Happy Birthday to me!
Yes, it's hard to believe that I made it to 52. One asks if the birthday celebrant feels his or her age and 99% of the time the answer is a bold NO! And I must include myself in this today.While of course there are obvious signs of aging such as the frost on one's head( white hair), an earlier bedtime( but not always here in Buenos Aires) or just a slower pace in many phases of life.
But I can say that my only birthday wasn't on 15 March, 1959. I have had many! You might ask, "how can you have more than one day when you were born?"
The first thing that may come to many people's mind is the chance of a new life due to one of many serious diseases or operations which one has survived. I must thank God and everyone and thing in between that this is not my case!
Many of you know that I am a great traveler and thus have been in many distant places; most of the time, my journeys were experiences which hugely enriched my life. I lived in communist Poland during the time of Solidarity, Lech Walesa and martial law; my years of living in a different Argentina than today under a military dictatorship. I saw tanks roll down the streets of Lusaka, Zambia in an attenpted coup d'etat. I was in Salisbury, Rhodesia during the civil war in 1979-1980 when the country eventually became the new Zimbabwe, later to be a success story followed by the drastic changes in the past years which have turned it into a nation and economy worse than any banana republic. I was arrested in Bukhara, Uzbekistan during the Soviet period in the early 80s for selling consumer goods at an open market and locked in a Soviet jail, fortunately with a release within 24 hrs. The ironic thing was the next day, Ronald Reagen was meeting with Leonid Brezhnev for the first time and the official Soviet television interviewed me on my thoughts of the historic meeting as I was a foreigner in the USSR. And there are many more truly life-threatening situations which I have lived through which I won't put here in order not to scare some readers, such as my sister and a few close friends who will tie me down with a rope or chain.
But I will mention 2 which truly gave me another life.
One was only last year when I was in Santaigo, Chile during the 8.8 Richter scale earthquake on 27 February, 2010 and the other was on 17 March, 1995(soon to be 16 years in 2 days) when I was taken hostage on a hijacked Ethiopian Airlines flight from Addis Ababa to El Obeid, Sudan. for 3 days; the only thing I will say now is that I thought I would die in both circumstances and as you can well see today, this wasn't the case! No one could be happier than I! To find out more details about these and other experiences, you'll have to wait and then buy the book!
So yes ,I will celebrate my first birthday of 52 years ago but this doesn't mean we shouldn't celebrate every day that we wake up as it it was our birthday.
Happy birthday to you all!
SES
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The girls and I
Dear Readers,
Well, I'm finally back and thanks for your patience. In my 2 week lapse so many things have been happening that I really couldn't find the hours in the day to take some time to write. But I AM BACK and I hope that this won't happen again for a while.
One thing which I did make the effort to continue and to find the time for was to continue with my new year's resolution of going to a water aerobics class. I have been saying this for years and have always found excuses; some very valid ones, some incredibly immaginative, but this year I said to myself that I will do it.
I went this time as far as to prepay 3 months thus thinking that having paid, I'd go. Well, I even found excuses as I saw my begining of my three month pass slowly expiring before my eyes until one day I said "this is it, it's now or never!". And I went.
I felt like a kid going to a new school on the first day of classes. Who would be the other students?Will I fit in?Will I be the most out of shape one?Will I, having NEVER done anything of this sort before in nearly 52 years, be able to keep up?Will the changing rooms and showers be fresh and clean or filled with filth ,smells and mold? There was only one way to find out...by actually going.
I showed my membership card, passed it through the scanner(which actually did work that time) and went for the medical check for what seemed to me conducted by a young student in 2nd year of medicine as he checked my hands, feet and underarms for any signs of rash, fungus or any other communicable undesired states or diseases not to be shared with the fellow students in the pool. I went to the changing room which was quiet and empty compared to the women's next door which was like a revolving door with every pitch of a female voice imaginable.
And then as the bewitching hour of my first water aerobics class approached, I went through the small labyrinth towards the calling clorinated water and saw my new friends.....some 30 women and I. the only man!
Being the only man doesn't freak me out. I remember this at university while in some esoteric class about 19th century French literature or while in line for the latest Ricky Martin c.d. to be sold. I thought it must have to do with the fact that my class is at 4pm and most men are still working which is true.. but so, too, are most women.
With the exception of one or two, most of the women in my class have obtained at least grandmother status if not a step above.
Not only was I about to expose my extra kilos gained over the past 2 decades,but I also on this first day was concerned and stressed with a few other matters(and this is supposed to be good for the body, mind and soul?).All entering the pool had to don something to cover their hair, a.k.a. a cap. I have tons of shower caps or bonnets from the many 5 star hotels where I have been a guest in the many years of traveling and have never used a one! So maybe now was the time. So I brought my sealed and never-used shower cap to the pool. When I put it on, I forgot about my beer belly due to wine, gin tonics and midnight dinners and thought how ridiculous I looked so I coughed up the 15 pesos to buy an official swimming cap. But before I handed over the grand sum, I asked the girl who was in charge of selling them if I really needed one as I have short hair which THANK GOD is not falling out. She quickly informed me that only totally bald men ( and I guess women ,too) could enter the pool without a cap because any hair which could come off the person and then float in the pool and clog the drains must be properly covered. Then being the curious one that I am , I asked about body hair as here in Argentina, many men have literally rugs on the chest which often continue into runners on their backs.
Are there body-size condom like wrappers for them or must they shave their torsos? No, the hirsute are exempt and can swim freely allowing curly hairs to detatch themselves at their own pace.
The other concern was as I wear glasses, what to do with them? Leave them in my changing bag and hope that I don't depend on my eyesight for the class or wear them risking constant splashing without windshield wipers or dry ANYTHING with which to take away the drops of water.
I decide for the first class to wear them and take the risk of living in a foggy world for the next hour. And am I glad I did!
Upon entering the pool, I was immersed not in water but into a cacaphony produced by the approximately 30 women, all talking at a rate faster than the speed of light.
As I am tall, I headed for the deepest section of the pool which is still flat althought the precipice into the non-existent floor are at the edge of my right foot.
The young instructor began the class with music which I almost could never hear because of the juxtaposed voices all around me. Had I not kept my glasses on, I would have been lost as I couldn't hear a word the poor instructor was saying. She asked for "silencio" many times but it was useless. The exchange of gossip would reign during the next hour leaving her without a voice at the end of the class. This repeats itself until today.
Now I am known and acknowledged by my fellow pool sharers. I can't really say classmates as most of the time I am one of the only ones who follows the instructions given which I now know by heart and don't need to read lips any more. And I have given nicknames to a few; there's the "loose wire" because she jumps and dances around while splashing like waves on the beaches of Normandy as if she was a live electrical wire which had by chance fallen into water sparking and franctically hitting anything in its path. There is also the "roamer", a woman who while doing the stationary execrcises moves left, right and all around never keeping her position continuously bumping into those nearest her; I recently said to her that if she continues like that , we would be forced to become boy and girlfriend. And then there's the "kicker"; I don't think that I need to elaborate any more than through my comment to her that she'd pay more attention to this if she was a man!
So the class is now over. It's time to give the dozens of wet (due to water on the cheeks) kisses again upon leaving which still hadn't dried off when they were given just an hour previously. Many women stay another 30 minutes or so to finish the intriguing stories which they could not end since they hadn'tthe breath to both raise their arms and talk at the same time. But I return to the solitary changing room, a sanctuary of ,knowing that I'll be back in 2 days for more of goodness for the mind, soul and body.
Finally after nearly 3 months of flawless attendence, there is only one missing thing (and as I said, I never miss so it's not me!). I think that there should be floating trays with a varierty of teas and biscuits to make the class truly whats most want it to be, a relaxing afternoon tea.
Don't forget your lifejacket!
SES
Well, I'm finally back and thanks for your patience. In my 2 week lapse so many things have been happening that I really couldn't find the hours in the day to take some time to write. But I AM BACK and I hope that this won't happen again for a while.
One thing which I did make the effort to continue and to find the time for was to continue with my new year's resolution of going to a water aerobics class. I have been saying this for years and have always found excuses; some very valid ones, some incredibly immaginative, but this year I said to myself that I will do it.
