To Puerto Madryn

After the tour of the El Chocon and the highlight visit to the paleontological lab, I was dropped off in the Neuquen bus station with a few hours to spare but no where to take a shower, though I did use the bathroom to change into pajamas (overnight bus trips are so much more enjoyable if you aren't wearing jeans). While I was waiting for the bus I met a girl going home from visiting her parents (she was going to Rio Gallegos, on the same route as Puerto Madryn), and we started talking. When I told her I was traveling, she lit up and started telling me about every town in Patagonia and why I need to visit. She sat behind me on the bus and we spent the first half hour of the ride brainstorming travel ideas. She told me I had to go to San Martin de Los Andes and do the Ruta de Siete Lagos, I had to visit Villa la Angostura and see the Bosqe de Los Arraynes, I needed to make my way to El Bolson and taste some of the best microbrewery beer in the country, I had to stop off in Esquel to see the Viejo Expreso Patagonico, etc. At some point though, exhaustion caught up with the both of us (she said "mis neuronas tienen sueno"), I turned back around, and we both fell asleep; I slept all the way to Puerto Madryn (and almost missed the stop; my friend behind me woke me up just in time).

Dinosaurs! (There will be dinos this time, I promise.)

In one of the few tour agencies left open, I sat with their representative and tried to find an available tour to one of the local dinosaur sites, but after many phone calls to numerous guides, we found out that whatever guides were not already occupied in giving tours were booked at some medical conference in the local conference center. They told me that is anything came up they would call me, so I left my phone number by the office and left to walk around the town, not very hopeful about my prospects of seeing dinosaurs. I strolled through the small park in the center of town, passing by its Islas Malvinas memorial, to the only museum (art), planning to spend a few hours there. It was Monday, so it was closed. I was, however, able to (finally) find a phone card, so I was able to recharge my cell. It was a good thing too, because, unexpectedly, my phone started ringing. The tour office found one guide who was free, and who was willing to take me on a private tour of El Chocon. The price was a bit steep (being on my own), but I was able to bring it down a bit, and I decided that, being on vacation, and having one opportunity in my life to see real fossils in a non-museum environment, money would be no object (and in all honesty it wasn't a break-the-bank sum). I sat down at the Islas Malvinas memorial and ate my lunch while I waited for the tour guide to come pick me up in her 4x4.
The guide was this rugged local lady who spoke a decent English, and all the way out to the first site (a 45 minute drive) we spoke Argentine politics (that is, she spoke and I asked questions; Argentines hate their government, which, it seem, could give certainly Israeli officials a lesson in corruption). When we got to the paleontological lab (that's right, I got to go to a lab!) we stepped out of the car and I immediately got a taste of the Patagonian wind. Anything that wasn't firmly attached to our bodies were blown off, and I had to chase after my kippah and put it in my pocket for the duration of the trip. The surrounding were gorgeous; the town, the museum, and the lab were right near a man-made lake (they dammed the river) of the deepest and richest blue I have ever seen, surrounded by red-rocked cliffs. Check out the pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2083221&id=43906579&l=41d09e5357
Anyway, back to the lab...
I got to go into a paleontological lab with my guide and two real live paleontologists, where there were shelves full of fossils, tagged and IDed, and a WHOLE ABELOSAURUS SKELETON that they just excavated. We must have spent an hour in their while the paleontologists explained everything in an excellent command of English. I was like a kid in a candy shop.
After the lab we went to the Museum, which was neat, and we drive down to the lake and dam, where Iguanodon footprints are usually visible through the water, but the wind was very strong a disturbed too much sediment to get a view. At that point, however, I couldn't care. I got to go into an active paleontological lab and handle real fossils. I could have died happy.
The guide drove me back to the bus station, where I picked up my stuff and got on the bus to Puerto Madryn.

Dinosaurs!

I landed in Neuquen and the minute I got off the plane, I got a taste of the infamous Patagonian winds, winds that reach very high speeds and can come out of no where. I was able to feel the wind right off the plane because, instead of the usual makeshift tunnel one walks through to get from the plane to the terminal, we exited the plane right onto the tarmac and walked across the tarmac to the small airport the old-fashioned way. The airport was a bit outside of town, but before grabbing a cab into town, I took a cab to the bus station and booked a ticket to Puerto Madryn on an overnight bus; Neuquen is not a touristy town for a reason and I did not want to spend too much time there. After successfully procuring a ticket and finding a secure place to leave most of my stuff, I went out to catch a cab to get into the city. When I got outside, there was a bit of a line of people waiting for cabs, which were only coming every five minutes or so. It was already almost 10 and I did not want to waste any more of the one day I had in town, so I went to a young fellow near the front of the line and asked him if he wanted to split a cab. He did, and so I met a fellow (I cannot remember his name now) who studied historiography and is now studying explosives in mining and taught himself English. We took the cab to the University where we got off and split paths, he to the University for a mining conference, and me to the tourist office. There is not much to do in Neuquen; the only thing my guidebook mentioned about Neuquen was that it is the paleontological capital of Argentina. There are no fewer than three separate places for dino-tourism near Neuquen, two of which have museums and paleontological labs and are the locations, respectively, of the biggest sauropod and the one of the largest carnotaurs ever found, and the other which has the only active paleontological dig open to the public. I found all this out at the tourist office, where they gave me a list of the tourist agencies that visit these sites, along with their numbers and addresses. As I did not have a working cell yet, I had to walk from tour office to tour office, only to find out that I was too late and whatever tours would have left to these places were long gone. I also learned something else about Patagonia: the country is so huge and everything is so far apart, that one really either needs a car or needs to hire a professional guide that has a car to see anything; usually public transportation to interesting sites outside of a town is non-existent.

Travels Part 1 - Preliminaries

As many of you many know, I have been absent from the blog these past two weeks because I have been traveling outside of Buenos Aires. I spent a few days in Iguazu, which I wrote about, and came back to Buenos Aires for one weekend before heading south. I will spend the next few blog posts writing about my time down south.
The weekend before I left was an exercise in Murphy's Law. I had scheduled a flight to Neuquen, a small and decidedly un-touristy town in Northern Patagonia, for the first leg of my trip, but because of its remote location and non-touristy nature, the flight was cheaper. Neuquen also happens to be a central bus hub, so getting to other places from Neuquen is easy. It also happens to be... Well, I am getting ahead of myself. Back to the pre-travel weekend. My flight was at 6 on Monday morning, which necessitated an early wake-up and some pre-planning (printing out boarding passes, calling a cab, and such). Unfortunately, my phone decided to run out of minutes on Sunday night, and a search of every locutorio and kiosk proved fruitless; no one had a refill card for my carrier. Then, the printer at the hostel broke, so I was not able to print out my boarding pass. I went to bed Sunday night (after the worst restaurant meal I have eaten in BsAs) with no way to order a cab and no way to print out my ticket. I decided to sleep and figure it all out in the morning.
The next morning I woke up very early (4:30), got my stuff together, and went (which I packed the night before)down to Avenida Luis Maria Campos, the nearest busy street, to flag a cab. Well, I learned that night that, as much as Buenos Aires is a rocking, stay-up-all-night city, it is not New York. There was not a single car on the road, let alone a cab. I stood there with my heavy travel pack and a prospect of missing my flight weighing me down, when, out of a parking space, a car without any lights on pulled out. It was a cab! I ran up to it and got him to take me to the airport. Check-in at the airport was a smooth as Argentine ice cream, and I got through security and to the gate an hour before take-off. Our plane would have made the inventor of sardine cans jealous; it seemed to be ergonomically designed to fit as many people into a tiny metal tube as possible, a far cry from the spacious coche cama buses that I took to Iguazu, with the 140 degree reclining seats and TVs and bathrooms (oh man, did I have to pee on that flight). It was only a three hour flight though, so before too long we were landing in the semi-arid and extremely windy town of Neuquen (pronounced Ne-ew-ken), which I found out, besides being a town with a tiny tourist industry and also a central bus hub in Patagonia, is also the Dinosaur capital of the country. However, my computer is acting up, so I will write more about the Dinos tomorrow.

I'm Back

I'm back in Buenos Aires from my traveling stage, and it was quite a week. I will be posting updates and stories about my travels as the days progress, but right now I am going to go to sleep. Buenas Noches.

This past weekend was very nice, even more than usual, as I really feel part of a few families here now. It is really nice to ear that people from and otherwise random place will miss you when you leave. Shabbos day was also a gorgeous day, the only one in an otherwise rainy weekend. Friday was terrible; it rained non-stop the entire day, and Sunday saw on and off unexpected downpours. I thought the weekend might have also seen some build-up of excitement for my then-impending trip down South, but I really felt nothing over the weekend. I think it is part of not having plans and playing things by ear; I am not really excited for tomorrow because I don´t even know what is happening in the next hour. The last few hours before the trip were not very comforting. My cell phone decided to run out of minutes at the worst possible time, and not a single kiosk or locutorio in my entire neighborhood had a recharge card of my carrier; I was digitally stranded. When I got back to the hostel from dinner at what was the worst kosher restaurant I have been to (I don´t want t talk about it), I found out that the printer in the hostel was broken and I could not print my e-ticket. I went to bed at 1, with my alarm set for 3 hours later, without any idea of what I would do in the morning, no way to call a cab, and no ticket.
In the morning, after a quick shower, I walked down to what is usually one of the busier streets; at 5 there was no one in the street. No one. I was ready to turn back and try, well, I am not quite sure what, when a car pulled out of a parking space. It was a cab! He was free! He took me to the airport with plenty of time to spare. At the airport the check-in desk just took my passport and got all of my information, and as soon as you can say Buen Viaje, I was in the air in a small cramped plane heading to Neuquen. I arrived in Neuquen (we got to walk across the tarmac!) and took a cab to the central bus station, where i bought a ticket for the Puerto Madryn that would leave in the evening. Meanwhile, I had the entire day to kill. I left the bus station only to find a bit of a line waiting for the occasional cab. I approached a younger looking local and asked if he wanted to share a cab, and so I made my first local friend, Carlos, the student of mining, explosives, and historiography.
My tour book said that Neuquen is one of the Dinosaur capitals of the south, and I decided I could not leave Neuquen without doing a Dino tour. Then I got to the tour offices, none of whom had tours on a Monday, especially as there was some big conference going on, taking up the time of most of the cities tourist workers. I walked from tour office to tour office with no luck. I will continue the story the next time I am by a computer, as I can barely keep my eyes open right now. Buenas Noches!

