Yabbut...

...without the divine intervention of TV, I'd have to hear my own thoughts.

Your Nine Months Are Up!

I can't think of a worse line to entice shopping mothers than "carrying you forever..." srly, wtf? It's a good thing the Prune line is so darn awesome.

Starbuckaroo Bonzai

Starbucks is coming to Buenos Aires in May and I’m peeing in my pants with excitement. Though it’s not exactly my favorite beanery (Peet’s and the now-defunct Diedrich’s beat it hands down), I like the predictable quality of their roasts, their menu, and how I can always count on my drink of choice (the excruciatingly embarrassingly named and tongue-tying iced tall double soy 2-pump Mocha Valencia) to taste how it always does. (Not to mention the customer service is first rate.)

Still, a hugely successful corporation like Starbucks does not walk softly while carrying a big latte stirrer, and it does not make its presence overseas without a lot of hand wringing within the expat community. But call me a minion because I just don’t see what the problem is. I verily guffaw into my laptop whenever I read some sad sap decrying the evilness of all big corporations on his fricking computer. Let’s face it, it’s because of some big corporations that we have the 21^st century lifestyle that we do. Without big corporations paying big bucks for research and development, mass production and distribution, we wouldn’t have computers or the internet or affordable cars or email. How about healthcare? Who develops cancer or AIDS research? (This isn't to say I don't think corporations shouldn't have ethical practices, which funny enough, are what Starbucks has in spades--how many other corporations provide health ins to part-time employees?)

Anyway, while Googling for the exact date of the Alto Palermo Starbucks grand opening, I came upon this slideshow, Starbucks vs. the Traveler, by Jim Benning, which I found quite interesting (as I do World Hum). The author goes to Tijuana to see whether the local culture’s doomed after an SB invasion. Don’t miss the comments that follow; here are my favorites:

------------

It seems so ignorant for people to attack big business for being what they are...the best at providing certain goods or services. Do people not realize that Starbucks was once a ma & pa store too? When Starbucks started out, it was just one coffee shop in one city for almost 20 years! I do not believe that the owners set out to destroy the unique cultures of certain societies - but rather to provide outstanding product and lively service to the people worldwide who obviously enjoy them. By Melissa Mischel

------------

It’s easy to condemn Starbucks, but on the other hand, as Eve says, it is someplace warm and dry to buy something small and cheap. And they offer jobs to locals. That’s not a bad thing. By Marilyn Terrell

------------

I enjoy seeing a Starbucks wherever I travel. It provides a nice refuge where I know I can get a great cup a coffee. I think that many people forget that Starbucks started as a single, mom and pop store in Pike Place Market in Seattle. It grew to the giant that it is because it is successful. Starbucks also gets involved in the communities it enters and provides great benefits for its employees....my husband included. By Sara

------------

I’m from Buenos Aires Argentina and waiting for the opening of our first Starbucks on May. I can’t believe that some posters think this chain could change a country culture, it just sells coffee. Do sushi, chinese dumplings, mexican tacos or italian pizza change yours? I don’t think so. Starbucks is another coffee chain, we have many local ones and nobody is afraid of Starbucks. So don’t worry, maybe Starbucks changed the coffee history in USA, but not in the rest of the world, they are just another coffee chain .

By Christian [Hey Christian, I’ll see your venti latte and raise you a tall half decaf skinny no whip mumbo jumbo!]

------------

Starbucks, McDonalds, and every other multinational are not going to ruin the entire culture of a country. People always have a choice. When I travel around the globe for business, I see people wearing Nike (USA), Adidas (Germany) and the like. Do we also expect all Germans to be running around in lederhosen, all Japanese in Kimonos, and Scotts in kilts? Every person who complains on the internet about global business is responding on a computer made by a multinational company and connected through communication lines owned by multinational companies. People who are dead set against multinational business should either hole up in a shack in the woods like Theodore Kazinski or go live with the Taliban.

By Craig [While I am not a fan of do-or-die extremism—i.e., the Taliban remark—I like Craig’s point of view.]

------------

Can’t stop globalization. For every Starbucks that opens in Mexico, I’m sure there must be dozens, if not hundreds, of Mexican eateries opened by immigrants in the U.S. I just wish Starbucks would make more of an effort to be more environment-friendly to provide organic coffee.