I went this time as far as to prepay 3 months thus thinking that having paid, I'd go. Well, I even found excuses as I saw my begining of my three month pass slowly expiring before my eyes until one day I said "this is it, it's now or never!". And I went.
I felt like a kid going to a new school on the first day of classes. Who would be the other students?Will I fit in?Will I be the most out of shape one?Will I, having NEVER done anything of this sort before in nearly 52 years, be able to keep up?Will the changing rooms and showers be fresh and clean or filled with filth ,smells and mold? There was only one way to find out...by actually going.
I showed my membership card, passed it through the scanner(which actually did work that time) and went for the medical check for what seemed to me conducted by a young student in 2nd year of medicine as he checked my hands, feet and underarms for any signs of rash, fungus or any other communicable undesired states or diseases not to be shared with the fellow students in the pool. I went to the changing room which was quiet and empty compared to the women's next door which was like a revolving door with every pitch of a female voice imaginable.
And then as the bewitching hour of my first water aerobics class approached, I went through the small labyrinth towards the calling clorinated water and saw my new friends.....some 30 women and I. the only man!
Being the only man doesn't freak me out. I remember this at university while in some esoteric class about 19th century French literature or while in line for the latest Ricky Martin c.d. to be sold. I thought it must have to do with the fact that my class is at 4pm and most men are still working which is true.. but so, too, are most women.
With the exception of one or two, most of the women in my class have obtained at least grandmother status if not a step above.
Not only was I about to expose my extra kilos gained over the past 2 decades,but I also on this first day was concerned and stressed with a few other matters(and this is supposed to be good for the body, mind and soul?).All entering the pool had to don something to cover their hair, a.k.a. a cap. I have tons of shower caps or bonnets from the many 5 star hotels where I have been a guest in the many years of traveling and have never used a one! So maybe now was the time. So I brought my sealed and never-used shower cap to the pool. When I put it on, I forgot about my beer belly due to wine, gin tonics and midnight dinners and thought how ridiculous I looked so I coughed up the 15 pesos to buy an official swimming cap. But before I handed over the grand sum, I asked the girl who was in charge of selling them if I really needed one as I have short hair which THANK GOD is not falling out. She quickly informed me that only totally bald men ( and I guess women ,too) could enter the pool without a cap because any hair which could come off the person and then float in the pool and clog the drains must be properly covered. Then being the curious one that I am , I asked about body hair as here in Argentina, many men have literally rugs on the chest which often continue into runners on their backs.
Are there body-size condom like wrappers for them or must they shave their torsos? No, the hirsute are exempt and can swim freely allowing curly hairs to detatch themselves at their own pace.
The other concern was as I wear glasses, what to do with them? Leave them in my changing bag and hope that I don't depend on my eyesight for the class or wear them risking constant splashing without windshield wipers or dry ANYTHING with which to take away the drops of water.
I decide for the first class to wear them and take the risk of living in a foggy world for the next hour. And am I glad I did!
Upon entering the pool, I was immersed not in water but into a cacaphony produced by the approximately 30 women, all talking at a rate faster than the speed of light.
As I am tall, I headed for the deepest section of the pool which is still flat althought the precipice into the non-existent floor are at the edge of my right foot.
The young instructor began the class with music which I almost could never hear because of the juxtaposed voices all around me. Had I not kept my glasses on, I would have been lost as I couldn't hear a word the poor instructor was saying. She asked for "silencio" many times but it was useless. The exchange of gossip would reign during the next hour leaving her without a voice at the end of the class. This repeats itself until today.
Now I am known and acknowledged by my fellow pool sharers. I can't really say classmates as most of the time I am one of the only ones who follows the instructions given which I now know by heart and don't need to read lips any more. And I have given nicknames to a few; there's the "loose wire" because she jumps and dances around while splashing like waves on the beaches of Normandy as if she was a live electrical wire which had by chance fallen into water sparking and franctically hitting anything in its path. There is also the "roamer", a woman who while doing the stationary execrcises moves left, right and all around never keeping her position continuously bumping into those nearest her; I recently said to her that if she continues like that , we would be forced to become boy and girlfriend. And then there's the "kicker"; I don't think that I need to elaborate any more than through my comment to her that she'd pay more attention to this if she was a man!
So the class is now over. It's time to give the dozens of wet (due to water on the cheeks) kisses again upon leaving which still hadn't dried off when they were given just an hour previously. Many women stay another 30 minutes or so to finish the intriguing stories which they could not end since they hadn'tthe breath to both raise their arms and talk at the same time. But I return to the solitary changing room, a sanctuary of ,knowing that I'll be back in 2 days for more of goodness for the mind, soul and body.
Finally after nearly 3 months of flawless attendence, there is only one missing thing (and as I said, I never miss so it's not me!). I think that there should be floating trays with a varierty of teas and biscuits to make the class truly whats most want it to be, a relaxing afternoon tea.
Don't forget your lifejacket!
SES
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Patiencia, por favor!
Dear Readers,
I haven't forgotten you!
It's just la locura, the craziness of the past days which has consumed every free minute of my time
but I promise I'll be back very soon with more tales to inform, amuse, amaze and hopefully addict you to life "Between Heaven and Hell".
Un beso..... only 1, not 43!
SES
I haven't forgotten you!
It's just la locura, the craziness of the past days which has consumed every free minute of my time
but I promise I'll be back very soon with more tales to inform, amuse, amaze and hopefully addict you to life "Between Heaven and Hell".
Un beso..... only 1, not 43!
SES
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Buenos Aires: Se habla espanol..NO... Fala-se portugues
In one of my previous articles, I wrote about the general lack of geographical knowledge of the vast majority of many people in several countries, especially the more industrialized and wealthier ones. Having so many resources would lead one to be believe that these citizens would be better educated in all realms including geography. Sad to say, there could be nothing further from the truth.
When it comes to South America, even less is known. And when one mentions Argentina, many times the first word that comes out from the non-informed is "Rio de Janeiro". I have had my patience stretched to the max when I hear this and bark back saying " Rio is in Brazil, Buenos Aires , the capital of the country, is in Argentina". At this point , I wouldn't even venture to ask if they knew what the capital of Brazil is. And it is not Rio!
One thing that they do seem to know is that Spanish is the language of the country although I'm sure that they also think Spanish is spoken throughout all of South America. Portuguese is the language of our neighbors in Brazil to the north and is spoken by nearly 200 million people as their mother tongue and its importance and most recently its speakers have not trickled down to Tangolandia but rather invaded.
I lived in the second decade of my life in Rio de Janerio, "a cidade maravilhosa" as it is commonly known; the marvellous city in English. I loved almost every moment in that city. I had jobs which paid well for the amount of work I did. I made many friends, got to know the city as well as many parts of the country better and lived in a beautiful, huge apartment in Copacabana 1 block from the beach which I shared with a wonderful English woman, Elizabeth ,aka Pin, and her 2 daughters. Pin was divorced from a Brazilian man she met in England when he was studying. They married, had 2 children, moved to Rio, had yet another one, he confessed his homosexuality, they divorced and then I met Pin.
Upon my arrival in Rio, I quickly sought a job although I could not speak any Portuguese and had never been there before in my life. Yes, knowing Spanish helped but as close as they sometimes are or seem, I couldn't speak the language of Cabral, Carmen Miranda or Paulo Coelho. I also knew that the option for staying in hotel would have to change if I was to stay for an extended period which I did. Armed with the local newspaper, Journal do Brasil, I found a room in the flat of an elderly Brazilian woman and left my hotel in the Botafogo neighborhood called by chance, Buenos Aires.
I also went to language schools teaching English looking for a job as quickly as I could. And illegally, as I had no Brazilian working permit, I got a job with an institute which sent me out to various prestigious institutions to teach. Or at least to show up and listen. One such institution was the Bolsa de Valores do Rio de Janeiro ( The Rio Stock Exchange).
My student who held a very high position at the Stock Exchange was a woman who was placed there due to her amourous relationship with a man at the top of the Bolsa. I am sure was was very good in "many positions" but in her officially paid one, she wasn't. I eventually heard of her dismissal from that posting. However, the man paying, AND DID HE PAY, wanted her to learn English although she really didn't care about it or its fruits in her future. Our classes had laughs and tears but no grammar lessons, no verb conjugations, no false cognates: she spoke about her love for this man, her doubts, her fears, their sex and their plans together. Em portugues! And I began my intensive REAL Portuguese lessons while getting paid for them. Not a bad deal I'd say!