Broken Stuff and Borthday Presents

My Iguazu trip made me realize something. Until know I did not have to put most of my stuff to use, but now that I made good use of my hiking shoes and my traveling pack, I realize that they are falling apart. It is quite sad. These hiking shoes saw me through amazing trips, including our trip to Mount Washington two and a half years ago, but two and a half years are a long time for hiking shoes that also get worn for walking, and they are starting to develop a certain holiness.
My pack is even older. I bought it during my year in Israel, and it saw me through all the trips that my hiking shoes have been through and then some, including yam l'yam, and the bottom is about to fall out. Of course, the wetness of Iguazu hasn't helped them much, and they are literally on their last ropes. When I get home I am going to have to buy myself a new sturdy large travel pack and good hiking shoes. How interesting that I return home not too far from my birthday! Hmmm... Now that I think about it, if I had a birthday wish-list (which of course I don't, but if I did) this trip has made me realize some of the things I would put on it, including said items, which I really need, decent winter biking gear, biking equipment for the cross-country ride, and, something that I really don't need but could come in handy traveling, and Amazon Kindle (all those books and so easy to carry!!!)

Makes Niagara Look Like a Leaky Faucet

Iguazu was amazing. Utterly Unbelievable. Before I went, one of my Argentine friends told me that she is skeptical about Iguazu. "I mean," she said, "it's just a lot of falling water."
Well, I guess even something so boring as falling water, in the right place and in the right quantities, can be an amazing experience.
The bus ride up to Iguazu was an 18 hour ride, but I have heard much about the excellence of the Argentine inter-city bus system and the wonders that they perform; that they have extremely comfortable chairs that turn into beds, that they serve food, that they have great movies and a/c and bathrooms and they are comfortable and easy to sleep in and big and spacious and raise the dead and walk on water etc.
Well, unfortunately, almost none of those were true on the trip up. The a/c did not work, they forgot water (so thirsty...) the seats went almost-ish back, though the comfy, but they blasted (really loud) three of the worst movies ever made, movies I had never heard about before the bus trip, movies that I had hoped never to know of, movies that, by all standards of decency, should not exist. I completely forgot everything about one of the movies, perhaps because it was so traumatizing, one of the names of these movies escapes, but it was some horrible story (if you could call it that) about a bride who dies on her wedding day and comes back to haunt her ex's love life, and the other was, get this, "Confessions of a Shopaholic." What the hell kind of name for a movie is that? They give that title to the movie and they expect to sell tickets? It was pure pure torture, and the headphone jacks did not work, so the movie was blasted throughout the entire bus at an extremely high volume; my Ipod at max would not drown out those movies. I had to make the best of the situation and try to use the Spanish subtitles to learn a bit, but having my brains dribble out of my ears stopped me from picking up anything useful.
We arrived in Puerto Iguazu at around 8ish, and I wandered the town looking for a hostel with an opening; I finally found one but check wasn't until 10, so I left my stuff and went to the park. The sky was ominously gray.
As I passed by an information booth I overheard a middle-aged fellow asking (in English) how to get to the Garganta del Diablo (there are three trails that lead to different observation points; the Paseo Superior, the Paseo Inferior, both of which view the main section of the falls, and the Garganta, the Devil's Throat, an experience in and of itself). I told him that I was walking there myself, and that they could join me, and so he and his sister and I walked to the Garganta. 30 seconds into our introduction he said something along the lines of "well, us Jews need to stick together." Turns out he and his sister are Hungarian secular intellectual Jews. He lives in California, she in New York, and we hung out for the entire morning and into the afternoon, walking to the Garganta and the Paseo Inferior, and hanging by their hotel pool (the Sheraton; they bought me a juice). The conversation was quite interesting, and he especially reminded me of Sabba in conversation (v'hameivin yavin).
After we split I went to the boat ride, which takes you into (literally into) the falls. Niagara has the fluffy cutesy "Maid of the Mist," but Iguazu has the "Pro-WWF Wrestler of the Holy-freaking-moly I am inside the actual waterfall."
It started to pour while we stood on line, which was a bit of a downer, but I met a Texan video game designer on the line, and I saw one of the neater things of the trip so far. There was a girl in front of us and she had a tattoo right above her, well, her tushy (everyone but me, the idiot, was in a bathing suit). The tattoo, however, was the inscription of the One Ring in Elvish. Two very different worlds collide. After the boat ride, soaked, with no chance of drying off in the pouring rain, I went back to town. In the hostel I showered and dried off, and spent the rest of the evening in conversation with various Israelis, Americans, and a Dutch girl. I also ran into two Israelis that were staying at the hostel in Buenos Aires, and we decided to travel together the next morning.
The next morning we woke up bright and early and,lo and behold, praise be, the sky was (mostly) sunny and the day was gorgeous! We took the first bus into the Park and did the Selva Macuco, a lesser known 'off-road' trail that was all mud. The two Israelis were fun to hang out with, a classic pair of friends that remind me of another pair. The highlight of their interactions happened as one of them, Penny, and I were talking (for quite a while, in Hebrew) and finally, the other, Yigal, said, "Nu, kvar, mishtamesh b'eynayim shelcha, l'chapes l'eizeh kof o mashehu," which means "Come on man, use your eyes to look for a monkey or something!" Penny responds to this by saying, in thick Israeli accent:


the accent is important



remember to imagine this with the accent


"Legolas, what do your elf-eyes see?"
Amazing.
Anyway, we saw no wildlife on the way down the 3.5km trail, but at the end there was a pool with a smaller waterfall. I immediately took of my shirt and went in; Penny soon followed. I should have taken off my pants, but it was totally worth it. Standing beneath a waterfall was amazing, the highlight of the trip. On our way back from the pool, soaked, we saw a toucan (finally!). The rest of the day I spent doing the Paseo Superior, and I left the park exactly on time, right before the sky opened up once again. Back in Puerto Iguazu I walked to the Tres Fronteras (a point where you can see Brazil and Paraguay all at once, showered, and got on a bus to go home (it was supposed to arrive at 9, but got back at 12:30, yet another failure of the famed Argentine bus service). The trip was amazing, and even with the buses, given a choice to go back, I still would have done it. Do check out the pictures on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2082182&id=43906579&l=b9cc758a93

I´m off

Well, the last few days have been a bit of a mixed bag, but I will have to tell you all about the futile wandering but eventually asado eating, the mix of discouraging and encouraging language advice, and the late'ish nights out with sometimes nothing and sometimes something to do, later. I am off to Iguazu Falls for a couple of days! The weather there is supposed to be terrible this week, but whatever, it is supposed to be amazing anyway. Chao!

Puerto Madero

On Thursday I went to Puerto Madero, one of the ritzier neighborhoods in Buenos Aires, where I walked around, went to the Nature Reserve, and had some ice cream while sitting on the dock listening to a jazz-swing party at one of the yacht clubs. The neighborhood was a bit to planned and cold, no personality there, the Nature Reserve was, well, besides trees there wasn't much nature, but at least I got to see the coast! Buenos Aires is a port city but until yesterday I did not see the port. It was also a day that reminded me of my grandfathers. There were a bunch of sailboats in the dock, and my maternal grandfather had a sailboat. I also saw this:

There are three things I can think of how this pictures reminds me of my paternal grandfather, and if you can guess them, well, you know Sabba.
The ice cream, was, as usual, delicious.
After walking around for quite a bit I went to a conversation club in the Hillel, where Argentines come to converse in English with the help of native speakers, and I met a new American friend there from Erie Pennsylvania, Elana. After the club I went out to eat with her and Jason in Mama Jacinta, leaving just one more of the big meat restaurants that I have not eaten at yet.
Today Elana and I went to the zoo, which was a lot of fun; it is really nice having someone to travel with and, while traveling alone has its pluses, I think I am ready for a bit of a shift of gears. I also decided today that I will not be ale to make my way south, at least not El Calafate or Ushuaia (the big glacier or the end of the world), as it is way too expensive just to get there, but I will play my travels out by ear. To be honest, in retrospect, traveling in the beginning and staying in the city now would have been ideal, as things were cheaper in the earlier part of spring and now is when the city is coming even more alive and when my friend are doing more in the city, but I will still go around and see bits of the country. I will save the south for my next trip to Argentina. It is definitely a country I would come back to visit.

Exito!

