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!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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!
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!
Saturday, October 24, 2009
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!
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!
Friday, October 23, 2009
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!
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!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
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:
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:
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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!
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
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.
Rosedal and Park February 3
Monday was a national holiday here, though they call it Dia de la Razas (Races, as in, Italian, Chinese, Indian, etc), not Columbus Day. In order to avoid the crowds and protests I decided to go to Buenos Aires' answer to Central Park, Parque 3 de Febrero. was a gorgeous day, with a sky so purely blue and not a cloud in the sky you just want to stay outside forever. I walked to the park, which is huge, and had a small picnic of crackers and cheese while I read. A dog (everyone has a dog here) ran over and started eating my food! It's owner called it back, but after I finished I went over (to show there were no hard feelings; also, the owner spoke English). I ended up talking to her for a bit about Buenos Aires, studying in England, and her Philosophy major. Afterward, I went to one of the most amazing planned parks I have ever been to. In the middle of February 3rd is a section of the park called Rosedal. It is stunning. There are beautiful paths through pristine lawns that feature the busts of many famous poets (including Dante, Cervantes, and Shakespeare!) and the most magnificent rose garden I have ever seen. I hate to say it, but New York could do with a Rosedal.
Doppelgangers
This seems to be the land of doppelgangers. So far I have seen the long lost twins of:
Josh Wisotsky
A tall Chaim Nemetyoff
A tall Dina Margelovitch
Estie Roth
Gil Kobrin
Yehoshua Nechemyah Laker
and Jamie Oliver among others.
It's kinda bizarre.
Some of these doubles not only look alike, but have very similar mannerisms. Have you all followed me out here? Either that or I am living a kind of Truman Show and you are reusing actors.
Josh Wisotsky
A tall Chaim Nemetyoff
A tall Dina Margelovitch
Estie Roth
Gil Kobrin
Yehoshua Nechemyah Laker
and Jamie Oliver among others.
It's kinda bizarre.
Some of these doubles not only look alike, but have very similar mannerisms. Have you all followed me out here? Either that or I am living a kind of Truman Show and you are reusing actors.
Chag II
The second days of Yom Tov were, for the most part, very nice. Shabbos was a normal shabbos, davening and eating way more than is humanly possible. I went to the Jabad on Friday night, where, weirdly, they did hakafos (Jabad does hakafos on both shmini atzeres and simchas torah), and it was actually good, in retrospect, that I was at the friday night hakafos. The rest of shabbos went by very well, with a continuation of the hospitality and good food that I experienced the first days of Yom Tov. Motzaei Shabbos was different. A few people told me that I had to go to one of the Jabads in the area, that it is the place to be for simchas torah. Some other people warned me that the drinking of alcohol was common at that certain Jabad. I figured I would go; how bad could it be? They'd daven maariv, perhaps make kiddush, start hakafos, and then bring out booze. I probably wouldn't imbibe, but it would be a new experience.
I got the Jabad at 7:15 to be on the safe side; I wasn't sure when they would start. I sat in the Jabad for over an hour, learning, talking to people, and watching the preparations. A few people approched me as a new face, which was very nice, including a young autistic fellow. He has been, so far, the only person here who I have been able to talk to, in Spanish, on their own level. Puts thing in a weird perspective. My spirits were lifted a bit when I saw the folks setting up preparing for what looked like a meal. It looked like I'd get free food in the bargain!
Finally, at around 8:30, they started maariv. It also started to rain. To pour. It poured like I had never seen before. The falling of the rain sounded like thunder, it started suddenly, and it lasted the entire night. After maariv, they had to move the tables from the sukkah to the building. By the time all this was done, it was almost 10, and the bookshelves were lined with bottles of vodka. This whole time, people are getting very rowdy, singing and stomping and yelling. They brought out beer for kiddush, which, as far as I know, is totally not a valid kiddush drink. Luckily they did bring out wine for the rabbi to make kiddush. As the rabbi picked up his cup of wine, I could see that he had been pregaming. This tall, white-bearded, otherwise dignified rabbi's eyes were red. Then, when he started making kiddush, my suspicions were confirmed. The kiddush was a mockery. He paused in qeird places and did all kinds of weird sing-songy things with the brachos in order to elicit laughs from the congregants, and completely forgot havdalah. As he was in the middle of Shehechyanu a bunch of peopled yelled out and he changed shehecheyanu to Ha'aish. They served food, and people ate and, of course drank. It was getting way too out of hand for me, and I left early; luckily i had hakafos the previous night. I have nothing in particular against people who drink.