The school also sent me to work at EMBRATUR, the Brazilian state tourism authority, IBM and other places. They also told me that the director of the Copacabana branch had a huge flat and was looking for someone to rent a room in it. That's how and where I met Pin.
I eventually left Rio, fluent in Portuguese and rich enough to purchase my first apartment in Buenos Aires in cash. I would say it was a good stay. And Pin not long after left to go back to the UK. And just as Argentina was waking up from its horrendous military dictatorship years, I also left BA for America.
And from America, it was much easier to visit Pin in East Grinstead, West Sussex. Little did I know that East Grinstead was the world headquarters for L. Ron Hubbard's Church of Scientology and that Pin and family were very involved and active members of this cult which saddly saw me never to have contact with her again not due to her "religious" convictions but rather due to her constant endeavors of brainwashing me and culminated in an attempted kidnapping forcing me to throw myself out of a car as it was in route to Saint Hill Manor, the heart, soul and pulse of John Travolta and Tom Cruise's "alma mater".
A sad ending to what was such a good thing and probably what my student at the Stock Exchange also eventually said.
But here I am back years later In BA finally telling you about the invasion of the Brazilians. Yes, finally!
Well, according to sources both inside and outside of Brazil, it is a fact that the former president Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva has brought some 24 million Brazilians out from the poverty level and some 31 million have climbed to a middle class status, a first in that and many Latin American countries. And for those who have attained this new level for the first time in their life, they want to travel. And while very nationalistic about Brazil, they want to go to a foreign country and so many, I mean MANY, visit our country. It is estimated that 2 million will visit this year alone. And they are everywhere. On downtown streets such as Florida and Avenida de Mayo. In shops all over town even in the bakery and optical shop next to my building. I was at a bus stop when 2 middle-aged Brazilian stood next to me waiting for the bus and as we were waiting more Brazilians joined to queue. And they are all carrying shopping bags from every imaginable store possible. Bags which hold clothing , shoes, souvenirs, small electric appliances, tools, wires, locks, light bulbs, furniture polish, soap, etc; when I said eveything, I meant everything.
Argentina is no longer a cheap destinations even with USD or Euros.OK, If you compare the prices of flats or rentals in NYC or London or the prices of a steak dinner in Tokyo or Paris, yes it is cheaper. But generally speaking for most visitors and all Argentinians, it is not. But the rate of exchange between the peso and the Brazilian real is very favorable for the visitor from Rio, Sao Paulo or Porto Alegre making Argentina much cheaper than it is at home for them.
Mind you, as a guide, I have tons of possibiltites to work with these groups coming here in droves; however while I love Brazilians and find them very open and fun to be with, to work with and for them is another story. 9 am departure may happen at 945 or 10. Interest in historical sights are low on the priority list after shopping and it's hard to show the sights after dark has fallen and the shops have closed leaving sightseeing one of the only other possibilities. But there always is dinner so let's skip the sightseeing today!
To be fair, there are many cultured Brazilians and the above-mentioned occurences are not uniquely Brazilian.
That having been said and done, I think you understand that I don't normally work with Brazilian groups here in BA.
Every Friday evening to maintain my fluency , I attend a weekly 2-hour Portuguese conversation "class" in a Brazilian-run language institute. And it is amazing; even during the summer time when so many portenos are on holiday, the school is chocker-block full of students at varying levels of "a lingua portugesa" studying mornings, afternoons and nights. Portuguese and the teaching of it is a big business now and so many realize its importance and want to jump on the bandwagon and get a piece of the pie, or maybe I should say fork of the feijoada, while the going is good. Even the conversation class is on waiting list status and to enroll in it, one must have an advanced level of fluency.
It is said that within this next decade, Brazil will be the world's 5th economic power. It has the resources and man power to reach that, it is true. But one thing which often puzzled me when I see the "verde e amarelo", the green and yellow flag of the nation are the words written on the banner which emcompasses the blue disc and its 27 white stars. The words say "Ordem e Progresso" or Order and Progress, something which at least to me until now was quite contradictory to the country I knew.
But things can change and so can people and their attitudes. The Turks saw this with Ataturk, the former Iron Curtain countries saw their biggest Communists became today's biggest Capitulists so why can't it happen in Brazil?
But one thing that surely will not change is the importance of this beautiful language which when sung by a suave and sweet voice makes one melt. So dig out that bossa nova album or even Brazil 66, make yourself a caiprininha and dream of Rio. Enough caipirinhas and you'll think you're in Rio.
Ate logo e obrigado.Tchau.
SES
When it comes to South America, even less is known. And when one mentions Argentina, many times the first word that comes out from the non-informed is "Rio de Janeiro". I have had my patience stretched to the max when I hear this and bark back saying " Rio is in Brazil, Buenos Aires , the capital of the country, is in Argentina". At this point , I wouldn't even venture to ask if they knew what the capital of Brazil is. And it is not Rio!
One thing that they do seem to know is that Spanish is the language of the country although I'm sure that they also think Spanish is spoken throughout all of South America. Portuguese is the language of our neighbors in Brazil to the north and is spoken by nearly 200 million people as their mother tongue and its importance and most recently its speakers have not trickled down to Tangolandia but rather invaded.
I lived in the second decade of my life in Rio de Janerio, "a cidade maravilhosa" as it is commonly known; the marvellous city in English. I loved almost every moment in that city. I had jobs which paid well for the amount of work I did. I made many friends, got to know the city as well as many parts of the country better and lived in a beautiful, huge apartment in Copacabana 1 block from the beach which I shared with a wonderful English woman, Elizabeth ,aka Pin, and her 2 daughters. Pin was divorced from a Brazilian man she met in England when he was studying. They married, had 2 children, moved to Rio, had yet another one, he confessed his homosexuality, they divorced and then I met Pin.
Upon my arrival in Rio, I quickly sought a job although I could not speak any Portuguese and had never been there before in my life. Yes, knowing Spanish helped but as close as they sometimes are or seem, I couldn't speak the language of Cabral, Carmen Miranda or Paulo Coelho. I also knew that the option for staying in hotel would have to change if I was to stay for an extended period which I did. Armed with the local newspaper, Journal do Brasil, I found a room in the flat of an elderly Brazilian woman and left my hotel in the Botafogo neighborhood called by chance, Buenos Aires.
I also went to language schools teaching English looking for a job as quickly as I could. And illegally, as I had no Brazilian working permit, I got a job with an institute which sent me out to various prestigious institutions to teach. Or at least to show up and listen. One such institution was the Bolsa de Valores do Rio de Janeiro ( The Rio Stock Exchange).
My student who held a very high position at the Stock Exchange was a woman who was placed there due to her amourous relationship with a man at the top of the Bolsa. I am sure was was very good in "many positions" but in her officially paid one, she wasn't. I eventually heard of her dismissal from that posting. However, the man paying, AND DID HE PAY, wanted her to learn English although she really didn't care about it or its fruits in her future. Our classes had laughs and tears but no grammar lessons, no verb conjugations, no false cognates: she spoke about her love for this man, her doubts, her fears, their sex and their plans together. Em portugues! And I began my intensive REAL Portuguese lessons while getting paid for them. Not a bad deal I'd say!
The school also sent me to work at EMBRATUR, the Brazilian state tourism authority, IBM and other places. They also told me that the director of the Copacabana branch had a huge flat and was looking for someone to rent a room in it. That's how and where I met Pin.
I eventually left Rio, fluent in Portuguese and rich enough to purchase my first apartment in Buenos Aires in cash. I would say it was a good stay. And Pin not long after left to go back to the UK. And just as Argentina was waking up from its horrendous military dictatorship years, I also left BA for America.
And from America, it was much easier to visit Pin in East Grinstead, West Sussex. Little did I know that East Grinstead was the world headquarters for L. Ron Hubbard's Church of Scientology and that Pin and family were very involved and active members of this cult which saddly saw me never to have contact with her again not due to her "religious" convictions but rather due to her constant endeavors of brainwashing me and culminated in an attempted kidnapping forcing me to throw myself out of a car as it was in route to Saint Hill Manor, the heart, soul and pulse of John Travolta and Tom Cruise's "alma mater".
