Chavez Watch: Countdown to Dictatorship

Chávez raises heat on opposition TV - 03/21/2008 - MiamiHerald.com

CARACAS --

President Hugo Chávez's dismantling of the critical press looks to be continuing as the leftist leader whips up public support to shut down Globovisión -- less than a year after he refused to renew the license of the country's most popular TV station.

Tea at the Park Hyatt

Ojos

My eyes are dark brown. Really dark brown. About the darkest brown you can get without being black.

Today, Rob and I were in the café at the MALBA museum and we noticed that among the 30 people or so sitting at the tables around us, I was the only one with brown eyes.

Almost no one in the whole museum had brown eyes. The waiter, green eyes. I go into the restroom, and casually look at the women at the sink. All of them: blue eyes. Men and women walking past me: green, hazel, blue, gray.

Coming from southern California, this was a little twilight-zone for me.

I know most of the people here are descendants of Germans, Italians, and Spaniards. But WTF? I thought brown eyes were a dominant gene, no? Is everyone wearing contacts? or was it just a very Northern-European day at the MALBA?

Wow. I'm a minority.

Acclimation

When Rob and I first arrived here a few months ago, I was spooked by every noise from outside. I slept lightly, and woke up between 7 and 8 every morning.

Oh, how times have changed.

This morning, there was an exchange about 8:00AM that went something like this:

BANG! BANG! BANG! (Noises from outside. Gunfire? Fireworks? Construction?)

Me (half asleep, rolling over in bed): What was that?

Rob: Armageddon.

Me: O.K. Just let me sleep another half an hour.

Rob: O.K.

(I roll over and go back to sleep.)


End Scene.

Stereotypical Americans

I saw an episode of Faulty Towers once, where a stereotypical American comes to the Inn- he is loud, obnoxious, and asks for things that they don't have.

Tonight, one of these stereotypically loud and obnoxious Americans was having dinner in the same restaurant as us. He was from Texas- I could tell by his accent. He was wearing cowboy boots, was tall, overweight, drunk, and his voice was about twice as loud as it needed to be. To top it off, he was talking loudly about money, and how inexpensive everything is. Not so endearing, I'm sure, to the other people in the restaurant who have suffered through the economic collapse.

He also callously called the delivery boy over and asked him to box things up at the end of the meal. First, the delivery boy doesn't speak English (yes, he asked in English), and second, it's not his job.

Everyone else in the restaurant was subtly rolling their eyes and was relieved when he left.

A local asked Rob in a bar a couple of months ago, "Why are Americans so loud?" I was surprised by this at the time, because I thought the stereotype was outdated and relegated to European sit-coms.

Now I realize it's not. *Sigh*

Today at the Grocery Store

• duraznos
• ojo de bife
• ensalada mixta
• huevos
• suprema de pollo
• mortadella
• salame
• queso barra

Sound track at the store: "Thriller" by Michael Jackson.

Can't I name my baby Dweezil?

Supposedly, here in Argentina, when you have a baby you have to choose his or her name from a list of "approved" names (mostly Catholic saints). This explains why I have met at least five Augustins in three months. My name, Julia, is very familiar to people here- I guess there was a Saint Julia. Juliana and Julieta are also popular.

I haven't met any Summers, Karas, or Dylans.

If you want to name your baby something different, you have to get approval from the government. If you are a foreign national, you have to have a letter from your embassy stating that the name you are choosing for your child is "common" in your native country.

What I think is interesting about this is the original reason behind the law (I guess it goes back for quite a long time)- an attempt to control the culture- and I think not just of the culture that they are trying to maintain, but the cultures that they are trying to keep out.

Indiginous names are not on "the list."

A holler out to my Aunts Mareda, Wynona, and Mozelle (may she rest in peace.)

Club-Lag

If it's "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise-" then I'm going to be sick, poor, and stupid.

On Saturday, some friends wanted to go to a club. So Rob and I basically slept all day in order to get ready, since the club scene here does not start until 2AM. (That's right. 2AM.) Here's how it went down:

12AM: Met at N.'s for a few drinks, waited for people to show up.

2AM: A few went to Pacha and we stayed behind waiting for S.

3AM: Text from people at Pacha- they are not getting in because the line is too long. We'll go to Ink instead.

3:30-ish? We take S. to her apartment so she can change and head over to Ink.

4AM: We're waiting in line at Ink to be let in. (It's the journey, not the destination....)

4:30AM: We finally get in. (That's right. We don't start the festivities until 4-frickin' THIRTY!)

4:30-7: Dancing, etc.

7AM: We all go to a café to have breakfast and watch the sun come up.

9AM: I finally get to sleep (because like a dumb-ass, I had coffee at breakfast.)

Sunday: Sleep all day.