I don't enjoy it myself, I don't quite understand the appeal, but I do see how it can be anjoyable for some. However, if I am ever going to get drunk, it will be socially, with friends, not under so bogus religious pretense. Anyway, when did simchas torah turn into Purim (which also begs the question of why Purim can be synonymous with wild drunken revelry)?
On my way home I met one of the fellows I met at Rav Oppenheimer's shul, Pablo Neustadt, and he invited me upstairs to his neighbor's apartment for dinner. I ended up sleeping there because the rain was falling too hard for a half hour walk home. The people here are amazing.
The next day I went to Rav Oppenheimer's shul which, though also a bit different from home (it is yekki after all), is a bit more orderly and respectful. I also discovered a bit of information about this congregation that blew my mind. This kehillah of around 150-200 orthodox men (and their families, which includes the ashkenazi and sefardi minyanim) are 98% baalei teshuvahs. 98% of these men were not religious at all! That is a huge number! At one point during the luncheon (I will get to that) there were around 50 people in the room and Hungarian fellow I was speaking with told me that, as far as he could tell, he was the only FFB in the room. Amazing. I was also impressed when the sephardi minyan joined the ashkenazi minyan for hakafos and mussaf.
After hakafos the shul had a buffet luncheon sponsored by the Chassan Bereishis with an enormous amount of amazing food.Not only were the tables laden with salads, delis, and sushi, but the waiters continuously brought out platters of kibbeh, lachmanjin, empanadas, potato knishes, and some other meat pastry. At many jewish events the scavengers, the people who hang out by the entrance of the kitchen, usually late-teens and early-twenties, pick the platters clean before they can make their way to the general populace. Not here. Enough food came out so that the scavengers were sated and the normal people got food. Then, more food came, so that evryone had second and thirds. And then more food came. And more. They were still bringing out platters of food as everyone was sitting down to bentch. I've never seen anything like it. There is always that one really good tray at the wedding or bar-mitzvah or luncheon that someone didn't get. Not here. It was amazing. I am going to be ridiculously fat by the time I get home.
I got the Jabad at 7:15 to be on the safe side; I wasn't sure when they would start. I sat in the Jabad for over an hour, learning, talking to people, and watching the preparations. A few people approched me as a new face, which was very nice, including a young autistic fellow. He has been, so far, the only person here who I have been able to talk to, in Spanish, on their own level. Puts thing in a weird perspective. My spirits were lifted a bit when I saw the folks setting up preparing for what looked like a meal. It looked like I'd get free food in the bargain!
Finally, at around 8:30, they started maariv. It also started to rain. To pour. It poured like I had never seen before. The falling of the rain sounded like thunder, it started suddenly, and it lasted the entire night. After maariv, they had to move the tables from the sukkah to the building. By the time all this was done, it was almost 10, and the bookshelves were lined with bottles of vodka. This whole time, people are getting very rowdy, singing and stomping and yelling. They brought out beer for kiddush, which, as far as I know, is totally not a valid kiddush drink. Luckily they did bring out wine for the rabbi to make kiddush. As the rabbi picked up his cup of wine, I could see that he had been pregaming. This tall, white-bearded, otherwise dignified rabbi's eyes were red. Then, when he started making kiddush, my suspicions were confirmed. The kiddush was a mockery. He paused in qeird places and did all kinds of weird sing-songy things with the brachos in order to elicit laughs from the congregants, and completely forgot havdalah. As he was in the middle of Shehechyanu a bunch of peopled yelled out and he changed shehecheyanu to Ha'aish. They served food, and people ate and, of course drank. It was getting way too out of hand for me, and I left early; luckily i had hakafos the previous night. I have nothing in particular against people who drink.