By Lin [What is the sun shade thingie they got going if not environ friendly?]

------------

The real controversy isn’t about Starbucks it is about chain retailers and independent smaller family owned retailers. When traveling, I opt for the local offerings, full well knowing that I am probably helping to feed a family rather than a large corporation’s bottom line. Perhaps the familiarity when traveling out of one’s comfort zone is why folks stop in at a Starbucks. At home, I shop at independent book stores and coffee shops as well. These folks provide the very best in terms of service and impact on the local communities where they are located. Are we at risk losing the very fabric of independence and the authentic colorfulness of the world’s tapestry with the growth of mega world chains. As we travel the world may we do so in a spirit of support of those whose homeland we are guests.

By Pegg [So wise, Pegg, so wise…]

------------

As I said in the slide show, it’s easy to hate Starbucks. It’s also easy to assume that Starbucks is driving indie coffee shops out of business. In fact, a Slate.com story by the author of the new book “Starbucked” reported this:

“Just over their five-year period from 2000 to 2005—long after Starbucks supposedly obliterated indie cafes—the number of mom and pops grew 40 percent, from 9,800 to nearly 14,000 coffeehouses. (Starbucks, I might add, tripled in size over that same time period. Good times all around.) So much for the sharp decline in locally owned coffee shops.”

Here’s the link to the Slate piece:

http://www.slate.com/id/2180301/

By Jim Benning [Jim, you're a rock star!]

Animal, Vegetable, and Mineral

Living in a quaint little town (I'm about 10 minutes away from downtown Bs.As.) affords me certain luxuries. I have a flower guy and a butcher guy and a vegetable/fruit guy and an ice cream guy and a world of guys (everything but a mineral guy) tending to my consumer needs. Some of them know me so well they bring me stuff before I even ask. And then there's my chocolate girls at my favorite chocolatier, who go out of their way to make sure I know of the latest concoctions when I visit. Tonight the adorable shopgirl on duty enthusiastically unveiled the stunning Caramel con Rosa and offered it to me on the house. Muy rico! So if you ever go by Vasalissa, be sure to try that and the Jengibre and the Trufas de Cappuccino. They'll surely knock your socks off on such autumn evenings.

A Coffee and a Smoke

I think I'm finally turning shades of Argentine. I no longer find it thrilling or even feasible to buy coffee at a cafe every.single.day and am now relying on my Saeco espresso machine to get me off. Those 7-peso cups of cafe con leche sure do add up really fast (to about 200 pesos a month according to my 5th grade math skills). Holy smoke! And speaking of smoke, this little problem that's been engulfing Argentina, pun intended, is getting really tiring. Here's a Cliff's note guide for the folks back home:

- Farmers in the delta have been clearing grass by massively burning their land down, to get ready for the new bean crops (Argentina is like the third biggest soy producer in the world)
- It's rumored that the farmers are trying to get back at the govt for the recent tiff (strike in response to tax hike) so they're burning stuff down early this year before the winter weather can offset some environmental damages
- It's rumored that the land clearing came about as a cover-up for illegal/toxic trash burning
- With more than 200 fires currently raging, all of BA is paying the price with massively polluted skies
- Imagine a bonfire following you everywhere 24/7: it's in your bed, clothes, hair. It's akin to having been in an orgy with a roomful of 10-packs-a-day smokers. I was horrified to see how dark and soot-filled my shower water was the other day after I'd rinsed off.
- School may have to be closed next week and some families are heading south or leaving for Chile until the air clears; it's that bad
- The government doesn't seem that concerned with stopping these fires
- According to an Argentine coworker, the farmers are putting out these fires with whips (WTF?)
- Helicopters are inadequate to the task (or maybe they're not being used?)
- The US embassy has issued an advisory to basically seal up all windows and limit outdoor activities (prompting me to cancel that 18-hole golf game I'd planned)
- All my years of living in LA (and traveling in Asia) have not prepared me for this--it's the most toxic thing I've encountered!
- I have a headache around the clock now and am wheezing and coughing constantly. My lungs feel so heavy. (PITY ME, DAMMIT!)

Srly, I'm not sure how much more I can take. The only thing helping me to escape this weekend is my brother's new CD. Check it out. I love my brother.