O.K. Lessons from this? First, if we're going to go to a club, we need to pay in advance a bunch of money for a VIP table and not be humiliated by all the pretty people being let in ahead of us (Am I not skinny enough? What does she have that I don't..... etc.)

Second, I'm about ten years too old. Not just because the people at the club were probably about ten years younger than me (I'm 30 *ahem* something), but because it's taken me sooooo long to recover. It's Wednesday, and I'm just starting to feel normal. Club-Lag.


I'm sure I'll do it again, though, when I am overcome with the illusion that I am younger than I really am. It's all part of the time-shift that is Buenos Aires.

********* Update**********

After reading this post again, it seems a little cynical. But I actually did have a good time. Nicola gives another point of view on the same night here.

Out of Place....

I just got back from the local grocery store among the isles of dulce de leche (yum), bife de lomo, pollo milanesa, etc.

Where none of the employees speak a lick of English.

And yet...... Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" is playing on the speakers.

Funny.

Habla Castellano?

My Castellano is improving bit by bit, so that I can let my needs be known to people at the grocery store, laundry, etc. I can order food over the phone (kind of). I can also tell people where I am from, about my family, where I live, etc.

There are some phrases though, that I wish there were a phrasebook for:

1. I'd like a plain coffee, but put it in a large cup, and give me some milk (not steamed) on the side.
2. This phone jack doesn't work.
3. Does linen shrink?
4. Don't put the frozen pizza directly on the oven shelf.
5. Does this cleaner remove mildew?
6. Do any of your bras come in a D-cup? (The answer is usually no.)
7. No, thank you. Your food gave me diarrhea last time.
8. When I try to go to Gmail, the page comes up all gobbledy-gook (at the locutorio).
9. Please, do not cut my hair in a mullet.
10. Do you have this in a "fat-ass American" size, or only an "anorexic porteña" size?

I'm sure there are many more. Maybe I should write my own phrasebook,

Would you let me pack your parachute?

I met someone at a function tonight. She's from San Jose, but her parents are Argentine. So when she speaks to people here they assume she is a local because her accent is perfect. But she said that it was very difficult to make Argentine friends because she didn't go to school or grow up with them.

This is a pattern that I have heard repeated quite often- Argentines are warm, friendly people. But to make it into their inner circle, you have to be trusted. And whom do you trust? Family, and those you have grown up with.

It's understandable in a country that has gone through a military dictatorship and an economic collapse that trust would not be forthcoming. Even the government economic data cannot be trusted (Inflation 8%? give me a break. Everyone knows it's at least 20%.)

There's even a gesture here for mistrust: they take a finger and pull down the corner of their eye. It means roughly "you better watch out" or "keep an eye on that guy." We don't have that gesture in the U.S. Maybe trust is something I take for granted. I trust most people implicitly. I trust them until they show me they cannot be trusted.

I feel sorry for the Argentine-American who has trouble making friends here. I've made friends with other Americans, Brits, Irish, and Canadians in just a few weeks whom I trust completely. I'd let them pack my parachute.

And we didn't even grow up together.

What is it that makes us trust others?

Lessons from the Bidet

No it's not a sink. It's a bidet. The Argentines love their bidet, which is pretty novel to most Americans, I think.

A handy lesson:

The handles in the back on the outside run a mixture of hot and cold water down the bowl from the holes in the back. so you can face the bidet, turn on the water, and adjust it t suit your liking. Then you can turn around and sit down. The handle in the middle switches the stream to go up from the spray on the bottom.
After you are done "sprinkling" your nether-regions, it's important to turn the water back so that it runs from the back of the bowl again. That way, the next person who bends over to turn on the water doesn't get squirted in the face. I'm just saying.....

(This is just in case anyone who happens to share an apartment with me- I'm not naming names- reads this.)

Anti-Semitism Unmasked

From the BA Newcomers forum, a mailing list dedicated to helping ex-pats and other visitors to BsAs find housing, services, talk about common problems, etc:

Quote:

"Go back to the United Jews of America. Who asked you to usurp our country anyway."

All I can say is... Wow.

(The poster was put on moderated status and the pot was deleted from the archives. While I agree with moderating the poster, I think they should have kept this in the archives for the record.)

The Jewish population of Argentina, is the largest in Latin America and the sixth largest in the world.

Where's the @ at?

Twice now, I've been stuck in a locutorio trying to type an @ sign on a Spanish keyboard.They squish in three characters on one key! I see it next to the 2, but no combination of keys seems to coax it onto the screen. (You can click on the picture above to get a closer view.)

I don't feel so stupid, though, because Rob was with me once, and he couldn't figure it out either. (We ended up copying and pasting).

Beatbox Flute Sesame Street Theme

Am I French?

Yesterday, for the third time, I had a conversation that went something like this (in Spanish):

Me: How's that? Sorry, my Spanish isn't very good. I need to hear something twice before I understand.

