 120 pesos. Genius, really, when you think about it... for the bus companies anyway.

So- I have concluded that I pretty much live in the wild wild west. It is definitely a place where anything goes- and if you are caught.... you just need to have enough cash to pay off the police.

Parking In Buenos Aires

And who said bumper cars were only for amusement parks? (Just as an FYI- this is not rare to see- it is extremely common- and there is often a person who stands on the street to help you get in and out of the parking spot- yet another way to create jobs- and you are expected to tip him. )

These are a few of my favorite things!

So- My blog posts are probably reflecting a bit if disdain for this place I am calling home. However, aside from the postal service, pollution, government, dog feces on the sidewalks, and trash/litter everywhere- I really do love it here. So- my top ten David Letterman Style (the drum role would be kicking in right about now)....

10. All rules are meant to be broken. This includes laws that would be felonies in the US- however,those are rules only the wealthy can break.

9. I don't have to drive- and can go anywhere by bus, train, or Subte.

8. Laundry Service- washed, dried, pressed, folded.... for less than $4- esp. handy for the sheets with elastic around the edges that are next to impossible

7. A greeting here is not a handshake- but a kiss on the cheek. Even grown men in business situations.....

6. Time for family and friends takes precedence over life in the fast lane!

5. I can wake up, have a full day of work, come home, work out, practice Spanish for two hours, and go eat dinner at 10:30 or 11, take a nap and then go out to the clubs at 2:30-3- and it is totally normal.

4. STEAK! Amazing- enough said. (Well- I will put the wine in here to... and Ice Cream.... and Alfahores.....and medialunas- but only the really good ones)

3. When people are unhappy with their government- they protest- and try to change it. They have quite a rich history- far more complex than anything the US has experienced,

2. People are friendly and laid back. They are extremely helpful and love foreigners- they are fascinated by other cultures.

1. I can sit in a cafe for five hours- drinking only one cup of coffee or a coke(served in a glass bottle and made with real sugar- not corn syrup- muy bueno!)
and never get a dirty look from my waiter- who will not even expect a tip but is happy when I give him one.

0. The shopping (or window shopping for me :)- fabulous- all different- all boutiques by different designers that constantly make me think of my sister- which also makes me happy.

This is not by any means a comprehensive list. It is just a taste of this place. And I really do love it- enough to have a home here permanently. I am sure the fondness will only grow as I explore the other parts of Argentina! More to come there.....

Planes, Trains, and Time Machines?

Please keep in mind that it is difficult to take pictures of random people without them noticing- and most think you are creepy if you do get caught. However, Greg and I did our best to capture the 80's life here..... We even got kicked out of a mall for taking pictures of merchandise. All in the name of blogging!

When I walk into a store (grocery, clothing, pharmacy, gym, etc)- I can almost always be guaranteed to hear Michael Jackson or Madonna playing- and it is always older music- circa 1980's. On the off chance that I don't- I can be sure that some other 80's music will be playing.


The pants here look like something out of MC Hammer's closet. They come in all types and designs of fabrics- jeans, leather, leopard print, hot pink, etc.... and they are worn with all stars or neon colored shoes- many that resemble some my mother wore back in the early 80's. You know- white, Reebok high tops- classics really if you ask her. She would be pleased to know that they also come in neon green, hot pink, etc.... The supply of weird sneakers is enough to satisfy even my brother's love of ugly shoes.

I have even seen the comeback of leg warmers and tight spandex/stirrup pants..... although I have not seen the classic 80's hyper-color shirts.... yet. The mullets here definitely make up for it though.

Then there are the roller bladders. I run by them at the park- even on the days when I have already run 12- 13 miles and am finishing up. I pass right by them. Not because I am a super fast runner- but because it is as though roller blades were just invented. Everyone is learning how to roller blade- and very few (I am talking maybe three total in the entire country- consisting of millions of people) have actually figured it out.

Also at the park, every weekend and some weekday evenings, there is a guy who holds aerobics classes. He gets up on a makeshift stage and goes through a routine that he only could have learned from Richard Simmons tapes. (Did I mention that Argentina's idea of exercise is walking through the isles of the grocery store? ) - Pure entertainment- I will try to get a video, but not all like to be movie stars- especially in the even a drop of sweat forms somewhere on their body.

Recycling and environmental issues have not yet become of concern here- and people throw trash out the windows and on the street as though the idea of littering did not yet exist.