I don't enjoy it myself, I don't quite understand the appeal, but I do see how it can be anjoyable for some. However, if I am ever going to get drunk, it will be socially, with friends, not under so bogus religious pretense. Anyway, when did simchas torah turn into Purim (which also begs the question of why Purim can be synonymous with wild drunken revelry)?
On my way home I met one of the fellows I met at Rav Oppenheimer's shul, Pablo Neustadt, and he invited me upstairs to his neighbor's apartment for dinner. I ended up sleeping there because the rain was falling too hard for a half hour walk home. The people here are amazing.
The next day I went to Rav Oppenheimer's shul which, though also a bit different from home (it is yekki after all), is a bit more orderly and respectful. I also discovered a bit of information about this congregation that blew my mind. This kehillah of around 150-200 orthodox men (and their families, which includes the ashkenazi and sefardi minyanim) are 98% baalei teshuvahs. 98% of these men were not religious at all! That is a huge number! At one point during the luncheon (I will get to that) there were around 50 people in the room and Hungarian fellow I was speaking with told me that, as far as he could tell, he was the only FFB in the room. Amazing. I was also impressed when the sephardi minyan joined the ashkenazi minyan for hakafos and mussaf.
After hakafos the shul had a buffet luncheon sponsored by the Chassan Bereishis with an enormous amount of amazing food.Not only were the tables laden with salads, delis, and sushi, but the waiters continuously brought out platters of kibbeh, lachmanjin, empanadas, potato knishes, and some other meat pastry. At many jewish events the scavengers, the people who hang out by the entrance of the kitchen, usually late-teens and early-twenties, pick the platters clean before they can make their way to the general populace. Not here. Enough food came out so that the scavengers were sated and the normal people got food. Then, more food came, so that evryone had second and thirds. And then more food came. And more. They were still bringing out platters of food as everyone was sitting down to bentch. I've never seen anything like it. There is always that one really good tray at the wedding or bar-mitzvah or luncheon that someone didn't get. Not here. It was amazing. I am going to be ridiculously fat by the time I get home.
Monday, October 12, 2009
I ate...!
Goose eggs! Yes, that's right, I ate goose eggs over shabbos. It was amazing. Actually, they are pretty much just like big chicken eggs, but I think just having eaten them is kind of awesome. That was only one of the highlights of the weekend, but I don't have time to post everything now; today is Dia de la Razas here (Latin America's answer to Columbus Day) so there are no classes. I am going to avoid all of the protests and crowds and walk to the very large Parque Tres de Febrero. Supposedly there are a few awesome things to see there, and it is a beautiful for a stroll in the park, perhaps a picnic.
Speaking of a picnic, I experienced a phenomenal Argentine tradition last Wednesday called the asado. An asado is pretty much a barbecue on steriods. Burgers and franks are no where to be found, instead, steaks and these massive ribs are the stars. The steaks are good, but the ribs, with a thick layer of flavorful fat that, over the two hours they spend over the coals (if you use gas here they publicly flog you after a first offense, after that, to the gallows), renders into the meat and make them, frankly, ridiculously good. So unhealthy but who cares?
And to segue from unhealthy, after Hoshanah Rabbah davening the Jabad served breakfast to the congregation (perhaps rewarding us for sitting through a two hour davening on a weekday). I had conits de dulce de leche. The best way to describe it would be to say that it is exactly like a crembo, except instead of marshmallow fluff inside it is filled to brim with dulce de leche. Amazing! Between the conitas and the ribs, and this deli meat that they have here (I forget the name) that is like a mortadella but with an egg inside, I am going to develop cardiac problems and diabetes while I am here. It's worth it.
What is everyone doing for Columbus Day? And have the leaves turned yet? If anyone goes upstate and catches the fall foliage, and happens to take a picture, send it to me! How I miss autumn in New York (and early shabbos, it keeps getting later here!)
Chao!
Speaking of a picnic, I experienced a phenomenal Argentine tradition last Wednesday called the asado. An asado is pretty much a barbecue on steriods. Burgers and franks are no where to be found, instead, steaks and these massive ribs are the stars. The steaks are good, but the ribs, with a thick layer of flavorful fat that, over the two hours they spend over the coals (if you use gas here they publicly flog you after a first offense, after that, to the gallows), renders into the meat and make them, frankly, ridiculously good. So unhealthy but who cares?