Wednesday was quite a busy and satisfying day, the day that I discovered, among other things, that as long as I don't talk to much, my accent allows me to pass as a native. I first realized this when in a mountaineering store. I decided to spend the entire day in the city on Wednesday, with the focus of the day as the Museo de Armas. I took the subway into the center of town and walked towards Retiro and Plaza San Martin. As I was walking down one street, I noticed that it was full of mountaineering/camping stores, and, needing gloves and a hat for a trek I may/may not do, I went into one of these stores to buy what I needed. I spoke for a bit with the man behind the counter, he took down a bunch of gloves, told the the benefits of each, we discussed the trek and the function I would need and finally I made the decision to buy a pair of waterproof skin-tight gloves and a Ben Wallick hat (he-meivin yavin). In Buenos Aires, when you pay with a credit card, you need to show ID, so I gave him my driver's license. He looked at me in surprise and said "sos Americano?!" (You're American?) It made me happy.
The second time was in the Plaza San Martin. Now, I went to the Plaza earlier in my trip, but this time it was like another world. The last time I went was on the tail end of winter, with leaves in the trees and now it is the height of spring, and the trees were full of green and purple. Check out the pictures on facebook. Anywya, I was in the Plaza, when a random Argentine came up and said "Shalom" and then told me he did not speak Hebrew. He assumed, because of my Kippah, that I was Israeli. We talked for a bit, he took some pictures of me, told me I had a perfect accent (!), and told me he was an AIDS awareness volunteer. I gave him a small donation. I then went to the Museo de Armas, the Arms Museum, which is the most impressive arms museum I have ever seen anywhere. It is huge, extremely extensive, and extremely well labeled and informative (in Spanish). I met a couple of Irish fellows there and we spoke a bit about Ireland and Celtic mythology. After the museum I went to the Palacio Paz to do a building tour, and when I went to sign up for the tour I asked the guide a few questions (in Spanish) and when I told her I wanted to the join the tour she said "but it is in Spanish." ! Don't get me wrong, my Spanish isn't that good. In fact, it is not even conversational (though I can communicate and converse a bit) but it seems I have picked up the accent. This may sound like a good thing, but it really isn't so great. Argentina has a very unique accent with unique grammar and slang that is, so I hear, barely intelligible to most Spanish speakers, and all the Spanish speakers in NYC do not speak Argentine Spanish. I need to leave the country soon so I don't get too entrenched in the local dialect.
After the Palace I walked around, saw some other things in passing, went to an all English bookstore and met a German who never read Harry Potter, and spontaneously decided to buy a ticket to a Celtic music concert, that led to the last post.

KANPAI!

I forgot to mention that at the restaurant I ordered hot sake. Claudio only had the tiniest smidgen of a taste, so I had to finish the entire thing. It was quite a bit, and by the end I was a tad light-headed, though the ice-cream cleared m head quite quickly. It was also quite good. A tad shocking at first, but it was very good.

Laughing and Crying

Today was quite an amazing day, but I will only write about the evening, as I am quite zonked, and it is still fresh in my mind. As I was walking home from the other things I was doing today, thing which you will find out soon enough, I passed by one of the many theaters in Buenos Aires. I decided that since I am leaving the city soon to travel, and I have not yet experienced theater here, I would go inside and see what was on the calendar. Well, it turned out that this evening there was a concert by the fellow named Carlos Nunez, a Celtic-music-playing-Spaniard. I have attached a video, I think. This is a video I found on youtube, not a video I took.

In short, the concert was amazing, perhaps one of the best I have ever been. I have always thought that Celtic music is one of the most evocative genres; they played some songs that had me bouncing in my seat with joy and some that actually brought tears to my eyes. I hadn't been this happy or sad in a while. He was a powerhouse on stage, non-stop, and constantly cracking jokes in Spanish that threatened the Millenium Falcon's record for the Kessel Run. Yes, I did. I know they were jokes not because I understood, but because everyone laughed. His violin/concertina player was from Ireland, and at least she spoke some English on stage. She was also unbefreakingleivable. I wonder if there are any violin-playing Celtic Jews out there (single of course). If you know of anyone who fits that description let me know (try that on for size shadchans!).
Anyway, there were a few real kickers in the concert, including when Carlos went down to the front rows and brought the first few rows on stage to dance! The stage was full of dancing audience members! Damn cheaper balcony seats!
Another kicker was when some random audience member got on stage and cut an Irish swath across the stage like I haven't seen since Lord of the Dance! His feet were moving as fast as Carlos Nunez' Spanish!
The real kicker, though, was when the guy sort-of-next-to-me (there was a pillar in between our seats) leans over and says "Wow, what are the chances of there being a guy with a kippah here!" (In Spanish of course). He is a 39 year old fellow, flute player, huge Tull fan, and a up-and-coming baal teshuva. We spoke after the show, he offered to drive me home, and instead drove me to sushi, where we had a delicious dinner (besides for the cream cheese in some of the sushi. I mean, what the hell is wrong with these people! How can they put cream cheese in sushi!? Have you ever heard of such a thing!). Afterward I treated him to some ice cream and then he drove me home, but we spent a good 3 hours hanging out and talking mostly in Spanish but partly in English and Hebrew as well, and we talked about everything from wind instruments to being single. He was a great guy; thanks Claudio!
Speaking of being single, one of the things Celtic music can make you feel, if you are in a position to feel it, is alone. Some of the slow haunting melodies make some who is alone feel even more so, and it can be quite sad. If 'they' want us young Jews to get married quickly, they should just send us to a Celtic music concert. I tried to take a few videos, but the sound on my camera doesn't seem to be working, which is a bummer. More about today tomorrow. Buenas Noches!

Moving Out

Well, today I left the comfort of my host family to return the hostel. I left a private room and bathroom, breakfasts and hot home cooked dinners, and, most important, friendly people with whom I was able to practice a bit of Spanish for the shared dorms/bathrooms and prepare your own food of the hostel. Why? Well, as you may have already realized, I am getting a tad bored of la ciudad, and I want to get out, to travel a bit, to see the country. The hostel will help in two ways. One is the more obvious. There are travelers coming and going form the hostel all the time, and I have a chance of picking up a travel buddy or at least some advice from the people here, an advantage that does not exist with my host folks. Also, the lack of the previously mentioned comforts (I hope) will motivate me to leave. I have never been more lazy and just totally willing to sit around and do nothing. I haven't had a deadline, any work, any responsibilities, even the minimal ones that arise from school and part-time jobs, I haven't really exercised, I've been eating well, and I have never been this slothful in my life. It is sort of nice. I only wish I had more books here, perhaps my flute (after that concert I really want to practice) and I will be happy. I also think my body believes that it is winter, and it is trying to hibernate. It is dying for some nice comfort food (yesterday I spent some time looking at some amazing looking mac and cheese recipes). One of the reasons I want to go South, besides for it being one of the best places to see in the country, is because it is actually a bit chilly there.
I actually missed a great opportunity to travel with some frum Israeli folks; a couple of guys are going to the deep south tomorrow morning, but by the time I found out there were no tickets left. Oh well. I think I would rather travel alone anyway, but if I do run across anyone over the next day or two I will join with them. We shall see.
Tomorrow I plan. Chodesh tov!

Has Anyone Heard This Not-So-Flattering Moniker Before?

I had to come all the way to Argentina to hear a kind-of-clever-but-not-so-nice nickname for a certain neighborhood in Brooklyn. At the Friday night meal I was talking to the 14 year old son of our host (he was quite impressed when I told him that my cousins were in the Yeshiva Boys Choir; he is a huge fan) and I asked him if he had ever been to NY. He said yes, and told me that he went to Schnorrer Park. At first I thought he got the name wrong, but when I understood what he was saying I cracked up. I'd never heard that used before to refer to Borough Park.
In other news, I just got off the phone with a friend that I met here from Alabama, and he told me he knows some frum guys traveling to El Calafate really soon. It wasn't part of the plan, but I think I am going to try and join them last minute, as this is an opportunity too good to pass on. If I am able to join (there are a few factors involved, not the least of which is getting hold of a ticket) I won't have internet for a bit, so I will be off blog (though maybe not; if I can find an internet cafe I will post), but if I do not manage to join up with them, I will post.

A Musical Weekend

This past weekend, has, so far, been one of the best in Buenos Aires. Friday I don't really remember what I did. I woke up very late, as I was not able to fall asleep the night before; I think I spent the day studying Spanish and walking around a bit. I went to Talpiot (the MO Tzioni shul) with Jason, a British friend. We met Tal, another British friend there, and after a Carlebach Kabalat Shabbat we went to the house of a ex-physician-turned-zipper-factory-owner. His married son, who went to a different shul, happened to bring home Tal, an Australian friend, and an Israeli tourist. The meal was, as usual, delicious and the people were very nice, and I discovered that my Spanish has improved a bit more than I thought it had. I sat next to the father of the house, but even though he spoke both English and Hebrew, I tried to speak only in Spanish, and I even successfully told over the Sol a Kakas Mar story entirely in Spanish (ask Sabba).
Shabbos day I returned to Talpiot, where I had arranged to meet an American from West Orange and UPenn who is here studying abroad. We met and went to a lawyer's house for lunch, where no one but the two of us spoke English. I felt a bit bad, because 85% of the time we were engaged in conversation amongst ourselves (though there was another guest, as well as the host's mother, to keep them company). After lunch we walked to the Recoleta Cemetary, and then I walked her home. This past weekend was easily the best conversation I've had in months, and I forgot how much I enjoy it.
On Saturday night the Ministry of Culture hosted a 'Night at the Museum' where all the museums in the city were open and free until 2am. I went with Jason to the newly opened Anne Frank museum. At first is was a bit rough, as everything was in Spanish, and some of the presenters spoke faster than anything I have ever heard before, but at the end of the tour we were shown a series of videos meant to provoke debate, with a question at the end of each about freedom of speech and how far it extends to whether or not video games cause violence. At first I thought that I was going to sit out from the discussion, as people were talking a bit fast, in Spanish, and though I can understand and communicate, my Spanish is not good enough for debate and discussion. The presenter, however, picked me out because of my kippah, and when I mentioned the language barrier she acted as a translator and I was able to contribute to the discussion, which was loads of fun. She actually had quite an impressive command of English and a knowledge of issues of political philosophy, especially for someone still in high school (I happen to be skyping with her right now).
After leaving the Anne Frank museum I met up with Maetal, her mom, and her sister, Maya, who at this point won't let me out of her sight and we went to the natural history museum, which was, um, ok. Not like the AMNH or the Smithsonian. There were a few dinosaurs, some really poorly done dioramas, but it was neat. Ish. To be honest the rest of the night was a bit of a disappointment; after the museum I was supposed to go out with a bunch of Argentines to get a taste of the nightlife, but after taking along bus ride to some nightlife area and milling about debating what to do we ended up going all the way back and sitting in one girl's apartment for a bit until we decided to go home at 4. A bit dull, but I got to borrow "The Secret Life of Oscar Wao," one redeeming factor.
Today I spent the day in Rosedal reading said book, and listening to a free wind quintet concert, which was excellent. I now really like the bassoon.
Tonight I am going to a jazz concert with Jason, and then we shall see.
Chao!