All of this keeps me wondering if I have gone back in time.... to the 80's. While I loved the 80's/early 90's- I am not sure things from that era should resurface. And if it is the 80's in Buenos Aires, I would like my wrinkles to go away- because I didn't have them in the 80's.

Elect me for President- I can solve the unemployment problem!

I think Buenos Aires might be onto something here. They have a way of creating a plethora of jobs- leaving no man without an option to find work. Let me explain.

Greg and I live a half block from an ice cream place. We walk by it several times a day- and there are always the same two men- chatting away- bored out of their minds because it is almost always empty. It is not empty because they do not get business- rather because the amount of time it takes for one to go inside, choose their ice cream, pay, and leave is relatively short.... and they are not overloaded with customers. When you go to get your ice cream, there is a definite process to keep order in the unchaotic place. You tell one man what size you would like and pay him, and then you tell the other man the flavors you want and he scoops them. In the US, this job could and would be done by one person. It is never busy enough to warrant paying another person, and in the event it did get that busy- people would just have to wait. (Which is not something unusual here- it is not uncommon to see a line out the door and around the building at banks).

This is just one example.... but it is repeated in all stores. You usually go inside and see five people standing around waiting to help you. However, there will never be an opportunity for all five people to be busy.

The garbage man comes every night. Trash bags here are not bought, they are given to you when you buy things. It is why only one or two items are placed in each plastic bag when you check out at the grocery store- you need several bags for your trash. So every night, you take your trash to the curb between 8-9, adorning the streets with small tied up bundles of garbage. Then a group of workers comes along and tears open the bags, looking for glass and plastic bottles, which get put into a special clear bag. In the process, the trash spills like confetti into the streets and sidewalks, where it remains until morning. The sorters put what is left of the small bags into a large, black plastic bag- similar to what you would use to rake leaves into. Then men in a garbage truck come and pick up the black plastic bags- and often leave a "trail of crumbs" behind the overflowing trash storage vehicle. So in the morning, a whole new group goes out and cleans up the mess left over from the other two groups- with a broom, dustpan, plastic gloves, and garbage bag. The streets remain clean for a few hours- and then it starts again. Trash is picked up Mon- Sun- no exceptions- not even holidays.

Streets are torn up unnecessarily and repaired. If there is a street with a small pothole, they take a jackhammer and completely tear it up. They are rather efficient at doing this as well. It would be completely unacceptable for a project of street repair (replacement is probably a better word) here to take more than a few days at the absolute most.

When we run by a house or building being painted- it is always being done by hand and not machine. Restaurants are fully staffed with waiters at the opening time of 7:30- even though people never go out to dinner before 9:30-10, with the busiest hours running from 10:45-12:30. Often as you walk on the side walk, there are ten people replacing 30 tiles by hand (the side walks are all square tiles- not cement)- and a few watching because there is not enough room for all of them to work.

The list goes on and on. Perhaps the only place that they actually need more staff is in the grocery stores, where lines often run down all of the isles- making it a bit of a challenge to get things off the shelve. I often have to reach between someones legs to do it (an advantage of being small?). And there is no such thing as a quick trip to the grocery store because of it.

So, can we learn from this? Is it a good idea to just hire people and create work to keep people busy? Perhaps if we had a vat tax of 21%, forced all of the products sold in the country to be made in the country,charged ridiculous fees for getting your mail, did not maintain public hospitals and schools, did not have NASA or other research projects to contribute to, were not trying to save the planet through conservation and animal protection, had a military of a few thousand men weighing in at 130 lbs. and armed with BB guns, etc.... then we could afford to.

First it was the computer gods.....

I guess I must have pissed off the key gods. Yes- key gods. I didn't know they existed either- but they do. Greg and I are training for a marathon. We ran 12 miles in Cordoba on Saturday. As a result, our legs were a bit tired. However, we were on a mission to walk around and see the city. So we did. On the way back to our hotel, we stopped inside a shop. The shops in Argentina usually keep their doors locked- so you ring a bell and they let you in. They also have to let you out. Well- we went in, and tried to get out..... but the keys would not work. So Greg and I watched as not one, but three people tried to unlock the door. It was useless. No one could get it open. And then, one store clerk decides to bank the key into the lock. It breaks. My legs are too tired at this point- and Greg and I both are sitting on the floor while we watch this. Couldn't someone just call a key guy?