A sad ending to what was such a good thing and probably what my student at the Stock Exchange also eventually said.
But here I am back years later In BA finally telling you about the invasion of the Brazilians. Yes, finally!
Well, according to sources both inside and outside of Brazil, it is a fact that the former president Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva has brought some 24 million Brazilians out from the poverty level and some 31 million have climbed to a middle class status, a first in that and many Latin American countries. And for those who have attained this new level for the first time in their life, they want to travel. And while very nationalistic about Brazil, they want to go to a foreign country and so many, I mean MANY, visit our country. It is estimated that 2 million will visit this year alone. And they are everywhere. On downtown streets such as Florida and Avenida de Mayo. In shops all over town even in the bakery and optical shop next to my building. I was at a bus stop when 2 middle-aged Brazilian stood next to me waiting for the bus and as we were waiting more Brazilians joined to queue. And they are all carrying shopping bags from every imaginable store possible. Bags which hold clothing , shoes, souvenirs, small electric appliances, tools, wires, locks, light bulbs, furniture polish, soap, etc; when I said eveything, I meant everything.
Argentina is no longer a cheap destinations even with USD or Euros.OK, If you compare the prices of flats or rentals in NYC or London or the prices of a steak dinner in Tokyo or Paris, yes it is cheaper. But generally speaking for most visitors and all Argentinians, it is not. But the rate of exchange between the peso and the Brazilian real is very favorable for the visitor from Rio, Sao Paulo or Porto Alegre making Argentina much cheaper than it is at home for them.
Mind you, as a guide, I have tons of possibiltites to work with these groups coming here in droves; however while I love Brazilians and find them very open and fun to be with, to work with and for them is another story. 9 am departure may happen at 945 or 10. Interest in historical sights are low on the priority list after shopping and it's hard to show the sights after dark has fallen and the shops have closed leaving sightseeing one of the only other possibilities. But there always is dinner so let's skip the sightseeing today!
To be fair, there are many cultured Brazilians and the above-mentioned occurences are not uniquely Brazilian.
That having been said and done, I think you understand that I don't normally work with Brazilian groups here in BA.
Every Friday evening to maintain my fluency , I attend a weekly 2-hour Portuguese conversation "class" in a Brazilian-run language institute. And it is amazing; even during the summer time when so many portenos are on holiday, the school is chocker-block full of students at varying levels of "a lingua portugesa" studying mornings, afternoons and nights. Portuguese and the teaching of it is a big business now and so many realize its importance and want to jump on the bandwagon and get a piece of the pie, or maybe I should say fork of the feijoada, while the going is good. Even the conversation class is on waiting list status and to enroll in it, one must have an advanced level of fluency.
It is said that within this next decade, Brazil will be the world's 5th economic power. It has the resources and man power to reach that, it is true. But one thing which often puzzled me when I see the "verde e amarelo", the green and yellow flag of the nation are the words written on the banner which emcompasses the blue disc and its 27 white stars. The words say "Ordem e Progresso" or Order and Progress, something which at least to me until now was quite contradictory to the country I knew.
But things can change and so can people and their attitudes. The Turks saw this with Ataturk, the former Iron Curtain countries saw their biggest Communists became today's biggest Capitulists so why can't it happen in Brazil?
But one thing that surely will not change is the importance of this beautiful language which when sung by a suave and sweet voice makes one melt. So dig out that bossa nova album or even Brazil 66, make yourself a caiprininha and dream of Rio. Enough caipirinhas and you'll think you're in Rio.
Ate logo e obrigado.Tchau.
SES
Friday, February 4, 2011
A man's home is his castle... and I am the King, I am el Portero!
We have all heard this quote, " A man's home is his castle". The "castle" can be from a luxurious mansion to the most humble of dwellings and everything in between. But today, I'd like to write a bit about the king of the castle where I live..and perhaps you, too...who is the portero.
The portero, or as many like to be called today, encargado, is somewhat simliar to the super or janitor in many apartments buildings in cities like New York or Chicago, the concierge in Paris or the spravce in Prague.
However, here in Argentina, the portero or encargado (portera/encargada in the case of a woman, not unknown but not that common here) occupies a very special role and place. As with everything, there are always exceptions to the rule so let me in advance appologize to any portero/a or tenants with one who is hard working, realiable and honest; my comments apply to my experiences over the course of 30 years of dealing with my kings and queens of the castle.
Depending on the amount of flats in the building, the portero can work alone or have one or more assistants, called ayudante. The assitant has morning, afternoon or weekend shifts where as the king has Monday to Friday with a Saturday morning. Hours normally run from 0800-1200 and 1700-2100, give or take and here in Argentina, there's much more taking than giving. The portero, in the vast majority of buildings in Buenos Aires, lives in the building normally on the ground or top floor which are, in my opinion, the worst floors on which to live due to heavier foot traffic and flooding possibilities on the ground floor and oppresive heat and possible leaking from the roof on the top floor. The ideal place to live is somewhere in between but let's face it, the portero is getting that place for free! And that's not all that come with the job.
In the capital and greater Buenos Aires, there are some 75,000 porteros and their union SUTERH is very strong.The union is constantly demanding increases for its extended royalty. Just 3 days ago there was yet another proposal to give an additional $380 pesos bonus over a short period of time. In the past 4 years, my expensas ( monthly fees or assesments) have gone up almost 200% but my salary hasn't! And I don't get free housing, free cable tv, phone, gas, electricity, paid vacations, social club memberships, members-only hotels and tour packages at highly reduced rates. Then there are the Christmas and Easter gifts and enveloppes and many ETCs as well as extra pay for doing what should be included in my job description ( like taking out the trash... porteros get additonal pay for this!).
Many buildings want a portero not portera because they feel that a man can perform with greater ease certain tasks and I agree with that. That is when they actually perform these tasks. In another building where I lived, we had a portera out of pity because her husband was tragically killed in a car accident and the widow and young son would be out of the secure environment of provided housing and salary, thus everyone wanted to get her through this difficult time by keeping her on in her late husband's position. THE WORST THING WE COULD HAVE DONE! She did almost nothing and we had to pay for additional workers to do most every other chore. We should have collected money amongst all the tenants and paid a year's rent of accommodation for her...elsewhere. She is still there until this very day with the same results.
In our building the powers that be at the time wanted a male portero with a wife. So our portero did just that and got one. He found a woman who had a small child and offered them accommodation and security in exchange for her saying that she was his wife and mother of his child. Well, she is still there although the portero is taking legal actions to get her out. Most of the bothersome noises come from their apartment due to the violent sounding fights which occur often although that recently has calmed down because the portero sleeps in the apartments to which he has keys when the owners are away. And when they are all back, he stores a mattress in our basement and sleeps there. Unbelievable, right? Sad to say, all too true.
Getting back to the flow of money in the life of a portero.He or she often does little favors for the apartment dwellers like changing light bulbs in high places, looks at a dripping faucet, maybe a little paint job here and there, walks the dog, cleans a neighbor's flat and many other things. Sure, one if not using the services of the portero would have to pay extra for this and that's fine, however, one does pay the portero extra for this. But what happens when the portero does these favors on work time, time I pay for, thus not performing to his or her fullest of the assigned chores and tasks? That most certainly is the scene where I live.
In my building, the portero also seems to have a "cable central" in his patio with more lines than a switchboard of years gone by. And by being "vivo"( meaning cunning or crafty in local jargon) as most Portenos are in one way or another, "cable trucho" or "borrowed" tapped- lines from a cable tv provider are multiplied and sold to those wanting the service but paying much less than as if they were connected legally( funny word here!). Another nice monthly supplement.
Yes, I can say that our portero is out there many days a week with a hose cleaning the streets and the dog crap which is smeared all over the sidewalk due to its inconsiderate and lazy owners. Bucket, broom, and squeegee all visible. BTW, did you know that the "secador de pisos" or squeegee was actually invented in the 1950s here in Argentina? Yes all visible, even sometimes rubber work gloves, rags, bronze cleaner... oh but there is something missing....the portero! Mine show his laborious efforts for the first 45 minutes or so of the day with the flowing water on the sidewalk but then it's mate and factura ..aka croissant.. time. Of course, for the assistants, too. This is when normally the door to the work , HUH work!, place or office is normally closed.