And to segue from unhealthy, after Hoshanah Rabbah davening the Jabad served breakfast to the congregation (perhaps rewarding us for sitting through a two hour davening on a weekday). I had conits de dulce de leche. The best way to describe it would be to say that it is exactly like a crembo, except instead of marshmallow fluff inside it is filled to brim with dulce de leche. Amazing! Between the conitas and the ribs, and this deli meat that they have here (I forget the name) that is like a mortadella but with an egg inside, I am going to develop cardiac problems and diabetes while I am here. It's worth it.
What is everyone doing for Columbus Day? And have the leaves turned yet? If anyone goes upstate and catches the fall foliage, and happens to take a picture, send it to me! How I miss autumn in New York (and early shabbos, it keeps getting later here!)
Chao!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
It's a Baby! It's an Engagement! No, it's...
In shul this morning a middle aged man got an Aliyah, and afterward everyone yelled out Mazal Tov! and began dancing around the Bimah. Of course, I wanted to know what the Mazal Tov was for, so I asked one of the fellows standing on the sides. He told me "Is Happy Birthday."
In other news, Argentines have a ridiculous sweet tooth. They love dulce de leche, alfajores, ice cream, any cookies, cakes etc. It is anti-traditional, in Buenos Aires, to have anything savory for breakfast. No eggs, but croissants and dulce de leche galore. This morning the Jabad put out breakfast after shul which consisted solely of an eclectic collection of cookies. I must say, the Argentines love their sweets, and they are amazing at making them too.
Last night I went to meet someone who runs a very ambitious blog called International Jewish People. We met at one of the few tea places in the city (portenos don't drink much tea) and I had my first lapsang in ages. It was amazing. We sat there for 2 hours talking and then decided to go get ice cream. I will try to explain how amazing this ice cream was. Compared to Argentine ice cream (helado):
Baskin Robbins is bad
Turkey Hill is terrible
Haagen Daaz is horrible
Good Humor is gross
and Coldstone is, well, also bad.
This helado was unbelievable. I got two types of chocolates, one with almonds and the other with something that reminded me of the honey-nougat of Toblerone bars. Not only was my tongue smiling, my T1R2 and T1R3 receptors were laughing in unison. That was some darn good ice cream.
In other news, Argentines have a ridiculous sweet tooth. They love dulce de leche, alfajores, ice cream, any cookies, cakes etc. It is anti-traditional, in Buenos Aires, to have anything savory for breakfast. No eggs, but croissants and dulce de leche galore. This morning the Jabad put out breakfast after shul which consisted solely of an eclectic collection of cookies. I must say, the Argentines love their sweets, and they are amazing at making them too.
Last night I went to meet someone who runs a very ambitious blog called International Jewish People. We met at one of the few tea places in the city (portenos don't drink much tea) and I had my first lapsang in ages. It was amazing. We sat there for 2 hours talking and then decided to go get ice cream. I will try to explain how amazing this ice cream was. Compared to Argentine ice cream (helado):
Baskin Robbins is bad
Turkey Hill is terrible
Haagen Daaz is horrible
Good Humor is gross
and Coldstone is, well, also bad.
This helado was unbelievable. I got two types of chocolates, one with almonds and the other with something that reminded me of the honey-nougat of Toblerone bars. Not only was my tongue smiling, my T1R2 and T1R3 receptors were laughing in unison. That was some darn good ice cream.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Pics
It seems some of the picture did upload, but not as I would have liked them to. Check out facebook; if you aren't on and need an invite to view them, let me know.
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Jewish Portenos and the Beginning of my First Week
Portenos is the word used for people who live in Buenos Aires. They are not Buenos Airesian or Buenos Airites or Buenos Aireslings; all those terms were just too much of a mouthful so they chose portenos, which means 'port-people' (Buenos Aires is a port) and is spelled with an 'enye,' the n with the squiggly thing on top that I don't have on my keyboard.