So after an hour of fun- a man comes and removes the door from the shop. We are able to exit. But the fun continues.....

We get on our bus the next night at 10 pm. We ride all night and arrive at 7am. Excited that it is rather early and we have the whole day to be productive- we cab it home from the bus station ready to seize the day. We arrive and go to unlock our door- but the key will not work. .....This might need some explaining too....

About a week ago, Greg left his keys to the apartment in a cab. So we got a spare set made. The spare set is what we took with us. Somehow- it managed to change the lock.

So we get the master keys from our landlord- after waiting for her to call us back for an hour. They also do not work. The time is now 8:30- the key man does not open until 9 (give or take an hour depending on how he feels that morning). So we go have breakfast (coffee and toast- the normal here). At 9:30- we go see the key man. He is just opening. Great! We tell him in perfect spanglish what is going on. He replies in perfect Spanish that it is not possible for a key to change the lock- not his problem. So we call our landlord to help. She calls the key man- who comes with us to our apartment. He tries the keys (because we don't know how to unlock a door?) He then tells us it is the lock and not his problem. He leaves. We are oh so happy he came to help. (did I mention that he brought a large tool box with him- which was not opened at any point in time).

We call our landlord again. She calls a lock man (yes- there is a key man and a lock man. Just like there is a place you go to get chicken and another you go to in order to purchase beef). He is "leaving right now and will be right there". Did I mention that we had been on a bus all night and really wanted a shower and to brush our teeth? So- 10 min. turns into 3 hours. We had to sit and wait there- because if you are not there they will leave. By this time it is almost 1 pm. He gets us into our apartment by removing the lock. He takes all keys- telling us he will be back in 30 min. ..... Three hours later...... What did we do to the key gods?

The Jesus Bus

So- it is 1:20 here in B.A. While I am incredibly tired, I just am unable to sleep. I am on a bus on the way to Cordoba. Greg and I love B.A. Really. However, every once in a while, you get a craving for this little thing called oxygen. Interesting that we chose to do a marathon here- where ewe get to suck in the fresh, black exhaust as the buses and cars honk by (did I mention that everyone uses their horns as much as they use their brakes- I really wish I were joking. If I were president here I would enact two laws right away: 1) all horns will be removed from vehicles due to a gross misuse of them 2) People who do not clean up after their dog will receive a fine equivalent to 10% of a month’s wages…. Sorry for the tangent). In addition- it is amazing to runs by all of the smokers- helps me get my daily dose of nicotine ( for as obsessed with this culture is about their appearances- they do not seem to mind all of the side effects of smoking… dark circles, wrinkles, etc… maybe that is why the health insurance companies include plastic surgery?) . So Greg and I heard that you can take these great buses out to pretty much anywhere. They have different classes- with the best class having a large chair that fully reclines and has a foot rest. They leave at night and arrive in the morning. Perfect! So we venture down to the bus station. Imagine JFK airport- but with trash all over the ground and peddlers from Mexico selling everything from super panchos (hotdogs) to socks to school supplies. There are literally a hundred different bus companies. While you would think this would mean competing prices-( and you are an American so of course your capitalistic ways would)- all of the tickets with every company are within 10 pesos of each other (yes, being the bargain shoppers we are- we checked). So we finally settled on the company that had the nicest attendant. Our bus was to leave a few days later.

At 9:15 we arrive for our 9:30 departure. While we thought we cut it close- nothing here is ever on time. There are hundreds of platforms. I wish I could describe the enormity of this place- it is quite a scene. My favorite part is all of the stray dogs that walk around- and occasionally sneak onto the buses. There are several announcements being made simultaneously over different loud speakers announcing what bus is departing soon. Even if I spoke perfect Spanish, the garbled competing voices would still be incomprehensible. But we do find our bus, trek over to its departure platform, hand over our backpacks to the driver, and hop into our seats. They are a plush blue velvet- and quite roomy. As the bus prepares for departure, a woman comes by and hands us papers. While I am unable to understand it- it soon becomes apparent that it is a scripture from the bible. We are asked to remove our bibles from the front pocket of the seat. Over the loud speaker in the bus- a woman begins a prayer/scripture reading that lasts at least twenty minutes. The end turns into a hymn. (Their version of the airplane safety talk maybe?). We soon notice that our bus is also adorned with stickers proclaiming that “God is the Savior” and other religious sayings, and notice that the radio is locked on the religious music station.