One thing the portero does well is to recieve the newspapers. And according to the subsriber's morning habits of getting up or going to work early, he then can pick and choose from the later risers which paper he wants to read first! He just has to be careful not to spill any mate or leave crumbs from the morning facturas.
Sometimes, when I was naive to this practise, I would open my apatment door and there would be no newspaper at 10 or 11 am. But those weekend editons have more supplements to read and thus require more time. And speaking of newpapers, during that naive phase I just mentioned, as I would often travel for lengthy periods, I would leave the key to my flat with my portero in the case of some emergency. One day, my cousin came to the flat in my absence and couldn't open the door. After pushing and finally having liberated her entry in, to her shock and surprise were the mountains of used newspaper pilled in my entrance way and living room. The portero, although while I am of course convinced of his love for the Amazon jungle and general environmental concern by recycling, was storing his booty within my walls until he could sell them
to the highest bidder.
And being the avid reader that he is, my portero commented on the book that I was carrying on one evening coming home . He was actually near the building, outside talking to the other porteros about the day's gossip; and don't think they don't know everything that's going on: who comes in and out of the building ( they must have a secret camera for this since most of the time they are really never visible to see who enters and leaves); they deliver your mail under the door as we dont have individual mail boxes; and with their keen hearing, they know about fights,discussions and love making on each of the floors.
He made a few comments about the book I was currently reading. I was a bit surprised as it was one of which I didn't think he knew the existance. Oh yes, he told me that he had read it since he borrowed it from my bookshelf while I was in the Antarctic.
The stories could AND DO go on but I won't. It is the begining of the month and time to pay my bills including the expensas to the portero but that like many thing in the land of 1000 surprises is easier said than done.I looked for him twice last night and twice this morning during working hours but he was nowhere to be
found. And now it's after 12 noon so I guess he must be getting his overdue rest break.
So next time you complain about having to take out your own garbage or sweep the floor, just think of the extra groceries and amount of brooms you'll be able to buy because you are the king or queen of your own castle. And no one will even know that you bought them.
SES
The portero, or as many like to be called today, encargado, is somewhat simliar to the super or janitor in many apartments buildings in cities like New York or Chicago, the concierge in Paris or the spravce in Prague.
However, here in Argentina, the portero or encargado (portera/encargada in the case of a woman, not unknown but not that common here) occupies a very special role and place. As with everything, there are always exceptions to the rule so let me in advance appologize to any portero/a or tenants with one who is hard working, realiable and honest; my comments apply to my experiences over the course of 30 years of dealing with my kings and queens of the castle.
Depending on the amount of flats in the building, the portero can work alone or have one or more assistants, called ayudante. The assitant has morning, afternoon or weekend shifts where as the king has Monday to Friday with a Saturday morning. Hours normally run from 0800-1200 and 1700-2100, give or take and here in Argentina, there's much more taking than giving. The portero, in the vast majority of buildings in Buenos Aires, lives in the building normally on the ground or top floor which are, in my opinion, the worst floors on which to live due to heavier foot traffic and flooding possibilities on the ground floor and oppresive heat and possible leaking from the roof on the top floor. The ideal place to live is somewhere in between but let's face it, the portero is getting that place for free! And that's not all that come with the job.
In the capital and greater Buenos Aires, there are some 75,000 porteros and their union SUTERH is very strong.The union is constantly demanding increases for its extended royalty. Just 3 days ago there was yet another proposal to give an additional $380 pesos bonus over a short period of time. In the past 4 years, my expensas ( monthly fees or assesments) have gone up almost 200% but my salary hasn't! And I don't get free housing, free cable tv, phone, gas, electricity, paid vacations, social club memberships, members-only hotels and tour packages at highly reduced rates. Then there are the Christmas and Easter gifts and enveloppes and many ETCs as well as extra pay for doing what should be included in my job description ( like taking out the trash... porteros get additonal pay for this!).
Many buildings want a portero not portera because they feel that a man can perform with greater ease certain tasks and I agree with that. That is when they actually perform these tasks. In another building where I lived, we had a portera out of pity because her husband was tragically killed in a car accident and the widow and young son would be out of the secure environment of provided housing and salary, thus everyone wanted to get her through this difficult time by keeping her on in her late husband's position. THE WORST THING WE COULD HAVE DONE! She did almost nothing and we had to pay for additional workers to do most every other chore. We should have collected money amongst all the tenants and paid a year's rent of accommodation for her...elsewhere. She is still there until this very day with the same results.
In our building the powers that be at the time wanted a male portero with a wife. So our portero did just that and got one. He found a woman who had a small child and offered them accommodation and security in exchange for her saying that she was his wife and mother of his child. Well, she is still there although the portero is taking legal actions to get her out. Most of the bothersome noises come from their apartment due to the violent sounding fights which occur often although that recently has calmed down because the portero sleeps in the apartments to which he has keys when the owners are away. And when they are all back, he stores a mattress in our basement and sleeps there. Unbelievable, right? Sad to say, all too true.
Getting back to the flow of money in the life of a portero.He or she often does little favors for the apartment dwellers like changing light bulbs in high places, looks at a dripping faucet, maybe a little paint job here and there, walks the dog, cleans a neighbor's flat and many other things. Sure, one if not using the services of the portero would have to pay extra for this and that's fine, however, one does pay the portero extra for this. But what happens when the portero does these favors on work time, time I pay for, thus not performing to his or her fullest of the assigned chores and tasks? That most certainly is the scene where I live.
In my building, the portero also seems to have a "cable central" in his patio with more lines than a switchboard of years gone by. And by being "vivo"( meaning cunning or crafty in local jargon) as most Portenos are in one way or another, "cable trucho" or "borrowed" tapped- lines from a cable tv provider are multiplied and sold to those wanting the service but paying much less than as if they were connected legally( funny word here!). Another nice monthly supplement.
Yes, I can say that our portero is out there many days a week with a hose cleaning the streets and the dog crap which is smeared all over the sidewalk due to its inconsiderate and lazy owners. Bucket, broom, and squeegee all visible. BTW, did you know that the "secador de pisos" or squeegee was actually invented in the 1950s here in Argentina? Yes all visible, even sometimes rubber work gloves, rags, bronze cleaner... oh but there is something missing....the portero! Mine show his laborious efforts for the first 45 minutes or so of the day with the flowing water on the sidewalk but then it's mate and factura ..aka croissant.. time. Of course, for the assistants, too. This is when normally the door to the work , HUH work!, place or office is normally closed.
One thing the portero does well is to recieve the newspapers. And according to the subsriber's morning habits of getting up or going to work early, he then can pick and choose from the later risers which paper he wants to read first! He just has to be careful not to spill any mate or leave crumbs from the morning facturas.
Sometimes, when I was naive to this practise, I would open my apatment door and there would be no newspaper at 10 or 11 am. But those weekend editons have more supplements to read and thus require more time. And speaking of newpapers, during that naive phase I just mentioned, as I would often travel for lengthy periods, I would leave the key to my flat with my portero in the case of some emergency. One day, my cousin came to the flat in my absence and couldn't open the door. After pushing and finally having liberated her entry in, to her shock and surprise were the mountains of used newspaper pilled in my entrance way and living room. The portero, although while I am of course convinced of his love for the Amazon jungle and general environmental concern by recycling, was storing his booty within my walls until he could sell them
to the highest bidder.
And being the avid reader that he is, my portero commented on the book that I was carrying on one evening coming home . He was actually near the building, outside talking to the other porteros about the day's gossip; and don't think they don't know everything that's going on: who comes in and out of the building ( they must have a secret camera for this since most of the time they are really never visible to see who enters and leaves); they deliver your mail under the door as we dont have individual mail boxes; and with their keen hearing, they know about fights,discussions and love making on each of the floors.
He made a few comments about the book I was currently reading. I was a bit surprised as it was one of which I didn't think he knew the existance. Oh yes, he told me that he had read it since he borrowed it from my bookshelf while I was in the Antarctic.