Over the weekend, which also happened to be the first days of Sukkos, I got to experience the hospitality of the Jewish portenos in Belgrano (the barrio, neighborhood, that I am currently living in). On friday night I went to Jabad Olleros (they spell Chabad with a J; Olleros is pronounced as if the ll is a soft J), and to Jorge and Raquel Goldfarb (Yair's uncle and aunt) for the meal. The food was amazing, and I experienced the beginning of, what I think, is turning out to be the traditional way of eating in Buenos Aires. The company was also amazing, and I managed to communicate with the Goldfarbs, including two of their grandchildren and a number of their children, with basic Hebrew. They also had an Israeli girl on her traditional post-army trip who, besides for speaking fluent Hebrew, spoke a decent English as well. Between the three languages I am trying to juggle I am mucho mitbalbel.
I walked about half an hour to the only Orthodox Ashkenzi shul in Belgrano, run by Rabbi Oppenheimer. The community was very friendly and welcoming, and I had enough invites for more meals than were left. I ate by Rabbi Oppenheimer the first lunch in his large backyard sukkah (the second of the growing trend) and had great English conversation with him and his wife (from Toronto; except for Yuval's wedding, I don't think I was ever so happy to see a Canadian). I'm kidding; I love Canadians and Canada is awesome. I hung out at the rabbi's house until Maariv, and after Maariv I was directed by Rabbi Oppenheimer to go to Pablo's. Pablo's was amazing. Pablo himself spoke basic English, and I was able to give a toast (l'chaim) with him as translator. Matti was also there with his wife, Uri with his, another fellow whose name escapes me, and Michel (pronounced Michelle with a long i, like ee, but it is a guy's name). These guys were all a ton of fun, but Michel was amazing. We spoke mostly in basic Hebrew, and most of the time he spoke in Spanish to the other fellows, but his face, his mannerisms, and the way he talked and laughed were exactly like Josh Wisotsky (a fellow who goes to our shul back in Teaneck; Josh, if you happen to read this, you may have a long-lost bro in BA. Also, you will probably correct me for spelling your last name wrong). Michel was very cool; he travels to China for his business of selling video game consoles.
The food at Pablo's was stellar, and yet again the service was similar. Perhaps I should explain. I am used to the American-Jewish style of Shabbos/YomTov meals. We start quite soon after we get home from shul (unless we went to hashkama/early minyan, in which case we still usually start by 12:30), and we have courses, at least fish and main, if not a soup in between. The table starts off empty, besides for the challah and wine, and the food is brought out on serving plates, each course subsequent to the clearing of the prior. In Buenos Aires people eat late. Very late. Really really late. The family yom tov meals were fine, though we waited at least an hour between shul and lunch (shul finished at 1 the first day, 12:30 the second) and at dinner we waited a hour as well, though shul ended at 8:30. We didn't finish dinner until 12, and yes, there were little kids. The portenos, however, are absolutely nuts, and think nothing of going out at 12 in the middle of week. People here start their nights out at 12 or later on weeknights. It's a jewish schoolmom's worst nightmare.
The table is set with numerous salads and vegetables and perhaps eggs and other appetizer/starter foods (think at an Israeli Sefardi table but even more so) and everyone's plate is either empty or plated with a fish and various veg. The starter/salad course goes on for a long time with everyone eating and talking and eating and talking and eating and eating and talking and then the salads are cleared, as are the plates, and plates are brought back with food on them. You don't take your own food, you do not choose how much to take, you just get the food on your plate (and if you aren't careful, when you are finished, you will get more). This is the formal porteno meal (so far). The food is good and plentiful here, and, especially once I find the kosher heladerias, I am sure I will come back a bit larger than I left.
After havdala at the Jabad Olleros, the Goldfarbs and number of other congregants hosted a port-chag party in the chabad sukkah. They had cholent. They had amazing thick-cut pastrami. And they had more cholent. The guys giving out cholent gave me a small plate full at first; when he asked if I wanted more I told him I might have later. The second time around he asks, and before I answered he grabbed a plate twice the size of the original and filled it with cholent until both the plate and I could take no more. It is awesome here.
On Monday after class I got my first tour of the city when Kendra (yes, Kendra), a girl in my Spanish class, showed me the student residence hall (I may move) and the Congreso area of BA, including the Congress, the Obelisk, and 9 de Julio, supposedly the widest street in the world. To go off on a tangent, the streets here are named after dates and the street that I live off of is 11 de Setiembre. Weird. Pictures are on Facebook.