Strip

Broke out of my anti-social mold and went to a bachelorette party last night. Dayyum, in Argentina the male strippers get more natural, if you know what I mean and I think you do. I actually have some x-rated shots, but this is an old-fashioned family blog, fer fuck's sake.

Good Afternoon, Vietnam

I just had one of those spontaneously cool afternoons where my aimless meandering ended up more interesting than anything I could plan.

I was in Palermo for my monthly injection of Mark's Deli's iced mocha (btw, they offer it para llevar now, and it felt rather deliciously SoCal walking around with a big plastic cup and straw--I know, I know, I'm lame) and decided to wander into the Vietnam store, a way cool but way expensive boutique selling gorgeous clothing mostly in red and yellow hues created in that SE Asian country by hopefully well-compensated locals. Anyhow as it turned out the restaurant in the back of the store opened for business as of last night, and I ended up sampling the spring rolls and the classic café su da. And get this--they even have pho on the menu, though not today for some reason. Oscar and Marta, the couple that owns the store/restaurant, were so excited to meet someone born near Vietnam that they just pulled up a chair at my table, and we chatted like three old pals for nearly an hour.

And that in a nutshell encapsulates what I love best about Argentina: the friendliness, warmth, and open curiosity of complete strangers. So that's the good news anyway; the bad news is the food needs...um, to kindly put it, improvement. Times like these I wish my mom were here to give them a tip or two. She can outcook anyone, including Vietnamphilic Argentines.

(Alas, I didn’t have my camera with me today…)

A Series of Misfortunate Events

Lately I've gotten such bad customer service (one time sitting in an almost-empty café for nearly 20 minutes before the girl stopped her window cleaning to come over and take my order*) that useless bitching about it to random expat coworkers is no longer enough, dammit. From now on I'm going to post about it here to appease my tortured soul. (Don’t worry, should I get the unexpected above-average service, I’ll boast about it here too.) I really don't get how in Argentina, on a top-ten list of priorities in daily business operation, customer service falls perhaps 7 or 8.** Isn't having repeat customers a very basic business tenet? Kinda like, making profits = good?

I've an Argentine friend whose sister just re-moved here after living 7 years in the States, and she's utterly horrified to recall the minute details of Getting Things Done. Case in point, she goes to buy a cell phone her first week. It fails to work when she gets back home, apparently not picking up a signal. She calls the guy who sold it to her, and he pleads ignorance, even going so far as to hang up on her twice out of anger! So she goes back to the place and, instead of getting to speak to a live person, is ushered to a phone area where complaining customers call to uh … voice their complaints. The case is still unresolved.

Another Argentine friend: Her home line just goes dead one day. She makes numerous calls to the phone company, but no repairman comes out. One day her boyfriend happens to spot a phone guy in uniform out and about in their neighborhood and decides to offer him money to come and have a look. He finds out that the phone line’s been cut, probably by a neighbor. And get this--this actually took place THREE months ago, and still the company has yet to send anyone over to fix the problem. (They can't go with a new phone service because unlike the States each company has a monopoly on an area.) Here’s the kicker: They’re still getting their monthly phone bills as per usual and, when they complained, were told at least they’re given a small discount off the regular fee. The case is still unresolved.

Here’s me: I live in a house and thus pay a municipal fee. All fine and good. After all, someone has to pay to fix the cracks on the sidewalk and to staff the guard booths. Oh wait. So this fee has been 45 pesos a month for the past year and half. But then lo and behold, one day I open my mail to see that it’s jumped from 45 pesos to 162 (that’s a 360% inflation)! No explanations, just a business-as-usual bill with the giant hike. Horrified, I ask a friend who speaks fluent Spanish to call the company to see why we residents were getting reamed up the ass. The municipal lady says to her--the property value went up, what do you expect?! What indeed! And then last week, I get yet another bill from the city this time saying I owe three back payments from 2007, all random months. (But, but--I made all my payments.) So I call to inquire, and the lady on the phone snottily says, you need to bring in proof that you made the payments. Say what? Of course I have the receipts showing I paid those months but my greater point is this: How can their system utterly fail to show that the payments were made when they were done electronically? Or are they scamming me and hoping I wouldn’t have the receipts? And, what a huge pain in the ass this all is!