The stories could AND DO go on but I won't. It is the begining of the month and time to pay my bills including the expensas to the portero but that like many thing in the land of 1000 surprises is easier said than done.I looked for him twice last night and twice this morning during working hours but he was nowhere to be
found. And now it's after 12 noon so I guess he must be getting his overdue rest break.
So next time you complain about having to take out your own garbage or sweep the floor, just think of the extra groceries and amount of brooms you'll be able to buy because you are the king or queen of your own castle. And no one will even know that you bought them.
SES
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Straight ahead but turn right! then left!
I am a bit of an anomaly in many ways. A product of more Anglophone Irish parents isn't possible: with roots in Argentina, often a "wanna" be Anglo place but not quite there; emigrated to Central Europe and Slavic lands( although that's questionable, nicht wahr?) in the Czech Republic. I have been living in Prague for more than one generation and have never tried a ceske pivo ( the breakfast food also known there as liquid bread which is beer); in the land of the tango, I remain without the custom of sipping mate, an infusion whose leaves come from a shrub and is of the same family as holly. Drinking mate is as much a part of the Argentine palate and daily intake as any grilled meat or pizza. But I do outdo any Argentine in my daily consumption of local Malbec wine!
I lived for more than one generation also in the United States, in Chicago, and never drove a car. Well, as a child that is understandable but in my second long period there as an adult ,it isn't, especailly in America. I went everywhere, although sometimes not easily, with public transportation and where public transportaion didn't take me, I didn't go. And until this day I do not know how to be behind the steering wheel and make it move. I DON'T DRIVE AND HAVE NO DESIRE TO DO SO! And after entering into the 2nd half of a century of my life on this earth, I doubt very much that I ever will! I know that this limits me especially in my travels but I still managed to get around the US, (including Southern California and Miami), Australia ( from Perth to Sydney including the vineyards in the Barossa Valley) and South Africa ( where no white person takes public transport). The other places where I often find myself either have very developed public transportation systems or don't have cars. Yes, how many cars have you seen driving down the street of Pyongyang or in the countryside of Moldova?
As a life-time public transportation user, Buenos Aires is a great city in its ability for getting the masses around the huge metropolis. Yes, the buses are very crowded and the subway or metro is like a sauna on wheels. Pickpockets are rife and strikes closing down lines are common place. But if you are lucky enough to have those precious coins hoarded and sold on the "black "market with which to board the buses, then you can be on your merry way.
And as a great fan of walking, my legs get a lot of exercise. In my other life in "smile land", I live at the top of a steep incline, call it a hill and must schlep not only myself but myself ladden with heavy bags. That is hundreds of pounds in motion! Daily, whether I go grocery shopping for the best deal 2 kilometers away, am leading tourists on a 7 hour walking tour under the 100F sun or just out and about to discover some street or area I want to know better, my walking shoes are on. Head down not to step in doggy "you know what", head up to look out for flying people, collapsing balconies or other falling objects. Can a 80 lb. dog be considered an object? Sure, why not! And look on both sides to see if someone is trying to snatch your bag or wallet. So almost a constant aerobic movement...for free.
So the upcoming paragraphs have little effect on the pedestrian.
The great minds which run not only this country...or is it run it dry?...as well as the city of Buenos Aires have gotten two heads together, which probably bumped and worsen their logical abilities, if this is possible but I see that it is, and have come up with ways to lighten the traffic in the city. No, it's not like in Mexico City or other places where certain license plates ending with odd or even number could circulate freely that day.
A side note to this is that often those who could afford a car could also afford a second one so that each vehicule had an odd or even number on its registration plate. Hmmm, I wonder if they had been to Buenos Aires before???
Some cities like London levied a tax on the cars entering into the center of the city. Some places even ban autos from entering. But we here changed the direction of the traffic..and then changed it again...and again...and again, on the same street! Such is the case of a street called Arenales.
Named in honor of Juan Antonio Alvarez de Arenales, an Argentine military man key in the independence of many South American countries, calle Arenales is a well known street which runs north and south for 30 blocks making it 3.75 mile or 6 kilometer long starting at Plaza San Martin in the heart of the city ending at the beautiful Botancial Gradens, Jardin Botanico, designed in the 19th century by the well-known French landscaper and architect, Jules Charles Thys, known here as Carlos Thys. It runs adjacent to the well-known avenida Santa Fe, a Michigan Avenue of Chicago or Kurfurstendamm of Berlin. A tree- lined street with up-scale shops and restaurants and other businesses as well as high upper-middle class apartments. It's also the street on which I live. And as the direction of the traffic was also just recently changed on Santa Fe within the past few months, much has gone to Arenales. But watch out! It's not as straight forward as that.
Our city fathers have decided that Arenales will be north bound for a few blocks, then south bound, then north again, south and finally north. Can you imagine the confusion? And to add insult to injury, to continue northbound, only taxis or buses can go to adjacent Santa Fe as it is closed off to cars going north-bound which means they must go towards the river and make huge diversions to reach their destination which is often just one street away.Taxis and buses left; cars right, then all straight, taxis right,cars left, now 1 or 5 blocks depending if you are a car or taxi, then right or left on Arenales for a few blocks until the next change of direction comes and relive it all over again and again and again. UNA LOCURA TOTAL or to put it into local vernacular, a TOTAL F... UP! Mass confusion at street intersections, higher taxi fares due to the divesrions and more gas consumed by the average driver. And in part, the changes were done to lessen air pollution. That really makes sense.... drive another unnecessary mile and not pollute the air.
But I almost never take taxis and don't drive. But I do walk, now more than ever much more carefully down Arenales and quickly cross its intersections as I jump back or forward as the stressed driver turns where he or she didn't know about the now mandatory diversion while cursing at me for being in the way on the zebra stripes.
We really owe the mayor a big abrazo(hug) and gracias. He gave the drivers now opportunities to see more of this beautiful city and he gave us, the pedestrians, lessons on quick reflexes and aerobics on the streets of Buenos Aires. I wonder if I can ask him for a safety helmut.
Mind your step!
SES
I lived for more than one generation also in the United States, in Chicago, and never drove a car. Well, as a child that is understandable but in my second long period there as an adult ,it isn't, especailly in America. I went everywhere, although sometimes not easily, with public transportation and where public transportaion didn't take me, I didn't go. And until this day I do not know how to be behind the steering wheel and make it move. I DON'T DRIVE AND HAVE NO DESIRE TO DO SO! And after entering into the 2nd half of a century of my life on this earth, I doubt very much that I ever will! I know that this limits me especially in my travels but I still managed to get around the US, (including Southern California and Miami), Australia ( from Perth to Sydney including the vineyards in the Barossa Valley) and South Africa ( where no white person takes public transport). The other places where I often find myself either have very developed public transportation systems or don't have cars. Yes, how many cars have you seen driving down the street of Pyongyang or in the countryside of Moldova?
As a life-time public transportation user, Buenos Aires is a great city in its ability for getting the masses around the huge metropolis. Yes, the buses are very crowded and the subway or metro is like a sauna on wheels. Pickpockets are rife and strikes closing down lines are common place. But if you are lucky enough to have those precious coins hoarded and sold on the "black "market with which to board the buses, then you can be on your merry way.
And as a great fan of walking, my legs get a lot of exercise. In my other life in "smile land", I live at the top of a steep incline, call it a hill and must schlep not only myself but myself ladden with heavy bags. That is hundreds of pounds in motion! Daily, whether I go grocery shopping for the best deal 2 kilometers away, am leading tourists on a 7 hour walking tour under the 100F sun or just out and about to discover some street or area I want to know better, my walking shoes are on. Head down not to step in doggy "you know what", head up to look out for flying people, collapsing balconies or other falling objects. Can a 80 lb. dog be considered an object? Sure, why not! And look on both sides to see if someone is trying to snatch your bag or wallet. So almost a constant aerobic movement...for free.
So the upcoming paragraphs have little effect on the pedestrian.
The great minds which run not only this country...or is it run it dry?...as well as the city of Buenos Aires have gotten two heads together, which probably bumped and worsen their logical abilities, if this is possible but I see that it is, and have come up with ways to lighten the traffic in the city. No, it's not like in Mexico City or other places where certain license plates ending with odd or even number could circulate freely that day.