Porteño: No problem. Where are you from? France?

France? This was the third time someone thought I was French, and I don't know why. It could be the way I speak- maybe my accent in Spanish sounds more like French than English. or perhaps I just look French. (What is a French look, anyway?) Maybe I do something French people do that I am not aware of. I was buying a bottle of wine, after all.

C'est la vie......

Buenos Aires Field Notes: Staying Connected

If you remember, back on DECEMER 22, I talked about our frustration with trying to get our internet connection worked on. Rob has been going to a local café when he has to (whose internet access is perfect when their electricity is on).

After a getting someone who speaks Spanish to help us (who is an angel), and the technicians somehow always showing up when the restaurant next door is closed, or not getting permission from them to be able to get on the roof, today, finally, they went on the roof and fiddled with the wires for fifteen minutes, and now it seems our connection is stable. Fibertel says it will improve even more if we can get an amplifier box, which will take an untold number of weeks...

Meanwhile, we also have installed DSL as a back-up. However, only two of the four phone jacks in our apartment are active, and unfortunately the one by the desk is not one of them. So if Rob has to switch over to DSL he has to stretch a phone cord and ethernet cable across the living room floor. Of course, to get the other phone jacks active will take several weeks....

Well, at least for now, we have a stable connection (one day and counting), and we have a back-up, which is a HUGE improvement. We can work, consistently, without having to go to a café.

If only we could get services delivered as easily as chinese food. Or ice cream. Or beer. Or meat. Or coffee.

Big Stuff. 72 visits this month!

I had 72 visits to my blog this month from 11 different countries. 56 were new visitors. Thanks, Google Analytics!

(O.K. I realize that some of the 72 visits must be my own. But still- it's more than I imagined.)

Buenos Aires Field Notes: Cultural Isolation

A lot of Argentines are proud about the legacy of their country being a “melting pot” similar to the U.S. in that the people in this city are largely descendants of immigrants- from Spain, Germany, Italy, Ireland, etc. But as Rob pointed out, it seems to be a melting pot that has long since congealed in a culture that is uniquely Porteño.

We were having dinner one night with a couple of guys from D.C. and Toronto who were vacationing here for a couple of weeks. We were at a Porteño restaurant ordering a variety of empanadas to share between us, when our friend from D.C. starts objecting loudly and intently, “No jamón y queso! Anything but jamón y queso! I am sick and tired of the f**king jamón and queso on everything!”

I know what he means. Ham and cheese comes on and in practically everything- the empanadas, pizza, rolled chicken breasts, breaded veal, you name it. The hundreds of local cafes have menus that are virtually identical, with ham and cheese centrally prominent. I suppose I have felt the same sense of frustration driving across the U.S., stopping at diners along the way, growing weary of hamburgers, milkshakes, and pigs in a blanket. But you wouldn’t expect it in the eighth largest city in the world.

I must admit, you can get more creative food here that borders on ethnic (it’s usually some version of “fusion”), if you spend more than twenty pesos per plate. But the popular culture, the local culture, exhibits a homogeneousness I wouldn’t have expected. And it doesn’t end at the lack of ethnic cuisine. There is a definite pressure to conform- most people under 40 all wear the same jeans, the same shoes, and cut their hair the same.

A friend I met from England who is ethnically Lebanese has exotic curly black locks that perfectly compliment her strikingly GORGEOUS face. At an asado (a family barbecue), the porteña women advised her about chemically straightening her hair. It seems that straight hair is in, whether it’s appropriate for you or not.

Buenos Aires may be a big city, but it definitely has become culturally isolated from the rest of the world. Maybe I’m spoiled from Living in Los Angeles and being able to get Ethiopian food if I want. But in California I’ve never been pressured to change my hair to fit the current style, or been stared at for the brand of shoes I wear. Perhaps it has something to do with the lack of products available from overseas due to the policy of high tariffs. Perhaps it’s because BsAs is Geographically isolated as well, and most people here (except the rich) have not traveled much.

Whatever the reason, it’s a unique blend of both the metropolitan and provincial.

Buenos Aires Field Notes: A Night Out

The Living is a little nightclub just a couple of blocks away from our apartment that is essentially a big lounge with couches and easy chairs to relax, talk, and groove to the 80's videos shown on the big screen in front of the lounge. Weekdays are pretty mellow with a 20s-30s crowd, with a mixture of locals and tourists. Everyone loves the 8os here- they regularly play Depeche Mode, early Police, etc.

The weekends become livelier as it turns into more of a dance club late in the evening (or morning, as it were). They also serve dinner (which we haven't tried).

It's a good time, just a couple of blocks away- another hidden gem, since you wouldn't even know that it exists given it has no sign out front, just a doorway and a staircase. We only found it through a tip by a local.