OK I am tired of whingeing, though I’ve plenty more examples. Business students, I want a writeup of these case studies on my desk by tomorrow morning.

* Oftentimes I get tired of waiting and seek out the waitstaff myself but on this particular day, I refused to.

** I'm in no way saying bad customer service can't happen in the States. The question isn't, does it happen, but is it likely to as a rule? Perhaps the nature of the American litigious society and the "customer is always right" mantra prevent abysmal operations in mass quantities. Also in the States, there exists a hierarchy so that if you encounter an asshole, you can go to his manager or his manager's manager. And if a product fails to do what it's supposed to, there's an infrastructure in place to solve the problem. Until businesses in Argentina buy into the accepted model of "good customer service -> repeat/more customers -> greater profits"--and let's face it, even a 50% buy-in would be an improvement--businesses will continue to be poorly run here. /soapbox

Dreaming of Warmer Places

El Calafate

(1) The Edenia, a fantastically remote hotel with 4-star service and Lago Argentino in the backyard, (2) the Perito Moreno Glacier, bigger than the entire city of Buenos Aires, (3) a friendly little iceberg we ran into on the all-glaciers tour, (4) crampons, red carpet hot, (5) the Spegazzini Glacier, as tall as a 24-story building.

Earworms

I don't listen to the radio much here. Even so, it's hard to avoid pop hits as they somehow manage to earworm their way into my subconsciousness, just like in the states. This track, Limon y Sal, by Julieta Venegas, who I think is actually Mexican (wiki's just informed me she was born in TJ! How cool is that?), was everywhere a year and a half ago when I first arrived. Hence, I'm linking it for posterity. I know one day when I'm far, far away, the memories of living in Argentina will flood me upon hearing it.



This year's soundtrack is inescapable if you happen to watch TV. Miranda's catchy salsa-esque Perfecta, all 3 minutes and 44 seconds of it, plays continuously on Sony TV. Seriously. Every other commercial break invokes it! Either the band is related to someone at the station or they have some major dough. Maybe one of the band members is a Kirchner third cousin? Also, how hot is the guy in the lime shirt and orange overalls (despite the lime shirt and orange overalls)? Also, doesn't the lead lady look Almodovarish? Also, is that supposed to be a pomegranate?

Luxury

"Of course it isn't necessary, but sometimes a little luxury is necessary." - snooty in-law
"What the hell does that even mean?" - Marie

I'd been watching too many DVD reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, a reliably funny, albeit unglamorous show. So in an effort to reduce my dependence on old sitcoms (last year, it was nonstop The Office, so overplayed in our household that both spawn and I would dream nightly of the characters), I splurged and got digital cable last week. An outright lie--I got it because the thought of not getting 24/7 election coverage this year in English seemed unbearable. So now I'm happily cocooned in BBC and CNN International, no other soundtrack even necessary. Another blatant lie. Because with digital cable, you get about a dozen music-only channels, a decent international mix, though my mainstay so far's been the Opera channel. Washing dishes is so much sexier with Don Giovanni.

Other perks I'd missed from my previous incarnation as watcher of digital cable:

- onscreen TV guide, making it easier to keep track of Anthony Bourdain's "No Reservations," which seems to follow no rhyme or reason in scheduling
- the helpful "Info" button, particularly living abroad where movie titles get changed (and not always logically translated either). It's kinda like immersing oneself in a twisted game of "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon." I see an incomprehensible movie title on Info, take note of the actor names--Matthew McConaughey, Kate Hudson--and 1, 2, 3 seconds later... scream verily unto myself: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days! Oh-so fun. Ready to play along? Kenneth Branagh, Helena Bonham-Carter, Tom Hulce ... (no Googling allowed!)
- more frequent current eps of The Daily Show with my beloved Jon
- More Asia coverage, or just international coverage, and not just news stuff. Yesterday I caught a half-hour show on my favorite Bollywood actor, Shah Rukh Khan
- possible Tifaux feature

Having said that, the BIGGEST nonperk is the loss of our SAP function! SAP, if you don't know, allows you to undub any program and restore it to its original language. With SAP, we were able to turn the Simpsons back into English. Needless to say, someone in the house who's not me isn't very happy with digital cable. And to assuage guilt, yesterday someone who was me went out to buy him a DVD collection of Futurama.