What makes this so spectacularly fabulous is the sheer irony of the situation. Greg is so anti-religion that it is almost a religion in itself. And out of 75 bus lines that we could have chosen for our trip to Cordoba, we chose the holy one. No wonder the attendant was so nice! I wonder if you have to be Catholic to work for them?

So here I am- unable to sleep- not because the bus is bad in any way. It is blessed and safe. The only person snoring on the entire bus is seated directly behind me. This is not light snoring either- it sounds like a little kid slurping the bottom of their drink- desperately wanting the last drops…. Except this woman is desperately slurping for air. Yes- I did say woman- and I wish I had my camera available because I would take a picture of her. As I look around, I also realize that Greg and I are the youngest people by at least 30 yrs. on the lower half of the bus. The guy who sold us the tickets said it was the more tranquil floor than the top- I guess by tranquil he meant older?

Patience- No Entiendo!

Yes- it is true. I received another ransom note. But this one was not quite as nasty. I ordered some books about a month ago for school. I heard books were the one thing that they allow to pass through the system without an ordeal. And who would want to steal a book on anatomy and physiology anyway? It is not like there is a shortage of pornographic materials on the news stands at every corner- much cuter than the naked women in the A&P book too. However, in lieu of my book, I received a note that it was being held hostage- but this time closer to home. I took the Subte down to the post office in Retiro, as the note commanded I do.

For those of you who have waited until the last minute to send your tax forms on April 15th or mailed a Christmas package out on December 22nd- you have seen a bit of chaotic mail frenzy. Take that memory- and double the amount of people- but cut the staff in half. This is the Retiro Post Office.

So I take a number. I wait. And wait. and wait. Finally my number is called. My note is taken- stamped- signed- and I am given a new number. I feel like a cow being herded and tagged for sale. I am directed to another room where the rest of the cattle are patiently grazing. For those of you that know me well- patience is not something I really possess. I gave it up long ago in order to thrive in a world with two older siblings and tall people who got noticed more than me. If I wanted something- I needed to demand it or it would never happen. I would get beaten to the punch. I needed to keep up- or would get left behind. (The last time I exerted any patience was in 4 year old kindergarten. I was sent to the corner for talking during reading time. As the bell rang and all the other students left the room, I "patiently" waited for Mrs Perkins to tell me it was okay to get out of the corner. Four hours later, I was found by the janitor.... still patiently waiting in the corner in a dark room by myself- still standing in the corner- nose to the wall..... Yes- that was the last time I tried being patient. )

Anyway- where was I now- right - new number- new room- lots of cattle. So, every few minutes the Wizard of Oz announces a number over the loud speaker. It is in Spanish- there are ten numbers- and the Wizard speaks very quickly. Then, like the Price is Right, if your number is called you get to "Come on Down!" Too bad I couldn't understand the numbers. So I patiently waited for about 3 minutes before I decided to volunteer myself to "Come on Down". I entered a room with 20 small windows. Only a few had people at them- so I just went and handed a person my number. He spoke in Spanish- something about a line apparently. Maybe I was supposed to wait in it? Not sure- just a stupid American girl :) My confused face prompted him to go retrieve my package (which I was supposed to pay 10 pesos for- not sure why). Out he comes with a large white bag- and he says "Sheila? (pronounced Shay -I -La). I say "Si". He smiles at me and hands me the bag (yes- here they are allowed to smile, unlike the last hostage situation). He tells me "no worry". I take the bag and go. Meanwhile, all of the cows are still patiently waiting for their numbers to be called.

But I had one last piece of business to take care of. I needed to ship my old book back to the US. I tried. However, since it was an Anatomy and Physiology book, I was not allowed to. Apparently I needed a special permit to be an "Exporter of Scientific Materials". Gotta love it.

So, while the US has terrible public transportation, we at least invest in things like postal service. Here- they take a day off work to go get a package. It is perfectly acceptable to. You just tell your boss "I need to go to Retiro"- and it is not a problem. Forget calling in sick- just take up a liking for online shopping. Not the greatest productivity contributor, however.

And one final thing- I ordered a book when I was in the US. I ordered it to an Argentina address. It just arrived! Should have done express- then I would have gotten it in 1 month instead of 2.

Word of the day: patience- paciencia. Word #2: Herd of Cattle: Rebaño de ganado

Sentence: With patience, you are one with the herd. Con paciencia, que usted es uno con el rebaño.