At night Taglit had a BBQ at our hostels sukkah, so all the residents were invited, and tahnk goodness too. I was starving, and I ate enough chorizo to give a marathon runner a heart attack. Chorizo are like sausages, but they are to American sausages what Prime Grill is to McDonald's. Chorizo are over an inch thick and bursting with flavor. Oh man, my mouth is watering.
This morning I went to the American Embassy (not too impressive, I wanted to find out how to get a Visa for Brazil), the Palacio San Martin (pics on Facebook) the Jardin Botanico (ditto) and, after class, the Hillel of Belgrano! A five minute walk from me is the nicest Hillel I have ever seen, with American students studying abroad and a pool! A pool in a Hillel! This place is amazing. Details may follow later, I am off to meet someone in a fantastic looking tea shop.
Chao!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
My First Homework
For our first homework I had to write a presentation about a friend. I am posting it at his request.
Mi Amigo Ephraim
En Nuevo Jersey yo tengo amigo. El llama Ephraim. Ephraim estudia en Ieshive Universitad en Washington Heights. El muy gusta correr y el tiene exito a corriendo, pero no gusta pasear en bicicleta. El es muy tradicionales. Nosotros andamos comer en panaderias. El vive en Teaneck Nueva Jersey con su familia.
En la manana se lavanta en madrugada por la escuela, y el en escuela por todo dia. Despues de escuela, Ephraim corre, come, hace deberes, y se duerme.
This is probably totally grammatically off, and also a way simplified version of one of my closest friends, but hopefully I will be able to do both him and the Spanish language justice when I complete the class.
Mi Amigo Ephraim
En Nuevo Jersey yo tengo amigo. El llama Ephraim. Ephraim estudia en Ieshive Universitad en Washington Heights. El muy gusta correr y el tiene exito a corriendo, pero no gusta pasear en bicicleta. El es muy tradicionales. Nosotros andamos comer en panaderias. El vive en Teaneck Nueva Jersey con su familia.
En la manana se lavanta en madrugada por la escuela, y el en escuela por todo dia. Despues de escuela, Ephraim corre, come, hace deberes, y se duerme.
This is probably totally grammatically off, and also a way simplified version of one of my closest friends, but hopefully I will be able to do both him and the Spanish language justice when I complete the class.
Day 1 of Classes
Hola! It seems like forever since I last posted instead of 24 hours; so much happened between then and now. After I published the last post I helped the management (Sebastian and Esteban) build the sukkah for a bit, until the hour grew late and the cellphone stores were in their final hour. I walked down the main road in Belgrano, Avenida Cablido, and using my very limited Spanish, I was able to find a locutorio, buy a SIM card, activate it, and put 50 pesos of Argentine minutes. The cell phone is turning out to be very convenient.
After my first successful navigation of Buenos Aires I began calling my contacts (thanks to all who set me up with someone!). One friend (go Perel!) gave me the numbers of some of her family in Buenos Aires as well as an envelope to bring to one of them, and made the conveyance of said envelope my mission of the evening. I took my first (and hopefully my last) taxi ride to the apartment of this older couple (last name Worms) to give them them the envelope. When I entered they were just about to eat dinner, and they insisted that I enter and join them. Their son and his wife and two kids were visiting from Israel, but they all spoke English (and German and Spanish), and we had great conversations about healthcare in America and Israel, business in Argentina, traveling, retiring, and, of course, they gave me tons of tips for survival in Buenos Aires. They also invited me to their sports club! People here continue to be awesome. I walked home after that and showered (in the small but clean shared bathroom) and collapsed before ten, way before any of the Israelis even got back from wherever they were, the first time I've done that in ages.