I is for Inefficiency

It never fails to amaze me how difficult it is to procure a simple train ticket in Argentina. Six times out of ten the ticket machine is out of order, at which point I cross the tracks to visit the other machine (neither ticket booths are manned after early afternoon in my little town), where nine times out of ten "exacto cambio" is lit up. Okaaay, but here's the rub: The fare is no longer a handy 50 centavo, as the rate's just been raised to 65, requiring me to search deep pockets for a friggin 10 centavo piece--not that plentiful to go around--and the unfuckingbelievably elusive 5 centavo piece! Arrgh. So what this ultimately means is that in sheer disgust and utter frustration, I end up jumping the train without a ticket. But hey, that's OK, because five times out of ten there's no one to collect it at my destination anyway.

The View from Seat 17

Vive Via Bariloche

Anyone who knows me IRL knows I've been waxing poetic about coche cama travel for a while now, without having actually been on one! (Anyone who knows me IRL knows I tend to do that, plead fanaticism without the benefit of personal knowledge--it's a charmingly irksome trait.) ANYWAY, I can now put my money where my mouth is (or whatever the fuck that saying is) as my first foray into these luxury long-distance buses (my chosen empresa, Via Bariloche) lived up to (most) expectations.

Check out the photos:

- Seats that recline an advertised 180 degrees, altho equipped with my handy-dandy protractor, I measured a mere 175, but any flatter is arguably worse since it imparts the sensation of having your head lower than your feet (courtesy of pulledoutofmyass.com). The ottoman can be set on decline or flat.

- Cookies & coffee at greeting; cold & hot meals for dinner; breakfast; beverage choice of champagne, wine, sodas, or water.

- Movies in English with Spanish subtitles: Eragon, Transformers, Spiderman 3 (none my taste); also a mostly crapful yet bizarre compilation of late 80s music videos--can you spot the angsty Sinead O'Connor before she went all pope-insane? On-board entertainment is perhaps your only wild card, since DVD choice will depend on your steward, and speak of the devil...

- A personal steward, who by decree has to be strappingly handsome (in the photo, he was offering candy)

We did coach to Iguazu (approx. U$S60) but opted for first class (approx. U$S80) back. Trust me--worth the splurge. Coach, while more comfortable than the typical airplane seat, felt cramped and of course, was nowhere near a flat bed. Also, your odds of sitting next to a baby with croup and a nose-picking toddler are 10x higher than on first class. (This I did have firsthand experience.) Now I know that roundtrip airfare to Iguazu is not that much more, but I'm a firm believer that travel isn't travel unless done on the ground. And being able to lavishly tour Misiones in all its red-earth glory was worth it.

But back to my first-class busing, the 16 hours just flew by and by. Maybe it had to do with sleeping next to a 4-ft-wide window cocooned in a lulling, rolling vehicle, where I was treated to a spectacular view of unrelenting pine forests, the aforementioned tierra roja, a lago, and assorted crackerjack towns with sunkissed kids waving, replete with lightning at sundown (see next post for visuals). I'm def sold on this (a modern person's) version of a vision quest.

Too bad the filthy Greyhound can't come close. I'd love to visit all the flyover states thisaway.

EZE Was Anything But!

Last night was one of those zany-in-a-bad-way experiences from airport hell, a cautionary tale for children to tell their parents, less such parents forget the all-important key to the magic kingdom.

It started so well. At 5 PM, spawn and I took a remise to EZE for his solo flight to the US. We made it in under an hour, a work of miracles considering it was afterwork Friday and a holiday weekend. We've become such adroit international travelers, he and I--each racking up more than 12K miles every year--that we practically sleepwalked through the officialism: paid the unaccompanied minor's fee of U$S75 at the AA counter, got his boarding pass, paid the airport tax of U$S18, bought some dollars at the exchange window. As smooth as a baby goose's behind.

Then came the moment of farewell: Spawn and I exchanged a tearful-only-on-my-part goodbye, 'til we meet again in exactly a week. Being a most excellent mom, I harangued him nonstop:* Call or text once you get through security and immigration, call or text before boarding, make sure you get boarded first with elderly people, text when you get to Chicago, text when you board Chicago for LA. Simple, right?