The Ransom Note from Fed Ex

The Fed Ex guy- I usually love seeing him. It meant something fun had arrived- not a bill from the mailman- a package usually. And then I came to Argentina- and my fondness of the Fed Ex man has quickly dissipated. He brings not any packages- only ransom notes. To get one means long day of bureaucracy. Perhaps I should explain....... The next time you have a complaint with our postal system- remember this story.

So a few weeks ago, my computer decided to die. Instead of giving it a funeral (it was only two months old - and nothing that young should die), I had to send it away to a hospital in California. The Sony doctors are very good- and fixed her up very well. A brain transplant later- she was shipped my way to Argentina. Cost- $150 US. Brain surgery- free (really good health insurance only computers can get).

I eagerly anticipate her arrival- I am after all working for a company in the US that requires a computer all day and taking classes online- which of course also require a computer. The FedEx guy comes- I had been tracking the package and was expecting it- but he only brings a ransom note. It is 5 pages- written in Spanish- and the only thing I can figure out is that I need to make a trip to the airport. It is where I am to drop the money for the release of my beloved girl. So I do what any good mother would do- drop everything and hop in a cab- money in hand- to go get her back. Cost of the taxi- $100 pesos each way ($25 USD).

Two hours later, I get to the airport.I have no idea where to go - just the ransom note. I show it to a few people and say "Donde" . I can tell by the look on their face that it will not be fun as they point the way- So I walk about 1/2 mile. I arrive at a gate where I need to show my passport. The passport gets copied 5 times, the copies are stamped (they really like their stamps here- as you will soon see), and stapled to the ransom note. I am permitted to pass through the gate where several thousand other things are also being held ransom. The fun continues.

I enter a door. A short hallway stands before me and there are three doors- 2 and 3 on the left and #1 on the right. I need to pick one- I feel like I am on a game show where making the wrong choice also results in a ransom note to get me back. This is not a happy place. No one here smiles- I am not even sure it is allowed. I enter door #2- it is the closest.

A woman sitting at a desk looks at me and takes my note. She knows where my girl is being kept- I know it. After examining my paper- she removes a copy of my passport and prints out three other pages. They too get stapled to my ransom note- now starting to resemble a short story. The papers- each one of them- get stamped and signed, and I am then sent to door #3.

Door #3 holds two men- neither look up when I enter the room. The man in front of me motions for me to come over to him- and I do as I am told. He refrains from looking up- grabs my papers- and begins looking through them. He removes another copy of my passport- prints out additional pages to add to my now novel- stamps them, and sends me back to room 2. This proceeds to happen three more times- from #2 to #3 to #2 to #3 and so on- each time new pages, always stamped and usually signed- are attached to my novel. Finally- I am told to follow the man from door #3 into an entirely new place- door #1.

Door #1 opened to a huge warehouse. It is the holding place for the things they take ransom. The man takes me to a counter- grabs my papers- and gives them to another man. I wait a few moments while the package is retrieved. The box is opened- the computer removed and inspected and then placed back in the box where it is then resealed by the man who presented it. I saw it- I almost had it- but it was again taken away. I follow the man from door #3 back - where I am told to go to door #2.

After going to door #2 once more and #3 once more (yes- papers were printed out each time, stamped, signed, and stapled) before being sent back to door #1. Within door #1 was yet another office. I go in and am required to pay a fee. The fee is for taking care of my package for 6 hours- cost is 60 pesos- 20 of which is a tax. Apparently, the fee doubles every day your item is being held- I am assuming to cover the cost of food, water, and care for all of the packages. For a brief moment, I thought I was picking up my dag from the kennel...

So... I have paid the fee, gotten another 9 pages added to my book, sent back out to door #2 for one final page, stamp, and signature- and I am now shown to the exit. It is through door #1- and is a fenced in hallway that is just outside of the warehouse. There is a small hole through the fence where a hand takes you book, reads it, and returns it. Then I waited- 20 min. later, lo and behold, comes a forklift with one small box on it- my computer! Another 1/2 mile walk and 2 hour cab ride, I arrive at home. It has been 6 hours.

I wish I were kidding- that I could dream up such a great story. Sadly- no exaggeration was involved in the writing of this blog post. Fed Ex and DHL do not deliver door to door here- you are required to go to the airport to pick packages up. The exception is the local postal service- which is known for mistaking boxes for personal Christmas presents .