I woke up early and met Esteban downstairs; he invited me to go to shul with him. We went to the Beit Jabad Olleros for Shacharit, I got an Aliyah, and I was unable to find anyone who spoke English. I did, however, find out that one of the Israeli girls at the hostel has American parents, and therefore perfect English, and believe me, it was quite a relief to hear unaccented, fluent English. I polished off a bag of pretzels that I bought in Queens for breakfast and went down to Once (a neighborhood) to the language school (Centro Universitario de Idiomas) to sign in. I gave myself a half an hour buffer zone, in case of any commuter confusion, and they initially told me to be there 2 hours early on the first day. I commuted correctly and the fellow who told me to be there half an hour early was mistaken, so I had a few hours to kill, which I did by sending out more emails to contacts, getting an invite for Shabbos day at Rav Oppenheimer (thanks Noah!) and a text from someone who runs a blog called International Jewish People (in Buenos Aires) to hang out (thanks Google!). I also got a random phone call from the Worms' relatives inviting me (I think) to their house for Sukkos (though it was hard to hear; I have to call them back). I now have an invite to Raquel (thanks Kinney!), Rabbi Oppenheimer (Noah!), the Goldschmidts (Perel!) and, most probably, Raquel's daughter (Kinney again!). I also spoke to my mom on Skype (go Skype!), so all in all, the few hours before class were quite productive.
Class itself is tough. They decided to place me in level 2 right away based on my placement test, and the entire class is n Spanish. I am able to keep up for the most part, and, though the first class is an introduction, i learned that the usage of vos instead of tu that the Argentines use for the informal second person pronoun is actually traditional, and that the traditional name for the language is not Espanol, but Castellano. I also that some of the word structure is similar to Hebrew. For example, the word for why literally means 'for what' (LaMah, for what; Por Que, for what). Spanish also makes use of Shoresh verbs and complex conjugations based on the subject and uses gender and quantity specific adjectives. It is also a bit like Australian slang; when Michi Hayman, an Australian friend, came for Rosh Hashanah, he asked 'how are you going,' meaning how are you? In Castellano they say como andas, literally 'how are you going,' meaning the same thing. Otherwise class was uneventful (though there is a girl in the class on a gap year between high school and college who said, in her introduction, that she hablo Hebreo. I must find out more).
By the time class finished (at 4) I was starving. Once happens to be one of the more heavily concentrated Jewish communities; it is like Borough Park except with non-Jews also. I found the first kosher pizza place and had my first Argentine Pizza (not so cheap though, despite everyone telling me how cheap the place is. Hm...). It hit the spot though, and I was ready for lulav hunting.
It took me a good hour, but, a lot of walking and one bakery later I found a yeshive (or ieshiva) and bought my arbah minim for sukkos, which, in the end, were not much more than what they cost on Main St in Queens). Alfahores, by the way, are delicious. They are very crumbly cookies with very sweet and very delicious dolce de leche sandwiched in between, rolled in coconut. Also very tradtitonal here; it is a day of tradition. In the topic of not changing, the frum girls here Buenos Aires dress exactly the same as the frum girls in the States. Almost makes me feel at home. Kidding!
I decided to walk back to the hostel (partly motivated by my desire to see the city and partly by the alfahore), and it did not seem like such a long walk. My map is not scale however, and I underestimated the distance; the walk took an hour and twenty minutes (not terrible, but with stuff and later in the evening, not ideal). One thing that struck me about the city was, well, it is dirty. It's a pretty dirty city. I haven't gotten downtown yet, and the residential areas are a bit nicer, but the parts that I have seen so far are not very clean; there is litter and dog poo on every block. Perhaps I've only been in the not-so-great neighborhoods. I hope that's the case. Now I am off to do homework; yes, I traveled to Argentina just to find myself doing homework.
Ciao for now!
After my first successful navigation of Buenos Aires I began calling my contacts (thanks to all who set me up with someone!). One friend (go Perel!) gave me the numbers of some of her family in Buenos Aires as well as an envelope to bring to one of them, and made the conveyance of said envelope my mission of the evening. I took my first (and hopefully my last) taxi ride to the apartment of this older couple (last name Worms) to give them them the envelope. When I entered they were just about to eat dinner, and they insisted that I enter and join them. Their son and his wife and two kids were visiting from Israel, but they all spoke English (and German and Spanish), and we had great conversations about healthcare in America and Israel, business in Argentina, traveling, retiring, and, of course, they gave me tons of tips for survival in Buenos Aires. They also invited me to their sports club! People here continue to be awesome. I walked home after that and showered (in the small but clean shared bathroom) and collapsed before ten, way before any of the Israelis even got back from wherever they were, the first time I've done that in ages.