Foods I Miss

I have written quite a bit about the ample opportunities to eat delicious food here in Argentina, about the wonderful meats, the obsession with sweets,the ice cream that cannot be beat, and all the other treats. There are, however, some foods that I love that cannot be found here, foods that, day to day, I find my self dreaming about. The big one is pie. Tis the season for autumn pies in the States and the autumn pies, apple pie, pumpkin pie, etc, are, in my opinion, the best pies out there. I read a few food blogs regularly and all of them are posting articles, pictures, and videos about making the perfect pie or pie crust, and every time I read/watch one I find my myself salivating. For some reason no one makes pies here, not even the bakeries. For a country obsessed with, and really good at sweets, it is a bit surprising. On a bit of an aside, I was discussing pumpkin pie with a British friend and we were a few minutes into the conversation when I remembered that when our cousins across the pond talk about pumpkin pie they mean a savory main course dish instead of the delightfully creamy-spicy-sweet-but-not-too-sweet miracle that graces every Thanksgiving table.
Chummus can be found here, and so far I have sampled a number of varieties, but none of them even come close to Sabra, let alone the chummus in places like Grill Point or Hapisga. I am going cold turkey and if I do not L'nagev soon I may start having convulsions.
Bagels! Where are the bagels?! They do not exist here, which is not such a surprise, as it is tough to find to find decent bagels outside of New York (or Teaneck, home of the best bagels ever, Teaneck Road Hot Bagels. Anyone who disputes this and thinks that Sammy's is better is just plain wrong). You know what, I meant to leave that statement in the parentheses as an aside, but I must clear up, once and for all, why TRHB easily outstrips Sammy's as best bagel. A bagel is all about contrast. The crust must be hard but thin, hard enough that when lightly toasted allows for a delightful crunch but thin enough that right after the crunch your teeth sink in to the softness of the crumb. The crumb (the term for the inside of bread) however, should not be too soft. A bagel requires some chewiness to it. Your teeth should meet just a little resistance when chewing the bagel; a bagel requires texture. The flavor of the bagel itself needs to be just very slightly sour, nowhere near the intensity of a sour dough, but just enough that you can tell that this is not your usual bread. A bagel should NEVER be undercooked, uniformly soft, doughy, bland, and, besides for the shape, indistinguishable from other breads. You don't even need to take a bite to know whether a bagel has the potential to be good; if in the clear plastic bins the bagels on the bottom of the pile are compressed and contorted by the mound of bagels on top, the bagel will probably be bad. If the bottom bagels do a good job of holding their tubular shape despite the force of gravity, they have the potential to be great bagels. Teaneck Road Hot Bagels hold their shape, they provide contrast, texture, and a distinctive flavor, while Sammy's bagels are soft, doughy, bland, gummy in the mouth, and, to top it all off, the bottom bagels get all squished. I know that only the uncut bagels at TRHB are kosher, whereas in Sammy's you can get and egg sandwich, but really, between the cost (and taste) of the egg sandwich, and the massively inferior bagels, it is far more worth it to buy your bagels at TRHB and make your eggs at home. Now, I am not saying you are not allowed to enjoy Sammy's. Everyone can enjoy what they want; there are people out there who think pancake mix or store bought pie crust is better than the real thing. There are, however, definitions for what makes a certain food; for example, everyone would say that an English muffin is not a bagel and according to those definitions, Sammy's is not a good bagel, though it may be an enjoyable doughy bagel-shaped thing for some.
Well, now I lost track of the foods I miss, though I am sure they will resurface soon enough. Kosher Indian food is conspicuously absent from Argentina, and another sweet that, shockingly, does not exist here is cupcakes. I have no idea why, but no one does cupcakes here. Thankfully before I left CB, Tova, and I splurged on Crumbs and had two each in one day.
I am looking forward to getting my fix on my various food-cravings when I get back.

Japanese Garden, Return to Rosedal, and the Future

This week I spent most of my time lying on back, and it wasn't to have fun; for some bizarre reason my lower decided it wanted to be 80 years old and for a couple of days I couldn't move. I cannot wait to get old. Being stuck at home for a few days gave me ample opportunity to think about my future plans for this trip and my travels post Argentina; I still have February through August free, and I am also looking to get out of Buenos Aires and into the rest of Argentina.
I have decided that, hopefully starting next Sunday, I will leave the city and travel south to Ushuaia, El Calafate, Bariloche, Mendoza, maybe a bit of Chile, and perhaps more. I am going to try to be back in Buenos Aires for Chanuka (kosher food and shuls are very rare outside the city; I'll be living on fruit and attempting to find Chabad houses for Shabbos). After Chanuka I am going to go in the other direstion and see as much as I can of the northeast and northwest; Salta, Jujuy and Iguazu among others, maybe see another country as well. That is the extent of my plans, and I think that I am not going to plan any farther than that; I am going to take this trip as it comes (though there are a few things that are must-sees).
When I get back from Argentina I am going to have to replenish my funds for a bit (anyone know of a short-term decent paying job? Keep an eye out for me!) before I go anywhere else. The ideas, so far, are to spend some time in Israel working as a farmer, something I have always wanted to do, with extended stops in European cities on the way in and out of Israel. That would only be for a month and a half or so, so my summer would still be free, and it is during the summer that I want to do the highlight of my year off.
There is something I have been dreaming of doing for some time now, something that I really must do before I begin medical school, something that, if I do not manage to pull it off before the end of the year, I will be quite disappointed. I want to bike from the East Coast to the West Coast, across the entire USA. It is very doable. It would take around 8 weeks of not too intense biking and having rest/touring days. And it would allow me to spend every single shabbos in a different Jewish community. This is something i am pretty dead-set on doing. I have mentioned it a few people and, of course, they think I am nuts and tell me I cannot go, but they seem to concede a little on the condition that I go with someone else. As long as I do not do the ride alone, it is fine. Well, I don't know anyone who would do this ride. If I did, we would either be great friends or married, depending on the gender of said rider. That said, any readers want to ride across the USA with me this summer? If not, do you know anyone who might want to do the ride? And if you are a girl, don't take that last statement as a preemptive proposal, though I must say it wouldn't be far off.

An Age Old, Universal Rule Remains Unbroken

Today I ventured outside to give my back and little exercise and fresh air, and to get lunch. I went to a small dairy place and ate a torta, a kind of like a frittata but less eggy and more vegetably. In fact, mine was almost entirely vegetables, with whatever egg inside just holding the vegetable patty together. Very healthy, and also pretty tasty, but with such an overload of vegetables I needed something sweet and fatty afterward to cut the heart-clearing goodness of some many plants. I was walking and saw an all-kosher chalav yisrael Heladeria or ice cream shop, and I decided to try it. Now, in Argentina, the main ice cream franchises have many kosher flavors, and all of them are divine; they transcend the natural order of ice cream to something far more superior than man or angel could create in the USA. I figured that the chalav yisrael ice cream here, while definitely would not be as good, might be able to surpass the universal truth in the USA that anything chalav yisrael (especially ice cream) is extremely inferior. Unfortunately my hopes fell to the ground like a soon-to-be crying kids ice cream falling from his cone on a hot day. The ice cream at this place may have been the worst ice cream I have ever eaten, barring, perhaps, the chalav yisrael brands in the States, which, thankfully, I haven't eaten many time. If you come to Buenos Aires, stick with the mainstream ice cream, and if you only eat chalav yisrael, either quit, or avoid the ice cream here altogether.

Sex, Drugs, and Miami Boys

Out Again

As the last commenter noted, maybe my back doesn't like me running barefoot. Maybe it doesn't like me bending over to tie my shoe. Or to pick something up. Or to stretch. Whatever it doesn't like, my back is not liking me, and isn't really letting me move anywhere. I am getting a little fed up with being cooped up from week to week, one time with some stomach problems and now with back pain. I mean, really, I'm 21! People who are 21 don't get back pain! Well, they do, but it is a lot less common. Then again, I've already done the knee problem thing, so I guess bring on old age early. Maybe next I won't be able to remember anything. Anyway, I've been cooped up yesterday and today, bored to tears (well, not really tears) and I am getting sick of being sick. I wouldn't mind that much if I was home with nothing to do, but knowing that I am in another country with a plenitude of opportunities, a myriad of things to do and see, and a plethora of places to go out to lunch or dinner, and not able to do any of them is a bit frustrating. Whatever. Such is life, you take what comes. Que sera sera as they say in Spanish; what will be will be, and I just have to sit (or rather, lie) this out. The longer I am cooped up in Buenos Aires though, the more I just want to leave the city and backpack the rest of the country.

