Never Underestimate the Power of Tissue….(and a few other great thoughts)

Two months in Argentina has passed in the blink of an eye and yet I feel as though I’ve learned a lifetime worth of valuable lessons. The most important of these may be the Power of Tissue. Tissue is one of those things I’ve dismissed most of my life, mostly because I never need to blow my nose and it was always something else to remember. Argentina has proven to be a great teacher of many things though, and a good reminder of others.

BA (Buenos Aires), though often called the Pairs of South America in the guidebooks, in my opinion, was the Pairs of South America before its financial collapse almost ten years ago. This certainly doesn’t mean it’s not worth visiting, but unless you plan to stay only in Recoletta, the most affluent neighborhood in the city, it’s dirty. Sidewalks are often in disrepair and the lose titles have a way of spitting “water” or weird stuff on your foot at the worst moment. More than once I’ve found goo on my foot, from where or what I don’t want to know, with only a tissue of a friend to rescue me! Also, toilet paper can be a rare bird here. It just doesn’t seem to be a concern, even in some of the nicest of places. Tissue to the rescue! Water also drips from many of the window air conditioning units that are working overtime to beat the heat. If wiping the various splashes on your best dress or pristine pants aren’t viable options, tissues to the rescue once again!! I’ve been through enough of these situations now to have at least one pack safely at my side at all times. You’d be so proud of my preparedness Joyce!

On a more serious note, I have come to better understand the rhyme of life. No this isn’t some new age book picked up in the airport, but living without a vehicle, which this is the first time I’ve been without since I was 18, puts you much more at the mercy of the daily forecast. Taking advantage of beautiful days becomes much more critical, saving rest for the rainy or overcast days. One would think I would have picked up this lesson while living in the north, and experiencing the drama of all the seasons there, but vehicles do a lot to enable us to live apart from natural conditions. In fact with the help of a vehicle, air conditioning/heating, and a cell phone, it’s possible to busy oneself 24 hours a day 7 days a week, I suppose, and the inherent value of inclement weather quickly diminishes to a mere burden. In short, I’m learning to happily honor the days of rain as the rest I think they were intended to be and the days of sun as the activity.

And lastly, I’ve been reminded, once again, that we do not get through life alone and that as I have been given unto, I to must give. While packing my bags for my trip out west, it was clear I needed to part with some of my things in an effort to lighten my load. I strongly considered mailing a box of stuff home, but it poured rain for three days and the mail system here is as cumbersome as the banking system. Instead, I offered some clothing and remaining cooking stuffs to the lovely woman who cleans the house. She seemed so excited, hugging and kissing me several times. Admittedly I was a little taken back, as none of it seemed of that much value, but I left the experience reminded that we often operate day to day unaware of how we affect others. Today, please know that I feel amazingly blessed to have received so much support from friends, family, and even many of the people I’ve meet here along the way, Tamaska!, than I can ever repay, but I’m going to do my best to try.
Cheers and Besos (kisses in Spanish)!!

A picture worth a 1000 words!

Ok, I haven’t actually counted whether or not this picture says that many words, but it says a whole hell of a lot. Displayed on the front page of the newspaper for an article discussing the 1% increase in the inflation of the country’s meat prices, I think many would be hard pressed to find a better photojournalistic image that better summarizes the essence of Argentina better, meat and femininity, femininity in its most traditional western world sense. Calm down my American feminist friends! It’s true that America might have every reason to be up in arms regarding such an image, expecially being titled CARNE, meaning meat in Spanish. But I’d like to suggest there are probably no things nearer, or dearer, to the heart of Argentineans than the meat they eat and females. So for the first time, might it be possible that being compared to a good cut of meat be a compliment? It's hard to say, and though I’d really like to write an argument in favor of such a conclusion, I’m afraid of the lashing some of you might give me for even the most academic of attempts! At this point then, I will be satisfied to point out three glaring facts and leave the rest to the more philosophical types.

First, meat is serious here, seriously yummy and inexpensive!! I heard this before arriving, but serious is a little of an understatement. It’s more like meat is the STAR of every meal. Side vegetables really are sides, boiled, stemmed, plain, salutes to the ever more illustrious star of the show, the cut of meat. The love of meat is such a strong force here that there is even a very popular brand of cracker that comes in several meat flavors!! And where there is a meat flavored crackers, Lay’s potato chips can be found as a noble competitor with various tasty gourmet meat flavors of its own. The Lay’s beef steak with caramelized onions is actually one of my favorites. What would Dr. Atkins say about that? Ha!

Second, Argentina is femininity on steroids. Dresses are much more popular here than in the states, especially when going out for the evening. This has been a real challenge for me to get my act together, and out of my jeans habit. Hard to believe eh, Brenda! Then there’s the extra long straight hair that most females keep here, note I said straight. This is critical because straight hair seems to associated with money and upper classes. (It goes without saying that my curly hair is going over a little better than a brick.) Regarding the length though, I’ll never have to worry about a stylist cutting my hair too short, in fact my experience has been the opposite in that they won’t cut it short enough. And as everyone knows that where there is long hair there is also tons of hair “things” to be found, and considering the number of females with long hair in this country, there's probably a ton X 10 here! Rubber bands, bobby pins, berets, and yes, even those ever alluring flowers so strongly associated with the Latin culture, are all very much in abundance. The Tango hall may actually be the best place to watch the femininity play out though, as females are alway found in longish dresses/skirts, fabulous high heels, and always the more dynamic of the dancing duo.

Lastly, I would simply like to point out that this photo would never have passed the editor’s desk in any legitimate newspaper in America, large or small, any day of the week, for any page, especially the front. With that said, I’d like to leave the other 384 words I didn’t mention about this picture to your own imagination…...

Love you all and thank you for the support!

Cut and Paste Heartbreak...

So I've been working on this great post about my gastronomic adventures in Argentina, but of course, in one flip of the wrong button I have managed to erase all evidence of my thoughtful work on the subject. A terrible case of cut and paste heartbreak.... In the spirit of "the show must go on" though, onto the next story.

Tango is going well so far. I am taking lessons with DNI Dance Company, a very rebuttable group known globally for their incredible shows and teaching instruction. Unfortunately, taking under such a name does not automatically qualify me as a know-it-all or even an enthusiast; I'm merely another aspiring heart in a long line of dreamers. And that's an ok place to be too...

The dance studio is every bit the space anyone would want to find them self learning. It's a room on the second level of their building with a wide open wooden dance floor, a mirror that spans an entire wall, and full french doors on either side of the room leading out to balconies, which are always open for the cross breeze. In the corner of the room, an old worn navy sofa, offers up a seat to dancers slipping off the day's street shoes and into something more comfortable, men to their polished leather loafers and ladies to their most temptable high heels.

With the first turn of the that ever mournful music, a parade of flashing colors, tension, expectation, and waiting.....begins once again, as it has so many times before. And from the street, the familiar sound of a Tango sextet can be heard wafting through the air and every passerby has a hint at the classic story being told.

Happy Valentines Day friends. It goes with saying this is the best one I've celebrated yet, even with a bad case of cut and paste heartbreak blues! Lots of love to you all!!