In conclusion- I hope all of you reading this post have a newfoud appreciation for the USPS and Fed Ex door to door service in the US. I know I do.

Just ride up this hill, then at the top, keep going up.....

It's dark, pitch black, with the exception of the glow of black lights. Music pulsates from the huge speakers in every corner, and the bass sends vibrations from my toes to the ends of my hair. The music ranges from bad 80's to Celine Dion sped up to an unnatural speed- not sure which is worse. I am meant to like this- even be inspired by it. Everyone else is. There is no clock- I have no idea how much longer this will go on- but I am wishing above all else that I had a watch. The place is packed- enough body heat to melt glaciers. I look left- the ground is wet. A pool of liquid sits on the floor. If the situation were any different, I would have assumed the man next to me had jumped in a pool fully clothed. I look right. I need guidance. I only see a small woman-90 lbs soaking wet-exhausted, trying to keep up with everyone else. I look ahead- nothing. I am in the front row- a punishment I feel for being American. Everyone yells- but in Spanish- and I am lost. Very lost. But I just go with it. I am committed, and there is no getting out of this. Although, even if I could get out of it- I am not sure I would. Part of me is really enjoying this. But- I want water- but water bottles do not exist here. Really. (I have looked- everywhere). Nalgene would kill it if they were here. The only option for a water bottle is a small disposable plastic one- but those are supposed to be toxic. I don't want toxic water. So I go without. It feels like the Bikram Yoga studio- and I am just waiting for a breeze to blow. Looking around does nothing- it's like trying to cheat on a test in school from the kid next to you.... the one that didn't study. And just when I thought it would never end, the lights come on. I finished my first spin class here. The only words I understood were "Mas Intencia". Perhaps it will get easier with time- when I know the word for the opposite of "mas". I was wondering when the downhill would come (those of you not aquainted with spin class- you have fake hill that you go up.... and the resting period after a strenuous up hill is the downhill portion)..... And next time I will also bring a water bottle- toxic or not-


Word of the day: today it is a lesson...... In Buenos Aires, there are laws. However, no one really follow them. There is definitely an attitude of "I do what I want". For instance- a red light means stop and stay until green- unless you are a car, bus, taxi, or other motorized vehicle- and then it means "go if you think you can make it before the other car, buses,etc. coming the opposite direction" (pedestrians beware- esp Colorado peeps- do not assume you can cross when the little white man tells you you can). The exception to the "no rules" rule is the buses- who will not stop for you unless there is a designated stop. Even if you are 20 ft away from the stop. This is the only rule that is strictly followed.

Okay Okay ..... word (ok - phrase) of the day. Cocinando con Tequila- "Cooking with Tequila". This is how one of my friends described her night. Another way to say you were inebriated.

So.... What exactly are you doing?

I know you are wondering how Greg and I can possible fill our days. Perhaps I should enlighten you at how time consuming being unemployed really is.

The first weeks we got here was spent walking around the entire city. We are not talking walking around downtown Winter Park here..... This was serious walking. We should have had sponsors that donated money to Breast Cancer research support us. Too bad for Susan G. Koman- we would have broken all sorts of records.

Once acquainted with the city, our first mission was to find a place to live. We were lucky enough to have a place to sleep with a friendly face that spoke English (Sara- she is from CA). However- I must first paint a picture. The apartment is probably 700 sq. ft. Upon entering, you walk into the living area. The kitchen is the size of my old bathroom (and yes, my previous bathroom was large, but no- not large enough to be a kitchen). Sara has yet to cook a meal after being here for 5 mo. Straight ahead is a small entry way- the bathroom is to the left, Sara's room is straight ahead, her roommate, Veronica, sleeps in the room to the right. Here is where it gets good. Enter into Sara's room: standing in the doorway, there are two beds to my left and a closet to my right. The two beds resemble those found in 4 year olds room.... not just because they are small and comparative to bunk beds that were pulled apart..... but also because the sheets on them resemble those that would also adorn a 4 yr. old girl's sheets. Underneath one bed is another bed that pulls out- different sheets but equally as childish. So here we are- 4 suitcases, 2 large backpacks meant for hiking, and the three of us.... crammed in this tiny room. It felt like a slumber party every night. Sara was amazing to let us stay for a week..... but we needed to hunt hard to give her room back to her in a timely fashion.