I waited a few minutes after he disappeared from view, then wandered outside the airport building for what seemed like miles to buy my ticket for the Manual Tienda Leon bus heading downtown. I was positively excited by the deed, since it would have marked my first colectivo experience in Argentina. I wanted a leisure bus ride back into town, collecting my thoughts on another semester's end.

So I got my ticket (32 pesos) at the kiosco and began waiting for the 7:30 bus, the saleslady losing patience with me as I bugged her yet again, yo espero aqui? (There was no bus stop sign or line or designation, except in her mind.) She rolled her eyes, si, si! Ten minutes passed, and I was as dubious as ever, until around the corner a giant bus started to turn toward me... but wait...here's a call from spawn! He sounded exasperated, "Mom, the immigration guy says I can't go because I'm missing some sorta letter!"

Me: "Wha--? What letter? Show them your unaccompanied minor card!"

Him: "I did! They said I don't have my parents' permission to travel alone!"

Me, the realization of what I'd forgotten settling in: "Oh shit! Meet me where we parted."

I hauled ass back to the airport and saw spawn tearfully coming out of security. He said we needed to go downstairs and talk to the Migraciones people. We had a mere 30 minutes before boarding.

I took one micro-look at the Migraciones lady and knew doomsville. And by golly, if my Spanish vocabulary of 19 words utterly failed me on such an occasion. She had even less English. We were practically miming, with spawn too upset to be helpful in any sense of the word. (Ninety minutes of daily Spanish at school for naught.) Finally, one rueful traveler opined, "You really should go back to the AA office and see if they can sort it out for you" (or lady, you've hogged the window long enough, it's my goddamn turn). And so we hauled more major ass across the diameter of the airport.

The lad at the AA counter started with, "You shouldn't need the letter because you're American citizens.** You're on vacation, right?"

Me: "Not exactly, we're living here."

Lad: "Ahh...that's the problem. You need the letter."

Me, playing dumb: "What letter is this? His father is in the states and he's going there to be with him, so of course he has his permission to travel!"

Lad's manager, newly emerged from the aircon room in the back: "You need the letter. I was in this situation years ago, and my father had to go to the consulate in the United States to get his permission notarized. I'm sorry, [and...here come the dreaded words] there's nothing we can do." Arrrgh, arrrgh, fuck me!

Here's the thing: I am practically OCD when it comes to this kinda crap. I had my custody papers translated by a certified translator, notarized, Apostilled, and coddled by Silvia, the frighteningly robotic gatekeeper at the Argentine Consulate in Los Angeles. Ditto for every other scraps validating my right to live, and spawn's. (Actually, getting a work visa for Argentina required everything short of being blessed by the Pope, though I had my rez for Italy ready should that've been necessary.) For the past year and a half, I dutifully carried around this dossier of very.important.papers (including the Consent for International Travel of Minor) whenever we traveled, but not once were we ever asked for them. So, on spawn's very first solo exit from Argentina, it slipped my (already vacationing) mind that he'd need them. Looking back, it seems so frankly idiotic this oversight, I feel I need to be taken out back and shot.

The silver lining: I was able to recoup the bus ticket, the unaccompanied minor's fee, the airport tax, though it cost me an extra U$S254 to switch spawn's tickets to my same flight. (There goes the iPod nano I was going to get myself. It is to weep...)

Actually, the real silver lining is that this morning I was able to procure seats for spawn on my coche cama trip to Iguazu tomorrow. I'm totally excited;*** he's somewhat excited. I sincerely hope we travel happily ever after.

The End

-----
Footnotes:

* Spawn's traveled as an unaccompanied minor plentiful times with better than no hassles, he was treated like royalty. Thus, this fiasco was orthogonally related to his solo traveling.

** Lad's incorrect: You need the other parent's permission regardless of whether you're residing or vacationing in Argentina.

*** Though I still feel like a fucktard for last night's debacle.

Unscathed

At the risk of jinxing myself--knock, knock, knock--my stay in Argentina in general and BA in particular has been pretty damn safe. I've meandered home punch-drunk many a times in the dark of night, with little unease about my own safety, my path from the mitre to home as tranquil as can be. For the past 18 months I witnessed no crime as a matter of fact, short of littering, which sadly is as common as teen couples playing tongue twister in public--do I sound like an old grouch or what? (Get off my goddamn lawn, you stupid brats!) Yes, yes, I realize littering is not a crime here.