A side note to this is that often those who could afford a car could also afford a second one so that each vehicule had an odd or even number on its registration plate. Hmmm, I wonder if they had been to Buenos Aires before???
Some cities like London levied a tax on the cars entering into the center of the city. Some places even ban autos from entering. But we here changed the direction of the traffic..and then changed it again...and again...and again, on the same street! Such is the case of a street called Arenales.
Named in honor of Juan Antonio Alvarez de Arenales, an Argentine military man key in the independence of many South American countries, calle Arenales is a well known street which runs north and south for 30 blocks making it 3.75 mile or 6 kilometer long starting at Plaza San Martin in the heart of the city ending at the beautiful Botancial Gradens, Jardin Botanico, designed in the 19th century by the well-known French landscaper and architect, Jules Charles Thys, known here as Carlos Thys. It runs adjacent to the well-known avenida Santa Fe, a Michigan Avenue of Chicago or Kurfurstendamm of Berlin. A tree- lined street with up-scale shops and restaurants and other businesses as well as high upper-middle class apartments. It's also the street on which I live. And as the direction of the traffic was also just recently changed on Santa Fe within the past few months, much has gone to Arenales. But watch out! It's not as straight forward as that.
Our city fathers have decided that Arenales will be north bound for a few blocks, then south bound, then north again, south and finally north. Can you imagine the confusion? And to add insult to injury, to continue northbound, only taxis or buses can go to adjacent Santa Fe as it is closed off to cars going north-bound which means they must go towards the river and make huge diversions to reach their destination which is often just one street away.Taxis and buses left; cars right, then all straight, taxis right,cars left, now 1 or 5 blocks depending if you are a car or taxi, then right or left on Arenales for a few blocks until the next change of direction comes and relive it all over again and again and again. UNA LOCURA TOTAL or to put it into local vernacular, a TOTAL F... UP! Mass confusion at street intersections, higher taxi fares due to the divesrions and more gas consumed by the average driver. And in part, the changes were done to lessen air pollution. That really makes sense.... drive another unnecessary mile and not pollute the air.
But I almost never take taxis and don't drive. But I do walk, now more than ever much more carefully down Arenales and quickly cross its intersections as I jump back or forward as the stressed driver turns where he or she didn't know about the now mandatory diversion while cursing at me for being in the way on the zebra stripes.
We really owe the mayor a big abrazo(hug) and gracias. He gave the drivers now opportunities to see more of this beautiful city and he gave us, the pedestrians, lessons on quick reflexes and aerobics on the streets of Buenos Aires. I wonder if I can ask him for a safety helmut.
Mind your step!
SES
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Where a fat black girl is a 110lb. blond bombshell, bella!
Happy February!
Well, if you are reading the article today, this means that you made it through the first month of the year, hopefully with relatively few scars. Now only 334 days left until January approaches again.
So since it is the first day of February, the month of San Valentin and love and still a month of happy , albeit, often complicated vacation time here, today's thoughts will be rather of a linguisitc nature about the idiosyncrasies of our beloved Argentina.
As I hope that you all know, Spanish or as we call call it here, castellano, is the lingua franca of the country as well as of the rest of the continent with the exception of our huge neighbor to the north, Brazil , where Portuguese is spoken by nearly 200 million people and the three small Guyanas at the very tip of South America, recently visited in depth by your humble blogger in 2010, whose official tongues are still those of their colonizers, the English, Dutch and French.
Spanish is spoken by approxiamately 400 million people as a first and official language in 21 countries throughout North, Central and South America as well as in Africa; in the United States, it is estimated that there are some 35 million who also speak it as a first language and in many cases as their daily and often only language. That means that writings by Borges and Neruda, songs by Julio Iglesias and Ricky Martin and telenovelas (soap operas) seen on Univision are all major players of this soon to be 2nd most spoken language in the world as a mother tongue.
Argentina is a special case in its development of the language and I WILL get there!
It is a known historical fact that during the golden years of Spain starting in the late 15th century ,Christopher Colombus sailed for Spain looking for a shorter route to the Indies which is present day South-East Asia including the Philippines and the Malay peninsula.
As we all know, instead of finding the spices so sought after in Europe of the time, he reached the shores of the Americas setting foot on what is today's Bahamas, Cuba and Domnican Republic and thus is popularly known as the man who discovered America. This "fact" can of course be disputed with the claim going to various Asian discoverers and the Norse explorer, Leif Erikson, but the "fact "is that "America" had long been populated and traveled by indigenous inhabitants for many centuries before the white man reached its shores.
But Mother Spain got its greedy "foot in the door" through conquering and "civilizing" with religion and customs as remote and ridiculous to the natives of the time as if Amazonians would come to New York or Paris today barefoot with painted faces, carrying bows and arrows while telling us to worship the trees! But the Spanish had their guns and ammunitions and the colonizers from the "madre patria" as did many other European "civilized" conquerors in various parts of the world, thus, setting claim to the new territories. And the language of these colonizing forces was to be the language spoken.
Spanish became the language of this new region now known as Argentina and with the centuries to come, more and more people, both local-born natives and new arrivals from Spain, spoke it as the only acceptable means of verbal communication. However, this Iberian way of speaking changed here due to the massive immigration of mostly Italian arriving men and later women with children searching for a better life.
Italians in large numbers began to arrive in the 1850s reaching the highest numbers from 1901 to 1910 at nearly 1 million and while the numbers never topped those of the begining of the new century, they continued to be very significant and outnumbered any new arrivals from other countries including Spain. And while all were "Italians", they came from various regions of the old country speaking distinctly different dialects, a reason for which Italian, as it is now studied as a language, never took root since the northerners couldn't understand those from the less fortunate areas of the south and Sicily. And since Spanish was not such a complicated task for these latin-speaking newcomers, it was learned and thus spoken at various levels realtively quickly. But words and intonations did make their mark in our castellano rioplatense, the Spanish spoken here especially in the areas not far from the immigrants' mecca, Buenos Aires, and extending itself to neighboring Uruguay as well to nearby provinces. Many non Spanish-speaking people (and obviously also not speaker's of Dante's allegorcal language) ask me if I am speaking Italian when they hear me converse with a fellow Argentine. Perhaps its the gesture of hands flying through the air; or maybe interjections of words such as parla, laburo or manya? It could also be attributed to the intonations that the Italian speakers brought with them which give us a very unique way of oral expression. And our friends from the land of pasta and pizza didn't stop there; they also gave us other influences not as desired as cuisine, cinema or art which often make it hard to differentiate la bella Italia and its Berlusconi comedia dell'arte from Tangolandia's travesties when one recently arrives in Naples, Rome, Buenos Aires or Rosario.
When a Portuguese or Italian-speaking visitor arrives for the first time in Buenos Aires, they often think they understand what is being said but in fact do not. This happened to me in my first year after having emigrated to the Czech Republic. As I had spent nearly 3 years in the very gray and oppresive Poland under the martial law communist regime of Wojciech Jaruzelski, I arrived in my new homeland with a slavic language knowledge and background being able to get around and communicate with relative ease( although generally speaking, the Poles are not very well liked in the "land of 1000 smiles", but who is liked there anyway?)This false comfort got me into many lingusitic troubles and embarassing situations about which you'll read later in the second half of the year when I return to Prague, so stay tuned! But back here in Argentina, even a native Spanish-speaker or anyone fluent in the language arriving for the first time in Buenos Aires often thinks they understand what has been said but indeed does not and many a blank look can be seen on their faces.
As in every country and in every language, the language here is often not spoken as it would be desired by the official language academies whose task it is to set the standards of the proper way to speak and write. In our case, it is the Real Academia Espanola. Sorry, I can't put for some reason the ~ over the n is Espanola.