So we go to find a room. This is done by walking into real estate agents and asking them what they had available. A bit of a challenge when you do not speak the language. Lucky for us, a few did. Sometimes you could see the apartment the same day- sometimes not. We ended up finding our place through Sara- she rents an office in a place (where the receptionist is included, and everything else you need.... cannot think of the name for the American equivilent, but I know they are everywhere in the US). The man who owns the place is American and his ex girlfriend had recently reovated a place and was looking to rent it out. Perfect.... we saw it after 4 days of intense searching and took it. While it is not completely furished yet (she was not expecting to rent it out so fast)- it has a bed and shower and internet. Enough said.

So enter into the past almost 2 weeks. Our days are never quite long enough. We wake up and go to the gym. It is 5 min. from where we live - perfect! Finding the gym..... a process and 1/2. We stumbled upon it walking around- after looking at gyms for three days and several hours. We take Spanish lessons (which I have now stopped). They are Monday thru Friday for two hours. The walk is 30 min. to the tutor. Every night we have Spanish homework- 2 more hours. Greg is working on some online businesses, and I was getting situated for school. This week I have studied every day for 6 hours (I need A's in both my classes to get into school). I did not leave the house on Thursday, except to go to the gym in the middle of the day.

Shopping for things is also a huge time killer. It is also where most of our frustrations and laughter (later) comes in. I will give you a few examples. Greg and I needed notebooks. We had seen a Staples before- so we decided to try again to find it. We always go to the main street (Santa Fe) and go right. Right leads to down town. We walk for a solid 40 min. We find the Staples..... we get what we need after searching for a bit and walk home. Total time:2 hours. I need to make copies, so I go out of the house and turn left to get to the copy store. There is the equivilent of the Argentina Staples on the corner. Whoops.

So Greg and I get the copies and then need to find a fan (desperately need white noise in our room to drown out the 80's music that is blasted by the apartment across from us until 6am every night). It is winter here - so no one has fans. We finally stop in a random place..... they have every random thing you can imagine..... from nails to mops to toys..... We think "they must have a fan!" And we were right...... except when they went to the atic to get the fan (20 min. wait) they come down with this huge metal industrial strength fan- the kind you would use in a huge factory. They are telling us how great the fan is- that it is very high quality and will last for years....We need a noise machine (which do not exist in Argentina...according to several sources)- we don't need to cool down Africa. So we gave up- and decided to go to the grocery store. Never a quick trip, even though it is 1 block from our house. While I love going to the meat market to get meat and fruit market to get fruits and vegies..... sometimes it takes several hours to round up everything you need. So we took a chance and got chicken from the grocery store. The vegies were terrible- so we skipped that. The lines for checking out go down the isles. So not only can we never find what we need (different packaging and different language = very frustrating), but we have to maneuver around people to even see what is in the store. The only isle that does not have a long line going down it is the wine and liquor isle. Perhaps that is because it does not have a check out person in front of it. (There is another less crowded store that is very nice- we found it recently, but it is a 20 min. walk). We get home and the chicket "breasts" have weird bones and need to be cut. If only we had a sharp knife...... And somewhere along the way I lost my papers. So I try retracing my steps for a bit- but every store just tries to sell me more paper.... they just do not get that I left mine there. So I need to reprint them..... but the removable drive thing is at the house..... so I go back to the house to go back to the print store to reprint my papers- and we still do not have a knife for the chicken because the knofe store is closed. So we drink wine and eat yogurt- because that is the only thing that we can find and eat without problems.....Do you see where I am going with this. I now firmly believe in travel gods- and I am certain that we have angered them. If anyone has ideas on what to sacrifice to them, I am open.

I should also probably tell you a bit about classes. Online Anatomy and Physiology along with Microbiology...... 8 weeks- how hard can it be? Hmmmm..... A&P involves reading 4 chapters per week (150 pgs), posting a thoughtful discussion (topic is provided) of your own and thoughtful comments on others postings....minimum of 2 times per week. Home based lab- done with things that you would normally find in your kitchen- unless you are in Argentina where baking soda, wheat germ, and peanut butter do not exist (another time consuming and intensive search), Post about the results of the lab and also make insightful observations about others results, weekly quiz, coloring book assignment of 40 pgs (I still do not have the coloring book- it was suposed to arrive forever ago- so I gave up on the one company and reordered from another company- hope it was not stopped in customs), and an online lab experience as well that has a quiz to follow. Multiply this by two - Micro is equally as time consuming.