Meat Round Two

Hello all. I think that I was victim to a bit of a stomach virus last week as opposed to the original hypothesis of my tummy-ache being a result of the "Revenge of the Alimentary Canal," but I am back. I spent pretty much all of last week at home in bed, though Thursday night I felt well enough to go for another barefoot run and Friday I ventured out to the Flore Generico and the Museo de Bellas Artes. The barefoot run was a bit painful, yet again, as I am still not used to it, though I must say my muscles are already doing ok. This time I ran during the day and the street was boiling hot; the pain came not from being sore but from the resulting blisters. I know, I know, why do I afflict myself thus? Well, my knee has yet to hurt, and once my feet and muscles are used to it, it may be the best way for me to run.
The Museo de Bellas Artes was, well, suffice it to say that I liked it a lot more than the MALBA. Hang on, I didn't write about the MALBA yet? Wow, it has been a while. Let me take a step back. On Wednesday (I think it was) I also ventured outside and a met a British friend and a Colombian friend of his to go to the MALBA, one of the lager art museums here in BsAs (I do not remember what it stands for off-hand). Until February, almost the entire museum is hosting the Andy Warhol museum from Pittsburgh, and they have two floors full of Andy Warhol. It was neat to see, especially the New York iconography, but I cannot say I am really into Warhol. He did something no one else did, he chose to see certain things in a way no one else saw them, but he was only a first. I feel he is famous more for being a first, and perhaps for 'social commentary' than anything else. For many that makes a great artist but for me it only makes an imaginary didact. The museum also had some other Argentine pop-art, which also did not really impress. That night my host-folks had all of their kinderlach and einiklach (hijos y nietos) over for the birthday of their twin sons. What a feast! My host-mom cooked up a dairy storm with bollos (stuffed pastries), empanadas (stuffed pastries), and calzones, pronounced cahl-son-ehs (stuffed pasta, similar to large ravioli). All of it was homemade and all of it delicious, though none of it worked wonders on my then-tender stomach.
On Friday I ventured outside for a bit and saw the Museo de Bellas Artes, which now houses a wonderful European Masters exhibit, from pre-Renaissance to the 19th Century French masters, which includes some great Italian and Dutch Renaissance, and some really good Rodin sculptures.
The Flore Generico is a massive metal sculpture in the middle of one of the parks here that opens with the rising of the sun and closes when it sets.
Shabbos was nice; we ate by one of my host-mom's sons Friday night (and davened at their Sfardi shul, where Shir HaShirim took as long as the rest of the davening and the rabbi's speech as long as everything put together). Shabbos day I went to the Chabad youth center where I met two Brits and an Argentine, one of whom knows Nina (small world). We all (the four of us and many more Argentines) ate at the rabbi's house. The rest of Shabbos was normal, with a nap, mincha, etc. Saturday night was nothing exciting either.
Today I went to the Hillel to help with AKIM, an organization that organizes activities and assistance for mentally handicapped people. The Hillel hosted a day of activities for the organization, run by my hard-working and very involved apartment-mate which, as far as I could tell, was quite a hit. The highlight, for me, was a great magician, who showed some of the extranjero (foreign) volunteers some of his tricks pre-show. I was blown away, and I have rediscovered that I really like magic shows.
Tonight I met said apartment-mate's mother, sister, aunt, and aunt's significant other, which was a lot of fun; they took us all out for dinner, it was very nice of them to come out to a foriegn country and take an otherwise unknown fellow out to dinner. We went to Al Galope, where I had the infamous intestines, but this time avoided the offal and stuck the multiple meats that we got for the table. And hummus! Finally! The sister, Maya, was a real pleasure to talk to. She is 6, in second grade, and almost finished the entire Harry Potter series, and has read Roald Dahl. She reminds of someone else at her age :)
Funny story about the small intestines; when I came home I told my host-folks that I ate chinchuines, the Spanish for small intestines. The next day I felt terrible, and it is now a running joke in the family. If anyone's stomach hurts, they must have eaten chinchulines. They were even teasing me tonight in the restaurant, and Mario (my host-dad) went so far as to teach the word to Maya, which she yelled at me with all the glee of a six year old discovering a funny new word that gets grown-ups to laugh. It was really a nice dinner. I also got a peak at the bill, and, while I will not divulge how much they spent on dinner, I amazed to find out that 8 people ate salads and kibbehs and meats and drinks and wines till we were full and there were left over for less than 100 dollars. Crazy!!!!Here's to a week of feeling better and progressing a lot farther in Spanish!

Karma Strikes

Perhaps as vengeance for my consuming of another mammals small intestines, I am now having all the juice wrung out of my digestive system very slowly. At least that is what it feels like; whatever it is, is the one of the worst stomachaches ever. Argh! I would say "Oy, I will never eat another animal's digestive system again!" but I am not superstitious. Therefore, I say, "Oy, I cannot wait until this is over so that I can eat more intestines! Or anything. Or stand up straight."
I really hope it wasn't the intestines that disagree with me, that would be quite disappointing.

More Firsts

On Sunday I went with the Goldfarbs to their country house in Tigre, a small vacation town a half an hour outside of the city. The house was amazing, gorgeous, with a huge indoor barbecue pit/shelf constructuion, an in-ground pool, and an entire golf course in their backyard. I went with Raquel and two fo her grandchildren; we were the first to arrive. I went bike-riding around the gated community, a Jewish country club called Koaj, with one of the Goldfarb grandchildren (Toby), my first time biking here in Argentina (and boy do I miss it) and by the time we got back everyone was there, the sladas were out and the meat was grilling. The asado was, of course, amazing, and I ate more meat in that one sitting than I have ever eaten in any given week; the meat was delicious. One of the main highlights, though, was the seltzer, which they served in spritz bottles. I have never had seltzer so bubbly and fresh-tasting. The spritz bottle beats any of the pre-bottled seltzers at home, and I am tempted to buy one when I get back. If anyone wants to know what they can get me for a birthday present, well, a spritz-bottle for seltzer would do the trick. It was wonderful.
The other highlight, also a first, was the mate. Mate, pronounced Mah-teh, is the Argentine national drink and drug. Everyone does it, passing around the gourd filled with the herb at parks and meals and just when hanging out, every taking turns sucking through the straw, or bombillo (the ll makes a sh sound). There is an art to mate, and people sit around in circles while person prepares the mate in a gourd and passes it to someone; when that person finishes the mate he gives it back to the preparer, who refills the gourd and passes it to the next person, and so on. It is quite bitter, though some cut it with sugar, and it provides quite a buzz thanks to a copious quantity of the active ingredient in the herb, mateine, which contains trimethylxanthine, a bitter xanthine alkaloid that is an odorless white crystalline powder in its natural form. It is also a psychoactive stimulant drug, and probably the reason mate is so popular. I cannot see myself becoming a regular user, as the withdrawal symptoms include pretty bad headaches, but maybe I shall buy my own gourd and mate to bring home with me.

Meat, meat, meat

I have eaten more beef over these past few days than I have in any other month of my life. Shabbos, of course, was shabbos, and the usual meat was served, either in brisket or cholent form. On sunday I went to an asado with the Goldfarb family, where I ate chorizo and more ribs than I can remember, and yesterday, ah, yesterday, I went to what is considered one of the better meat restaurants here in Buenos Aires and ate, not only a steak, but a small intestine. Well, not an entire small intestine, but delicious chunks of a cow's small intestine. For years I have been dying to eat real 'kishke,' as it were, and finally I had the opportunity. This was not the starchy-orange stuffing in a gross paper wrapping that you see in American cholents. In fact, this wasn't stuffed at all. In fact, the English bit of the menu called it tripe (but cow's stomachs are not tubular and thin-ish). They were wonderful grilled sections of innards with a meaty flavor far more intense than muscle and with a delightful crispy on the outside but very soft, almost liver-ish, on the inside. I will have to go back to try the 'real' meat, which I was actually in the mood for, but, when I saw the offal on the menu, I had to resist. The offal was anything but, and everyone should give it a shot. On the other hand, the coconut flan I got for dessert was pretty terrible. And, in keeping with the great prices, two kebabs of small intestine, a steak, a large order of fries, shared, a liter of beer, shared, a bottle of seltzer, shared, and the flan put me back 70 pesos, or about 18.50 American. Including table service. Argentina can be the solution for many a guy's dating dilemmas. Going out to eat is so expensive in New York, especially if, as with most frum girls, the guy pays for the entire date (the other option is 'going Dutch' where each pays for his/her own, supposedly gaining popularity). Here, the greatest meal for two in the greatest restaurant won't put the fellow back more than 40 dollars, which, in a nice New York restaurant, won't even buy one person a steak. It's too bad the airfare is so expensive; Buenos Aires could become a great date-cation place.