All that changed last Sunday when on the way home from DT on the midday tren, I was suddenly jolted out of my seat by a deafeningly cacophonous C-R-A-C-K! A rock the breadth of my fist had come flying through the window and just barely missed my noggin. The train cops ushered a few of us onto the platform for a head-shakin' good time, and it took no less than 10 minutes to dislodge the splintered glass particles. The window seater next to me was not so lucky and had to be rushed to the hospital to have her scalp examined. On a calamity scale, it seemed like nothing in retrospect, more like the hijinks of a bored street kid--a bored stupid kid, that is. Still, it was terrifying in its own way, if only because for a weentsy split second I was convinced, like a good little American, that it was an act of terrorism.

The Apex of Pleasure

Certain topics predictably litter expat blogs here...taxi drivers, dog poo, steak, and of course, ice cream. I'm going to raise my odds of being a cliché by waxing poetics about the latter.

I'll put it in the simplest terms possible: The ice cream in this country fucking blows frozen chunks off of other ice cream! (To be fair, while in Italy, I was too busy making love to pasta to take note of their gelato.)

Anyhoo, the flavor I'm currently obsessed with is sambayón granizado, which is like a doozy egg custardy concoction made with port wine or masala wine, not sure which, swirled with chunks of dark chocolate. The effect is stunning, kinda sake-like but with sharp bites of cacao. Different heladerias seem to inject a different amount of vino, and tonight’s version from Sweetie would have been enough to get me arrested back home in my Elantra GT. Really what I should do here is have sambayón while riding in a taxi to nullify the bad driving effect. How’s that for double cliché points?

C is for Change

I wanted to write something profoundly insightful about Argentina's newly elected female president, mostly because people back home keep asking my opinion like I got a relevant one (answer: I don't), and also because well...since I'm on this self-imposed excruciatingly torturous diet, I don't have much in the food department to blog about.

Sadly, I don't have much on Cristina either, at least as an insider. Today at work, my colleagues tried their damnest to answer my interrogation of this timely event, probably wishing I'd just shut.the.fuck.up and let them eat their lunch in peace. The following tremendously rigorous exchange ensued:

me: Did you vote for Cristina? Are you happy she's won?

coworker 1: I didn't vote for her. I don't trust her. I know she and her husband are trying to do the Chavez thing by monopolizing the office. In four years, her husband will run again and they'll keep trading off. Her only talent is being able to sound good on TV. (Oh...snnnnnnnnnap!)

me: She also looks good on TV. So who did you vote for?

c1: The other female candidate [Elisa Carriro].

me: Why?

c1: [shrugs] I didn't want another Kirchner. (At which point I said to myself: Self, that's voting-by-process-of-elimination.)

coworker 2: I can't even stand to look at her [Cristina], let alone want her for president. They are all the same. And the polling place was a mess and stayed open way past late so there was something [fishy] going on. (Prompting me to ask myself: Self, do they have hanging chads here?)

[c1 and c2 start rapidly gesturing in castellano about their polling experience.]

coworker 3: I voted for her [Cristina]. I liked how much stability her husband's brought to the country and I want us to keep going in that direction. I mean, they're all corrupt in some way or another. (I nodded in agreement, my face stuffed with delicious lettuce and cucumbers.)

c2: [In a mysterious and rather seductive if-I-tell-you-I-have-to-kill-you kinda way] If you have any memory at all of the past, there's no way you'd want her.

me: Why? Because she's a Peronista? (But my question was again lost as c1, c2, and c3 begin a rapid--and heated--exchanged in castellano.)

Fortuitously, or not, some snot-faced brat--and I say that in the most loving way--came up and took all our attention away.

Oh and there was some talk about what happens if you don't do the mandatory voting. One coworker said nothing happens, because she's had tons of friends who've never voted. Another said occasionally they come looking for you to take you down to the police station. (Dude, I can totally get behind mandatory voting in the US.)

So there you have it, those of you waiting with bated breath for my coverage of Argentina 2007. I suppose I shouldn't quit my day job.