But it gets even better- my laptop stopped working Monday- the day before class started. The warrenty is only valid in the US. So while the Sony store here could diagnose the problem (three days), to fix it would cost $12oo USD. The motherboard is fried- and it is only 2 mo. old. So it is in the US now- getting a new motherboard- hopefully one that does ot spontaneously combust. I will have it in three weeks. I hope- it also might get stopped in customs- where I would have to pay large taxes on it- about $500USD. Seriously- if you have any ideas for sacrifices to the travel gods... I will pay.......

Getting the computer looked at was another funny one. A friend of Sara's was going back to the US for 6 mo. She left Wed. Since I had to pay for the shipping to and from the US for the computer, she offered to take it to the US for me. I could pick my computer up Wednesday at noon. She was leaving for the airport around 1. Perfect..... the Sony store is a quick Subte ride - 10 min. and it dropped me right at the entrance to the Sony store. So I go to get on the Subte- it is closed because the Subte workers went on strike. THAT Morning! The bus lines are literally 100 people long because the Subte is not running. So I get a cab- but traffic is horrendous here - esp where the Sony store is (think NY city ). So it takes forever. I get there- pay the 50 pesos- and then have to wait 20 min. for them to give me an important sheet. Their printer was out of ink and they could not find the ink to replace it. At this time it is 1 pm. I get the paper- it just was a paper saying I had paid 50 pesos and refused repair from them. Did I really need this?!? I get in a cab and get the computer to Christine just in the nick of time- for once I beat the travel gods.

And I forgot to mention- I got a job here - working for a US company doing sales. I start next Tuesday and will wok 15-20 hrs. per week. I had training this week- 5 hrs..... We shall see how it goes!

So that is life here ..... crazy, frustrating as hell, and amazing at the same time. I wish there were a quick subte ride that took me to Denver- just so I could go, get the things done I needed to, and then return (peanut butter and baking soda in hand) to this place- where I can get my hair highlighted for $20, a mani and pedi for $10, an amazing steak with great wine for $9, private Spanish lessons for $8/2 hr., and salsa classes for $3 for 4 hr. - with an amazing culture that I cannot get enough of. Unfortunately- I have only done the last two so far.... the rest will come in time. Hopefully sooner than later.

Hope you enjoyed my novel today!
Ciao.

Word of the day: chocar- a strike- like the Subte workers went on chocar when I needed them the most!

I Am (not) Magic.....

Webster defines "magic" as: The art that purports to control or forecast natural events, effects, or forces by invoking the supernatural. The lunch we had in San Telmo was magic- who know meat and bread could taste so good if cooked over an open flame? Oh wait... we all do- which is why bbq's are so popular. The magical part of this bbq was that we got it in the middle of a crowded street that was shut off for construction. As you can see, it is far from a gourmet kitchen....or grill..... Was it safe? I hope so and it seems so thus far. Did it taste good? It was the tastiest meal 5 pesos could buy!

We all love magic. We wish we were magic..... and for a moment today, I truly thought I could make things appear in a way that only a magical person could. Greg and I were on the Subte (subway for you American folks) heading to a market in San Telmo. The dirt and dust bothers my nose and, for some time now, I really needed a tissue. I was not about to resort to a "Farmer's Blow"- which was Greg's charming idea. So I sat on the train wishing for a tissue- perhaps the only thing that could possible make me happier at the time. Well, lo and behold, I looked down on my purse and what did I see? Perfectly situated on my bag were two packs of pocket tissues. This was too good to be true. I actually wished tissues on myself.

The train stopped at my stop, and I pranced off, tissues in hand, elated that I could finally blow my nose. My mom had always told me that you always get what you focus on...... I should have listened sooner.

After several hours in San Telmo, Greg and I got on the Subte to return home. We sat down, and as the train is about to depart, a small child runs onto the train. She is carrying a huge bag and starts walking down the isle placing the contents of the bag onto people's laps. She was handing out tissues...... then a few minutes later she walked back down the isle.. either collecting the tissues or collecting money from the people who had wanted to keep the tissues. Guess I'm not so magic after all.

Word of the day: cagarse- literally, "to break down or fall apart".... also translated can mean "to be shitted" as in "Mi computadora le me caga (a derivative of cagarse)....Literally:  My computer shat itself to me..... in other words.... my computer is screwed up through no fault of my own.