My First Busy-ish 24 Hours in a While

The last 24 hours haven't felt packed or busy but when I think back on the day I did quite a bit. Last night I went out to meet two girls from Buenos Aires who run a website for young Jewish travelers here. We were originally going to out for tea, but it is now in the hot and humid stage of the weather cycle, so we decided on ice cream instead. I am glad we did; as I have mentioned before, the ice creams here are amazing. I had coconut cream and lemon tart. Perfect combination for such a sultry day. As we sat down, one of them, Brenda, said something in Spanish, and said it was an expression that refers to eating for therapy. She was wondering what the expression is in English; I told her I have no idea. She told me to ask any Jewish girl, which I found a bit funny. If any of you know the expression that refers to the act of eating when depressed and down, let me know; I will thank you personally in the next post.
We spoke about a number of things, including the financial situation in Argentina, and the subway system, which, I think, deserves a bit of a rant. I need to preface the rant with the statement that, overall, I like the subte here. It is very cheap, it covers most of the city, and it is far faster than taking the terribly slow and terribly crowded buses. However, I have two problems. First of all, the subte closes by 11! After around 10:50, you have no chance of getting a subway ride! In a city where people don't even start partying until after 2am, I find this ridiculous. The subte also closes randomly and erratically for strikes (as they did this afternoon). The subte is also always extremely crowded. It may just be the line I take, but at noon the cars are packed and at rush hour you can forget it. Yesterday morning at around 7:50 I went to the subte to go to San Telmo. The platform was packed. The first subte came and it was more than packed. Imagine the E train during rush hour at the Queens Plaza stop and how many people are in that train. Double that number, and you'll have an idea of how many people were squeezed into the subway car. If one person got out, the crowd would push until one person managed to squeeze him or herself into the car. Five subways passed before I was able to get on, and even when I did get on I was barely standing in the door. Where are all these people coming from!
This morning I helped translate and edit a fundraising brochure for a Jewish Organization in Buenos Aires called AKIM that helps adults with disabilities reach autonomy. It was fun to put my only skill ever learned in college into practice! In the afternoon I went to the Fundacion Favaloro, a transplant clinic where I will doing an internship shadowing some doctors. On the subte, at the stop before mine, a young guy walked onto my car with a kippah on; he was first orthodox Jew I have seen on the subway. Then, he started speaking English! Of course I introduced myself, missing my stop but making a friend in the process. He had recently arrived, and, hopefully, I will be able to connect him the kosher hostel and the Jewish community here. It is a funny feeling, being here for only a month and yet showing someone else around; it happens as well when I am asked directions and I find myself giving them accurately (this has happened a number of times, though I must say I have yet to ask for directions myself). I got to join on some inpatient visits, and I also sat in on outpatient visits where I was introduced as a doctor from the USA, and where I sat as one fellow was told he had multiple carcinomas and would need a complete colectomy, while another was told that he has 15 lesions on his liver and has about two months to live. Not a very uplifting part of the day, though on the bright side there was one lady who, prior to her coming to the FF, had 56 separate operations on her digestive system. The Dr I am working for did a colon reconstruction and, seeing her, I could believe she had ever been sick a day in her life.
I left a bit early (the doctor sees patients until 8!) and went back to the apartment to get ready for my first run in months. This run, however, would be a run like I have never had before. As many of you know, my knee has been misbehaving over the last two and a half years, and I haven't been able to run much; I didn't even bring my running shoes with me. There has recently been a lot of talk about barefoot running however, and this evening I gave it a shot. It hurts like heck. That is, my feet hurt and my calves hurt, though everyone says that they will until you get used to it. My knee, however, felt fine (though maybe the pain in my feet wasn't letting me feel the pain in my knee). Judgment Day on that is tomorrow; if all is well I may find myself attracting stares (all pointed downwards) more often. Today was Gnocchi Day in Argentina, as is the 29th of every month, and we had homemade gnocchi for dinner. Divine.
This shabbos will be my first in Recoleta; I'll be going to the only MO shul in the city, run by a Bnei Akiva shaliach, and on Sunday I will go to Tigre with the Goldfarbs.
Buenas Noches and have a great Shabbos!

The Weather, the Cops, and a Knife

I have been noticing a pattern with the spring weather here; it has repeated itself a few times and it is comfortingly regular. At first I thought that the weather was a bit erratic, but I know realize that it is bizarrely regular. To start at the beginning of the cycle, you have beautiful days. Gorgeous blue skies with very few clouds if any, cool but not cold temperatures, pleasant breezes, and almost no humidity. As the days go by, the weather turns warmer, the skies cloudier, and the atmosphere stickier. When it begins to feel too hot, too humid, too gross to go outside, all of a sudden, almost from no where, the skies will fill with thick blankets of gray and, out of the what-used-to-be-blue, rain falls in a steady stream from the faucets of heaven, with great intensity, for hours straight. However, only an hour into the rainstorm, anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside will feel a drastic change in temperature. Where it once was hot, it is now quite chilly, where the atmosphere was humid, now the only humidity is soaking his clothes. It is a bit strange but also a bit nice to have such predictability in the weather. I hear, however,t aht once the summer starts the cool and rainy stages will be skipped and it will be hot and muggy and gross day-in-day-out. When that happens I am fleeing to the South.
In other news, after my final Spanish class today, I returned quickly to the apartment where I picked up my book of short stories, a pear I had bought earlier, and my pocketknife. Well, the pocketknife is a Leatherman, and a bit scarier looking than a Swiss Army knife; the blade is probably twice as big and quite sharp, but it is the most benign knife in my possession, and I do like to cut up my pears while I eat them. I walked to a nearby park to sit outside, read, and eat chunks of pear, I found a nice spot on the grass, and commenced my snack and a very good story by Anatole France. As I sat there cutting up my apples with my slightly intimidating knife, all of a sudden, I felt a presence over me and a shadow blocked out the sun. It was a cop! A police, staring me down while I sat on the grass cutting up my pear with a Leatherman in public! "Buenas tardes," he said. "Buenas tardes," I responded, waiting for him to confiscate my knife or haul my butt to jail or whatever they do around here. He says, "no es permite a sentar a la cesped." "Que," I asked, surprised?
He repeated himself. I was not allowed to sit on the grass, I must go read and cut up my pear on a bench. I like this country.

I moved!

Yesterday I moved in with a older Argentine couple. Finally.
The hostel was getting to be too much; too much nice, too much activity, too much lack of sleep, too much lack of privacy, and too much lack of speaking Spanish. Now in this apartment I have my own room and bathroom, breakfast and dinner with the family, peace, quiet, and, last night, my first uninterrupted night of sleep in a week and a half.
I also took my Spanish test today which was quite easy. It is funny, though, that one can do so well in a language in a classroom setting but fail to be able to converse. This is one of the reasons I have decided to leave the class and instead learn Spanish through trial and error, by immersion and attempting to communicate. Hopefully this Thursday I will start and internship with a transplant surgeon. I went to one of his research conferences today, and, though I barely understood a word, he wore his Mt Sinai white coat (he used to work there) which made me feel right at home.

My First Steak

On Sunday night, after the Futbol game, I went to my first restaurante de carne in Buenos Aires. There were five of us; four Israeli from the hostel and me. We hailed down a ffew cabs until we found one who would let us squeeze five into the car, and we were off to Asian (pronounced Ah'-see-ahn) in Palermo. The actual place is very nice, clean, with a simple decor, very comfy chairs, a neat light that slowly changes colors along the tops of the walls, and good music playing in the background. The waitress spoke perfect English as well. However, all that was not important; we (or at least I) came for the food.
As we sat down we received complementary shot-glasses filled with a very yummy pine-apple-orange-something drink to refresh us as we read the all-English menu. They have gizzards! I almost ordered them, I really was this close, but I in the end my desire to have an Argentine steak was too strong. Four of us ordered the rib-eye steak and one very brave soul ordered the rib steak. After we ordered they brought a basket of bread and - this was quite shocking - everytime we finished the bread basket they brought another one! Unlimited bread! That never happens in New York!
The rib-eye was a near-perfect piece of meat, glazed with pineapple among other things (it is an asian-fusion place) but it was not too sweet; perfectly cooked, a very nice size (say, as big as two fists), and with a side of delicious chunks of fried potatoes instead of the ubiquitous french fry, it was one of the best steak dinners I have ever eaten, easily on par with Prime Grill in New York. The rib steak blew my mind. It was at least (I am underestimating here I think) a foot and a half long, 8 inches wide at its widest, and a good inch and a half thick. With a huge bone running through it covered in crispy fat, it was a piece of meat Fred Flintstone would have been proud of. I've never seen its like in a New York restaurant. The fellow who ordered it wasn't able to finish, so I had the privilege of eating his bone. Yum!
The best part was that my steak cost 54 pesos, or about 14 dollars! The massive steak was 94 pesos, or around 25 dollars! I found out after that Asian is one of the most expensive restaurants in Buenos Aires! I cannot wait to eat more.

Futbol!!!!!