I woke up early and met Esteban downstairs; he invited me to go to shul with him. We went to the Beit Jabad Olleros for Shacharit, I got an Aliyah, and I was unable to find anyone who spoke English. I did, however, find out that one of the Israeli girls at the hostel has American parents, and therefore perfect English, and believe me, it was quite a relief to hear unaccented, fluent English. I polished off a bag of pretzels that I bought in Queens for breakfast and went down to Once (a neighborhood) to the language school (Centro Universitario de Idiomas) to sign in. I gave myself a half an hour buffer zone, in case of any commuter confusion, and they initially told me to be there 2 hours early on the first day. I commuted correctly and the fellow who told me to be there half an hour early was mistaken, so I had a few hours to kill, which I did by sending out more emails to contacts, getting an invite for Shabbos day at Rav Oppenheimer (thanks Noah!) and a text from someone who runs a blog called International Jewish People (in Buenos Aires) to hang out (thanks Google!). I also got a random phone call from the Worms' relatives inviting me (I think) to their house for Sukkos (though it was hard to hear; I have to call them back). I now have an invite to Raquel (thanks Kinney!), Rabbi Oppenheimer (Noah!), the Goldschmidts (Perel!) and, most probably, Raquel's daughter (Kinney again!). I also spoke to my mom on Skype (go Skype!), so all in all, the few hours before class were quite productive.
Class itself is tough. They decided to place me in level 2 right away based on my placement test, and the entire class is n Spanish. I am able to keep up for the most part, and, though the first class is an introduction, i learned that the usage of vos instead of tu that the Argentines use for the informal second person pronoun is actually traditional, and that the traditional name for the language is not Espanol, but Castellano. I also that some of the word structure is similar to Hebrew. For example, the word for why literally means 'for what' (LaMah, for what; Por Que, for what). Spanish also makes use of Shoresh verbs and complex conjugations based on the subject and uses gender and quantity specific adjectives. It is also a bit like Australian slang; when Michi Hayman, an Australian friend, came for Rosh Hashanah, he asked 'how are you going,' meaning how are you? In Castellano they say como andas, literally 'how are you going,' meaning the same thing. Otherwise class was uneventful (though there is a girl in the class on a gap year between high school and college who said, in her introduction, that she hablo Hebreo. I must find out more).
By the time class finished (at 4) I was starving. Once happens to be one of the more heavily concentrated Jewish communities; it is like Borough Park except with non-Jews also. I found the first kosher pizza place and had my first Argentine Pizza (not so cheap though, despite everyone telling me how cheap the place is. Hm...). It hit the spot though, and I was ready for lulav hunting.
It took me a good hour, but, a lot of walking and one bakery later I found a yeshive (or ieshiva) and bought my arbah minim for sukkos, which, in the end, were not much more than what they cost on Main St in Queens). Alfahores, by the way, are delicious. They are very crumbly cookies with very sweet and very delicious dolce de leche sandwiched in between, rolled in coconut. Also very tradtitonal here; it is a day of tradition. In the topic of not changing, the frum girls here Buenos Aires dress exactly the same as the frum girls in the States. Almost makes me feel at home. Kidding!
I decided to walk back to the hostel (partly motivated by my desire to see the city and partly by the alfahore), and it did not seem like such a long walk. My map is not scale however, and I underestimated the distance; the walk took an hour and twenty minutes (not terrible, but with stuff and later in the evening, not ideal). One thing that struck me about the city was, well, it is dirty. It's a pretty dirty city. I haven't gotten downtown yet, and the residential areas are a bit nicer, but the parts that I have seen so far are not very clean; there is litter and dog poo on every block. Perhaps I've only been in the not-so-great neighborhoods. I hope that's the case. Now I am off to do homework; yes, I traveled to Argentina just to find myself doing homework.
Ciao for now!
Chai Lifeline
A very good friend of mine, Ephraim Feman, is doing a half-marathon for Chai Lifeline for the second time. If you would like to sponsor him, click here :http://www.teamlifeline.org/mypage.php?myid=56357.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)