Here, we conjugate some of verbs in a totally different way than other countries; we don't use the informal "tu" which is "you" in the familiar form but rather we use "vos"; the formal "you' remains 'Usted" as in all countries of habla hispana. If you are lost to what I am saying, it's time to wish you had either taken a foreign language( and remembered it) or falsely be happy that in English this difference doesn't exist. And we use lots of slang and throw in those Italian words. We also shorten words and names to a great extent:
Guillermo is Guille; Alberto is Beto, Francisco is Pancho and so on. Mas o menos(more or less) is maso; compu is computadora,etc.And we also love to use adjectives instead of calling the person by his or her name. Thus a blond, blue-eyed 300 lb.(136 kilos)person can be called by many as "negrito" or "negrita" which means little black boy or girl and an almost anorexic person can be known as "gorda,gordo or gordi"which means" fatty". Me with my 110 kilos...no you figure that one out in pounds!.. I can be called "gordo" by my friend seated next to me but "flaco" or "skinny" by the driver on the same bus.
SES, does that mean that fat is thin and black is white? Well, yes and we can quote reliable sources like Cristina, the mother of all Argentines. In all of her speeches, she says one thing, means another and eventually does nothing.
It's time to go,che! I have such a fiacca after writing this today. Time to get some morfi and a chupi.
And to leave you with a very unqiue way of saying good bye or adios (also a word not used very often here) which is said not on the shores of the River Plate here in BA but rather on the banks of the Danube River or in the Puszta of Hungary,... HALLO!!! Well, there you go! I guess we do have more influence than we think when in far-distance Budapest "hallo" means goodbye. It makes sense to me and I'm sure to a lot of our men and women in power and without a doubt to Cristina! Maybe she said it first!
So... Hallo!
SES
Well, if you are reading the article today, this means that you made it through the first month of the year, hopefully with relatively few scars. Now only 334 days left until January approaches again.
So since it is the first day of February, the month of San Valentin and love and still a month of happy , albeit, often complicated vacation time here, today's thoughts will be rather of a linguisitc nature about the idiosyncrasies of our beloved Argentina.
As I hope that you all know, Spanish or as we call call it here, castellano, is the lingua franca of the country as well as of the rest of the continent with the exception of our huge neighbor to the north, Brazil , where Portuguese is spoken by nearly 200 million people and the three small Guyanas at the very tip of South America, recently visited in depth by your humble blogger in 2010, whose official tongues are still those of their colonizers, the English, Dutch and French.
Spanish is spoken by approxiamately 400 million people as a first and official language in 21 countries throughout North, Central and South America as well as in Africa; in the United States, it is estimated that there are some 35 million who also speak it as a first language and in many cases as their daily and often only language. That means that writings by Borges and Neruda, songs by Julio Iglesias and Ricky Martin and telenovelas (soap operas) seen on Univision are all major players of this soon to be 2nd most spoken language in the world as a mother tongue.
Argentina is a special case in its development of the language and I WILL get there!
It is a known historical fact that during the golden years of Spain starting in the late 15th century ,Christopher Colombus sailed for Spain looking for a shorter route to the Indies which is present day South-East Asia including the Philippines and the Malay peninsula.
As we all know, instead of finding the spices so sought after in Europe of the time, he reached the shores of the Americas setting foot on what is today's Bahamas, Cuba and Domnican Republic and thus is popularly known as the man who discovered America. This "fact" can of course be disputed with the claim going to various Asian discoverers and the Norse explorer, Leif Erikson, but the "fact "is that "America" had long been populated and traveled by indigenous inhabitants for many centuries before the white man reached its shores.
But Mother Spain got its greedy "foot in the door" through conquering and "civilizing" with religion and customs as remote and ridiculous to the natives of the time as if Amazonians would come to New York or Paris today barefoot with painted faces, carrying bows and arrows while telling us to worship the trees! But the Spanish had their guns and ammunitions and the colonizers from the "madre patria" as did many other European "civilized" conquerors in various parts of the world, thus, setting claim to the new territories. And the language of these colonizing forces was to be the language spoken.
Spanish became the language of this new region now known as Argentina and with the centuries to come, more and more people, both local-born natives and new arrivals from Spain, spoke it as the only acceptable means of verbal communication. However, this Iberian way of speaking changed here due to the massive immigration of mostly Italian arriving men and later women with children searching for a better life.
Italians in large numbers began to arrive in the 1850s reaching the highest numbers from 1901 to 1910 at nearly 1 million and while the numbers never topped those of the begining of the new century, they continued to be very significant and outnumbered any new arrivals from other countries including Spain. And while all were "Italians", they came from various regions of the old country speaking distinctly different dialects, a reason for which Italian, as it is now studied as a language, never took root since the northerners couldn't understand those from the less fortunate areas of the south and Sicily. And since Spanish was not such a complicated task for these latin-speaking newcomers, it was learned and thus spoken at various levels realtively quickly. But words and intonations did make their mark in our castellano rioplatense, the Spanish spoken here especially in the areas not far from the immigrants' mecca, Buenos Aires, and extending itself to neighboring Uruguay as well to nearby provinces. Many non Spanish-speaking people (and obviously also not speaker's of Dante's allegorcal language) ask me if I am speaking Italian when they hear me converse with a fellow Argentine. Perhaps its the gesture of hands flying through the air; or maybe interjections of words such as parla, laburo or manya? It could also be attributed to the intonations that the Italian speakers brought with them which give us a very unique way of oral expression. And our friends from the land of pasta and pizza didn't stop there; they also gave us other influences not as desired as cuisine, cinema or art which often make it hard to differentiate la bella Italia and its Berlusconi comedia dell'arte from Tangolandia's travesties when one recently arrives in Naples, Rome, Buenos Aires or Rosario.
When a Portuguese or Italian-speaking visitor arrives for the first time in Buenos Aires, they often think they understand what is being said but in fact do not. This happened to me in my first year after having emigrated to the Czech Republic. As I had spent nearly 3 years in the very gray and oppresive Poland under the martial law communist regime of Wojciech Jaruzelski, I arrived in my new homeland with a slavic language knowledge and background being able to get around and communicate with relative ease( although generally speaking, the Poles are not very well liked in the "land of 1000 smiles", but who is liked there anyway?)This false comfort got me into many lingusitic troubles and embarassing situations about which you'll read later in the second half of the year when I return to Prague, so stay tuned! But back here in Argentina, even a native Spanish-speaker or anyone fluent in the language arriving for the first time in Buenos Aires often thinks they understand what has been said but indeed does not and many a blank look can be seen on their faces.
As in every country and in every language, the language here is often not spoken as it would be desired by the official language academies whose task it is to set the standards of the proper way to speak and write. In our case, it is the Real Academia Espanola. Sorry, I can't put for some reason the ~ over the n is Espanola.
Here, we conjugate some of verbs in a totally different way than other countries; we don't use the informal "tu" which is "you" in the familiar form but rather we use "vos"; the formal "you' remains 'Usted" as in all countries of habla hispana. If you are lost to what I am saying, it's time to wish you had either taken a foreign language( and remembered it) or falsely be happy that in English this difference doesn't exist. And we use lots of slang and throw in those Italian words. We also shorten words and names to a great extent:
Guillermo is Guille; Alberto is Beto, Francisco is Pancho and so on. Mas o menos(more or less) is maso; compu is computadora,etc.And we also love to use adjectives instead of calling the person by his or her name. Thus a blond, blue-eyed 300 lb.(136 kilos)person can be called by many as "negrito" or "negrita" which means little black boy or girl and an almost anorexic person can be known as "gorda,gordo or gordi"which means" fatty". Me with my 110 kilos...no you figure that one out in pounds!.. I can be called "gordo" by my friend seated next to me but "flaco" or "skinny" by the driver on the same bus.
SES, does that mean that fat is thin and black is white? Well, yes and we can quote reliable sources like Cristina, the mother of all Argentines. In all of her speeches, she says one thing, means another and eventually does nothing.
It's time to go,che! I have such a fiacca after writing this today. Time to get some morfi and a chupi.
And to leave you with a very unqiue way of saying good bye or adios (also a word not used very often here) which is said not on the shores of the River Plate here in BA but rather on the banks of the Danube River or in the Puszta of Hungary,... HALLO!!! Well, there you go! I guess we do have more influence than we think when in far-distance Budapest "hallo" means goodbye. It makes sense to me and I'm sure to a lot of our men and women in power and without a doubt to Cristina! Maybe she said it first!
So... Hallo!
SES
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