Futbol is a sport unlike any other. The fans are more intense than in any other sport, to the degree that they have separate seating for the different fans, and different antrance and exit times for them, so as not to start trouble. This game was definitely the most intense sporting event I have ever been to, though I haven't been to that many. The stadium was huge; it's maximum capacity is 65,000, and it was pretty much filled. We got there a good hour and a half early, and the stadium was already mostly full, with people watching the River-Boca little league game as a sort of pre-show, and the fans were pretty rowdy for the little league. I couldn't wait to see what the real game would be like.
When River Plate came out, not only was there an immense amount of cheering and singing, but red and white smoke came pouring out of smoke bombs that people had, as well out of pipes bordering the field. Boca, of course, elicited no such cheering and smoking. The cheering, really the singing, is what impressed me the most about the game. The River fans don't just have a few generic cheers, they sang at least 6 different unique and elaborate songs, and all 55,000 thousand fans sang and jumped simultaneously. It wasn't choreographed or directed, but it was amazingly impressive. During half time we saw the fans tearing up thousands of sheets of paper, newspapers, anything they could get their hands on, and when the second half of the game started, it poured homemade confetti and streamers. You couldn't see through the thickness of the blizzard; it was a true Nor'easter of paper.
The game itself was nothing amazing, in fact, it moved a bit slow, and most of the time, while the ball was in the middle of the field, it was quite boring. It was only when the ball moved close to one of the goals that there was any real excitement (though those moments were really exciting). The game of futbol seems, to me, an unexperienced eye, to be a large number of people kicking a ball back and forth across a field, but unable to actually ever get anywhere due to the number of people (9) on the field. They just run back and forth, waiting for someone to act violently, thereby giving the other side a free kick, and an actual chance at a goal. This was, by the way, how the first goal was scored. The atmosphere was the best part, and it got so intense that, even after the Boca fans left the stadium, they held us for a good half an hour as the Boca fans were trying to force themselves back to the entrance to start trouble. We were literally under siege in the stadium! All this, too, with the safest possible score; the game was a tie, 1:1, so no one had any real reason to get too riled up. The fans were definitely the best part; I have never seen anything like that,and probably never will. I went with a group from Hillel, two of whom were Brits, and they said that, though English players are much better, and that the games themselves are a lot more fun, they had never seen fans and atmosphere like this. It was quite an experience.
Tomorrow I move out of the hostel! Finally!
Buenas Noches, I am off to eat at my first meat restaurant in BsAs!

A Hungarian Shabbos

This past shabbos I felt more at home than usual, for a few unexpected reasons. A Hungarian fellow, Reuven Weiser, invited me to his house for Friday night dinner. Well, he was born in Argentina, but his parents are from Hungary, and he identifies strongly with his roots. My paternal grandfather, as many of you know, is also Hungarian. Interestingly enough, like my grandfather, his wife is Sefaradi. It may be coincidence, or it may actually be mutual minhagim, but Reuven Weiser did a few things that reminded me of home. The first was kiddush; he said kiddush with the same tune that we do, though lots of people use said tune, and it was not that remarkable. The second was his bracha of 'al netilas yadayim.' He said it out loud and ended it the exact same way Sabba does. Well, not exactly the same; he doesn't yell it out at the top of his lungs, but those of you who know will know what I am talking about. After cutting the challah he tosses the challah to everyone at the table instead of passing around by hand or in a bread-basket, exactly the way we do it at home too. After that it was just a normal Argentine-style meal except for two things. At one point, he brought out a homemade book, over 200 pages long, that traced his geneaology in Hungary. He was able to find some relatives as far back as the 17th Century! He told me it took his entire life to work on, and I was quite impressed. The second was that we sang Sol a Kakas Mar, a traditional Hungarian-Jewish song. I knew the words, him, mas o menos as they say here. Sabba and Judy Lefkovits would have been proud.
Tonight I went the Hillel, to a barbecue that had as well as to get my ticket for tomorrow, and I need to correct something that I said in the previous post. I thought that this River vs Boca is the biggest rivalry in Argentina. I met with a British fellow, and he told me that anyone who knows anything about futbol (not me) knows that River-Boca is one of the biggest club rivalries in the WORLD and that the River-Boca game is one of the biggest sporting events in the INTERnatioanl community. My analgoy, then, was innacurate. I guess this game would be more like said Yankees-Sox game if it was also a World Series game and if the world actually cared about baseball.
I also mentioned to a few people that I was going to the game and they said "Do you have a gun?" They have separate sides of the stadium for the different fans, and they let out each side at different times, that's how intense it is. Psyche!

Chinatown and Futbol

These last couple of days have been up-and-down. I've been a bit under the weather with a sore-throat that was making it difficult to breathe. Interestingly though, with a sensitive throat, the air-pollution here in Buenos Aires is a lot not more noticeable; with the sore throat the irony of the city's name is much funnier. Everyone seems to smoke here, and the streets are so crowded with cars and disgusting fumes pour our from older cars and buses wherever you walk. Cough.
Yesterday afternoon, after a morning staying in the hostel, I decided to head outside for a bit, which is when I noticed this. I also (finally) climbed up one of those huge trees that a scattered about the city. The trunks are big enough that it would take at least 5 people holding hands to wrap around one, and their massive branches extend fifty feet out from the trunk, some of them close and horizontal to the ground. I climbed up about ten feet or so up the tree in one of the local parks in Belgrano and sat up above everyone eating a pear.
After I finished my pear and people-watching I walked to the very small Chinatown, which is actually close to where I am now staying. The entire Chinatown is one block block long and every store on the block is either a Chinese restaurant or a souvenir store whose contents fulfill every stereotype of every Far-East country on the map. After my brief excursion into the Orient I bought some crackers and cheese at one of the kosher shops, also close by, and sat in the Plaza Belgrano reading Kurt Vonnegut (one of the books I bought at Walrus Books). I haven't mentioned Walrus Books yet? For shame! Walrus Books is a used bookstore devoted entirely to English language books. It is a small but amazing place, whose books, while not amazingly cheap for used books, are significantly cheaper than the over-priced new books in the bigger bookstores; their selection is also much better, as the mainstream store only stocks cheap thrillers and pop-fiction. Walrus Books has a bit of everything, from Ayn Rand to Vonnegut. I will be going back.
Anyway, at the Plaza Belgrano I saw a guy reading a Spanish-English version of The Murders on the Rue Morgue. Naturally, I struck up a conversation with him, a poli-sci student at the University of Buenos Aires who wants to write a short story. He told me that his uncle recommended Poe to him to get a good idea of what a good short story is; I recommended a few others to him (read O. Henry), and I offered to lend him my book of short stories. We also talked a bit about Obama and politics. It was interesting that, until the Nobel Peace Prize, most people here didn't concern themselves much with Obama, and they still don't know much about him. Most people I have spoken to have no idea that he is trying to reform our healthcare system, the biggest issue in the State! Yet, when he won the Nobel Peace Prize, everyone had an opinion, and none of them very good. We're now friends on facebook.
On my way home I bought a ticket to the futbol game this sunday. Psyche! The game is River Plate vs Boca Juniors, the biggest rivalry this side of the equator. If you imagined a Yankees vs Red Sox game, where the Yankees starting line-up included Gaius Julies Caesar, Ulysses Grant, Arthur Wellesley, the First Duke of Wellington, Henry II, Ernest Hemingway, Achilles, Windows, Coca-Cola, and the Roadrunner and the Red Sox starting lining up being Gnaeus Pompey Magnus, Robert E. Lee, Napoleon Bonaparte, Thomas Beckett, William Faulkner, Hector, Mac, Pepsi, and Wile. E Coyote, and you might get an idea of how intense this rivalry is. I have to pick my sides.
Good Shabbos to all!

A Benefit of Traveling Alone

Traveling can have its downside. When you have a travel with a friend you are never alone, you build on your friendship and create dozens of shared experiences, you laugh at what you see together, and, most importantly, you come out of the trip with great stories and memories to tell and reminisce over when you're tottering down the hall on your walker together years later. Traveling alone finds one lonely, wandering from one site to the next, wondering what it would be like to have someone to share your experiences with, introspecting too much, and taking lots of empty pictures.
However, when you do travel with a friend, you are in a comfortable place that excludes, to an extent, people outside your duo (or trio, or however large your social circle is). The trip gets filtered through your friendship and every you see is interpreted through the relationship that you already have with said travel buddy. When you are traveling alone, not only is everything fresh, but you have the opportunity to make new friends and, even if only for a day or two, form a much deeper bond than you would have if you were already with a friend from the past.
I am, of course, not suggesting that you can become amazingly close with a person in a day or two, but when you have a need for companionship, you open up that much more easily.
Over the past few days I got to hang out with a woman from my Spanish class and a girl from England that we randomly met in the Recoleta Cemetery; I cannot speak for them but I had a lot of fun, a lot more fun with these two otherwise total strangers than I had on any other day by myself. Forming a connection with another person is really an amazing magical thing that has inherent value. In the places we call home, if we are lucky, we have a strong network of friends and relatives, people we already have connections with and can count on, but we can (at least, I almost did) forget the fun of connecting to someone else based only, at first, on our common language. Here's to many more random travel buddies, and here are my first two travel buddies:

Sunday and onwards

I spent part of Friday and Sunday in the center of town. The buildings around here are magnificent (look at the pictures on Facebook). On Friday on Calle Florida, which is a pedestrian walkway/mall, the middle of the walkway fills with people selling all kinds of crafts, from handmaid mate gourds to massive knitted bras (I have no idea who would, or could wear on of those things). Plaza de Mayo, the most famous plaza in a city a dozens of plazas, is home to the Casa Rosada, the Cabildo, the Catedral Metropolitina, and other beautiful buildings. The area around the Plaza is also full of gorgeous architecture and large statues and monuments. I wish I knew more of the history of BsAs.
On Sunday I went to San Telmo, the ex-Upper-East-Side of BsAs before yellow fever drove the upper-class out of the area. Sunday sees a massive crafts market open up along Calle Defense. The market reminded me a bit of Nachalat Binyamin in Israel, except it is much much bigger. It goes on at least ten blocks if not more, and they sell absolutely everything; there also musicians and tango dancers all along the way. I did not take pictures. I also found a magnificent place. It is truly wonderful. See for yourself:


This was a theater that they turned into a bookstore. The balconies are reading areas, and all of the original theater is still preserved, including the beautifully painted ceiling. Most of the books are in Spanish, though I did manage track down the only used bookstore devoted entirely to English books. Very awesome, but very dangerous.
After hanging out in the city for most of the day I went to the Parque 3 de Febrero, to the Rosedal, where they had a free concert from Django something or other. It was fun, and the bassist had an amazing moustache. Dinner was pizza (which came with rolls and an herby mayonnaise and toast rounds with an eggplant salsa) and a submarino, a massive mug of steamed milk poured over a chocolate bar. The pizza was, as it seems it will always be here, mediocre, but the submarino was nice.
Yesterday I met with one of the Americans here working for the Hillel,had ice cream, and chatted about many of the social activities and other opportunities to integrate with the community. The conversation was quite productive, and the ice cream, was, as usual, amazing! after class I went to the Recoleta Cemetery with a lady from my class. If you think it sounds a bit strange weird to go to a cemetery for fun, well, so did I, until I saw it. It is truly a necropolis. Each tomb is big enough for a small family to live in, and probably cost as much as would to feed one of those families for a year. They are magnificent, but I don't understand why someone would go to all that trouble and expense on the dead. These are massive construction, and each building has a cellar where most of the family is buried; only the Patriarch and Matriarch are buried in the main room. There are a number of famous Argentines buried here, including Evita. Most of the tombs are very well-kept, but we saw a few that were quite rundown, and we even saw a casket that was broken open (we could see the fellow's leg bones). We also met a British girl on holiday on her own, and she tagged along for the cemetery, ice cream after (yes, twice in one day), and today as well. We (Margaret from class, Leona for Manchester, and I) went to La Boca, one of the more dangerous but also more famous neighborhoods, where we saw the famous bombonera futbol stadium, the famous colored houses, the famous thing they call tango, and drank the famous Quilems, Argentina's local beer. The tango was cool, the beer was cool (but not so great, very light, it is like a moscato d'asti of beers, and that isn't a compliment). The conversation was the best part; it's really nice to talk to someone about all the british tv shows and comedians! Afterwards I bought a few books at the used bookstores and called it a night.
Buenas Noches!

Last Shabbos

Last shabbos was quite interesting, for a few reasons. Friday night, as usual, was pretty normal; shul was the standard Jabad fare, with the added singing and dancing of it being a Shabbat Chatan (the groom came in from Uruguay along with a chunk of his community and the Jabad rabbi of Montevideo), and davening was all the longer for it. I ate a the hostel this time, which was nice (the food, as usual, was delicious) though I ended up speaking in Hebrew instead of having the opportunity to practice Spanish. I will continue to go to families in the future.
On Shabbos day I went to the shul on Moldes again. It was the shul's 80th anniversary, and there was a nice kiddush in honor of the occasion. I also received 4 invites for lunch! I'm set for the next few weeks. One invitation from a Hungarian fellow who's hobby is tracing Jewish families in Hungary before the Second World War 2. He asked a few questions (I didn't know the answer to some of them), and I will probably have more to say about him next week.
The fellow who got to me first, Alejandro Fuchs, did not speak much English, which was excellent, as I got to practice. He had another family over, last name Fireman (yes, but here those fellows are called Bomboneros). He spoke a bit of English, and in our Spanglish conversation, I came to realize a few very interesting things.
One question that has been on my mind is why they do not build an eruv in Buenos Aires. There are tens of thousands of Jews, easily over a dozen shuls, and not carrying on shabbos is a huge pain (though maybe that is only because I am not used to it). When I asked, they told me it was because the government and people of BsAs are not very open-minded. We segued into general prejudices, and what they said, both about the people and government of Argentina, as well as their own personal feelings, made me realize how forward America really is. It seems that the people here are barely accepting of other religions and practices, at least so long as they remain private, but ask to build an eruv and people start getting suspicious. There are very few black people in BsAs, and the people that I talk to have a pretty backward way of thinking about people, mostly gleaned from movies. I know all the arguments of the pay discrepancy, and the opportunity discrepancy, the ratio of blacks to whites in jail, and all the other issues in the US, but stepping outside and seeing the States from an outsider's perspective makes me realize that, whoever much farther we have to go, we have really come far.
Another really fascinating little anecdote that happened over shabbos requires a bit of preface. Most of the Orthodox Jews here seem to be, as they are in the rest of world, politically right wing. I have already heard of a number of them say that they do not like Obama because he will not be good for the Jews. I also must mention that Argentina has a free healthcare option that, while not frequented by the wealthy, who opt to buy private insurance, allows any Argentine regardless of income or class receive free healthcare. At lunch on shabbos I mentioned America's lack of free healthcare. The portenos, all of them politically right wing and, if they were in the states, would have voted for McCain, were shocked. It took them awhile to understand what I was saying (No tienen seguro para todos in la Estados Unidos?), but once I got my message through, a big grin spread across their faces. "You mean Argentina is more advanced than the USA?! We are more advanced than the USA!" Something that we take as politics is taken for granted in Argentina. We here lots about how the USA is the last fully developed country to lack healthcare for all (though form what I hear Switzerland doesn't have it), but it strikes harder when you realize that a country that is otherwise a good few kilometers behind us in every other way gives every one of its citizens access to a doctor.
Finally, I found out, that Buenos Aires in the NY of Argentina. I shall explain. In Buenos Aires, the portenos have the attitude that the only really worthwhile part of Argentina is Buenos Aires; the rest of the country is just around to feed and support the city, and form the country that the city can rule. The portenos see Mendoza, Cordoba, Bariloche, etc, as nice vacations spots as best. This attitude is infuriating to many Argentines, and the people outside of BsAs band together against BsAs in non-porteno pride. It works the same in New York, except the New Yorkers know, for a fact, that their city truly is the best in the world; the portenos are just fooling themselves. :) It was a very interesting lunch.
I need to backtrack a bit for the next story. At davening Friday night, the rabbi from Montevideo spoke instead of the rabbi from the Jabad Olleros. It was clear, from his Spanish, that he was from New York. Wait! Another story first. This story that I am about to tell you shocked me. I have never had something like this happen to me in the States. Ever. I almost couldn't believe my ears. While I was sitting in shul, one of the regulars who I have talked to before came over and asked me, "........quieres novia?" "Mas despacio, por favor." I replied. He asked, "Tienes novia?" I responded, "No, no tengo novia. Por que?" He said, "Quieres novia? Cuantos anos tienes?" "Veintiuno, pero en poco tiempo tendre veintidos," was my reply. Then came the shocker, "Ah, vos mas joven para haber novia!" And that was that. Mas joven!!! At 21, mas joven! In the states, over the last two and half years a have gotten at least 20 calls/emails from people who want to get me a novia (no exaggeration.) Now, it is not that I don't appreciate the offers, and I know everyone who tries is doing so because they care and because they are doing something that they see as valuable and right, and they are right. However, the dating scene in the States is quite rushed, and, even though most guys don't feel that they are wasting time at 21/22, most of the ones I know have entered the market. No one who has ever tried to set me up has been turned away by my age. 21, in the American frum community is perfectly normal to date, if not marry at. Heck, I'll soon be surpassing the age at which my father got married! That wasn't even a shidduch date! And here I am in Argentina where just mentioning my age is enough to turn away my first potential shidduch! I like it here. I must stress, again, that this in not because I have no interest in dating and because I resent people trying to set me up, but because people here are not so stressed and rushed about dating, to the point that they are fine with actively pushing it off to a later age. A mi me gusta Buenos Aires!
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the Uruguayan rabbi who was obviously from the States. At Seudah Shlishit I approached him and asked him if he was from New York. 35 years ago he told me. Where are you from? And what's your name?
Aaron Muller...No way! Aaron Muller?! Fancy meeting you here!
It turns out, when I was still researching my trip a few months back, before I decided to come to BsAs I email this rabbi, asking him about Uruguay, where I could stay, and any opportunities for integration in his community. He did not respond immediately, being in the Elul rush, but he told me that my email came up right before shabbos, and he was planning on responding after the weekend. Quite a coincidence.

I couldn't help it

I broke. It is so hard keeping kosher, it was too much. I had to find the first McDonald's and just go for it. How liberating! I never thought eating McDonald's. I mean, I've always heard that the food isn't so great, but the feeling of liberation after biting into that burger! Wait, what? The McDonald's was kosher!


Alright, so I was kidding. I have desire to stop eating kosher, and it is pretty easy to do here. I just had to do the whole kosher McDonald's shtick at least once, and I wanted to at least find something positive to say about it. Well, it wasn't the worst thing I've ever eaten. In fact, it was better than pretty much any other fast food kosher burger I've ever had. The fries were standard, thin, crispy and salty, not bad but not outstanding either, and the burger was a bizarre exercise in uniformity. The three buns (I got a BigMac) and two burgers were perfectly circlular and were exactly the same size. The flavors were also strangely uniform, without any texture or flavor contrast at all. I can easily see how a regular diet of these can desensitize someone's taste buds. I can see myself eating there again if I ever happen to be in the area and hungry; it's fast, cheap, and, while not great or even healthy for that matter, it is a decent fast option for a place where you can't even find kosher food in a normal supermarket (without the kosher list, which is in Spanish and which I will not shlep around). I won't be making any more pilgrimages to McDonald's however. I was Yotzei, I got the experince behind me, and I am glad it is over.