The Best Kind of Shopping

When I’m in the mood to buy, what could be better than a good museum store? Nothing. Nada. Not R.E.I. (Ed!), not the twice-yearly sale at Nordstroms, not even Filene’s Basement in NYC.

First I perused the special show, then the gems from the permanent collection. Finally, in a stupor, I entered the museum store. I imagine this is what an addict feels on a backsliding, just-do-it day. You know you’re gonna get some satisfaction.

I’m told this is the best art museum in Buenos Aires. It goes by an acronym: MALBA. It means Mueso de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires. The edifice is modern, airy, light, spacious and next to a plaza where those little sweatered doggies romp. I showed my student ID card from Universidad Belgrano and got a free ticket. Love it!

What a perfect surprise. The show right now is all about art and culture in Mexico during the time that I was reading The Feminine Mystique and getting 8-1997. Ah, Mexico! I am surrounded by the colors, the dark humor, and the psychedelic. The Age of Discrepancies: Art and Visual Culture in Mexico 196 language of Mexico where ever I go. Cosmic!

The Mexico show includes lots of graphic arts (Sacha, you would LOVE the comic books, illuminated books, and political posters). There are videos, serious paintings, installations, and crazy sculptures of found objects. You name it. All inspiring and wonderful.

As I descended to a lower level in the museum, I nearly hit the roof. A fabulous Frida Kahlo self portrait and a surrealist-style Diego Rivera. O mi dios!

I’ve been going to bed with Frida every night! I am currently on page 426 of a 440-page biography of Frida. Each night I eek out a few more pages. I look again and again at the photos and reproductions. I am not allowing myself to quite finish the book. It is just too dramatic, too engrossing. Besides, I recently saw many of her originals at SF MOMA. And, until today, it is the only English language book I have.

So back to shopping. In a word, it was a JOY.

Art y Zapatos en las Calles de BsAs

Wandering around the city of Buenos Aires is at the top of my TO DO list. It is absolutely necessay to keep my eyes peeled for caca de pero, but taking in the sites, sounds, and smells is more than satisfactory.

I see some interesting stuff painted on walls. There is not the quantity you might imagine for a city of 13,00,000 striving souls, but there is the ocassional offering. Here are a few that I fancy.

I have discovered the pleasures of Chinese food in Argentina. It tastes fresh and is full of veggies. I ordered a curry dish, wondering if it might be "picante" hot. Not at all. In fact, most food I've tried (Chinese or otherwise) is quite bland. Not what your typical norteamericana expects to find in Latin America.

This morning I had the pleasure of meeting my university teacher at a cafe for a private lesson (lexion privada). Why solo on a Friday morning? All of the other students in my class are enroute to Izuagu Falls for the weekend. I would rather experience that spactacular site in the company of my dear spouse, so I remain here.

Natalia and I muddled through a few irregular verbs, and then got down to some nitty gritt stuff - phrases I can use with the Spanish-speaking parents of my students. Example: Please ask your daughter to SHOW YOU her homework instead of simply asking, "Did you do your homework?" Not that any student of mine would LIE about completing their assignments - - -

Last night I visited the Evita museum. Curious - the Chanel store is on the same street. The exhibits include quite a few dresses, purses, and shoes. Placed discretely nearby are photos of Evita actually wearing the outfits. As you might guess, she was pretty, tiny, and smiled a great deal. Great clothes. Great shoes.

Speaking of shoes. Shoe stores appear on every street. The shoes are numerous, various, and SMALL. I ventured into one particulaly interesting shoe boutique across the street from Evita. Even the very largest shoe in the store was too small for my feet. Seriously. I asked, "do you have ANY shoes in larger sizes?" "Si! Por supuesto!" However, even the lovely grey boots were too small. This experience was not a complete waste of time, however. The lovely young sales woman spoke several languages, including English. She told me a bit about her life and traveles. Muy amiable. These little exhanges are what makes travel so worthwhile, don't you think?

Banos de Buenos Aires

Toilet paper. Clean floors. Soap and paper towels. Yep, that´s right. These are standard issue in every single potty I have had the pleasure to use in Buenos Aires.

Okay, there was one exception.

Sorry to say, but it is the famous tango palace you read about in all the guide books. The Confeteria Ideal is not quite ideal. It is truly a marvelous structure with its zillion year old elevator, high painted ceilings, and gilded marble columns. The dance floor is marble, too. There are places in the floor that are slightly worn down. Places where you know the mop water pools during its infrequent cleanings. These are places where dancer´s feet have literaly made an impression. Dance the tango at the Ideal, but use a bathroom somewhere else.

Buenos Aires is Doggie Heaven

Portenos love their doggies. (If you live in BA, you’re a Porteno.) You see them, large and small, leading their people up and down the neighborhood streets. Because it’s winter here, the little ones are cloaked in sweaters. Short-haired sweeties often trot about town in layers – two or more sweaters in complimentary colors. This canine couture certainly comes from the many doggie boutiques around town. These sporty, well fed fellows are an index of two things: doggie love and excess cash.

Another darling doggie phenomenon around the streets of B. A. is the plethora of professional dog walkers expertly guiding a happy gang. You can even have your pooch picked up in a nice van and taken to a play date with her mates. Dog life just can’t get much better, you’re thinking. But wait. There is a down side.

Picture poop. Lots and lots of it. Picture it on the sidewalks. Imagine having to watch every ?!!*&!! step you take!. I’ve never seen so many poops on the streets. It is in all possible configurations: tiny pellets, old and dry; huge stacked loaves, shiny new; and smeared and swirled artfully in an attempt to get it off a shoe. I ask myself, is this just the way it is? Is poop, like diesel fumes or coffee grounds, simply what one puts up with for the pleasures of getting around town and/or waking up in the morning? The flip side of all this love is all this shit. I watched for days, while walking to and from school, for the slightest hint of an explanation.

Finally, I saw some light. I actually witnessed a doggie walker stoop down and scoop up a pile. Then I saw another, and finally I witnessed a pro tether his herd of SEVEN to a light pole while he cleaned up a particularly grande pile. So, poop is scooped after all. I guess even the most conscientious dog owner sometimes messes up, forgets their plastic, and can’t do the right thing. This is the explanation I choose to believe about the bombs on the sidewalks.

Can You Say Uruguay?

There is a new stamp on my passport. I took the ferry from Buenos Aires to Colonia, Uruguay. It is a three-hour trip across the very wide mouth of the Plata River. It's only a 45 minute trip if you take the fast boat, by the way. I'll do it that way next time. Make a note of that, Ed.

Colonia is a Santa Cruz-size city that includes a pristine colonial neighborhood. Strolling the quiet cobblestone streets is a perfect antidote for high rise, high volume Buenos Aires. I personally inspected several lovely hotels in anticipation of a second visit. I also made a contribution to the local economy by purchasing a hand knit sweater. It was quite cold, you see.

Up in my tiny apartment in the evenings I write in my journal in Spanish. I talk to myself in Spanish. And I listen to Spanish CDs. One is vintage, the other electronica. We're talking tango, baby.

Last week I went for a run in a giant park, passing two or three of those requisite Man-on-a-Wild Horse statues at oversized, circular intersections. The next day I joined a gym. The equipment is prewar - that's pre Falklands War. But really, does it matter if free weights have seen previous decades? They still preform their funciton. The "stairmaster" and the treadmills are hilarious. If cranked to their highest tension, I can actually obtain that glowing look and the "when will this be over" feeling for which I strive.

Week in the Knees Weekend

It is the shortest day of the year down here. As opposed to up there. Norte Americano is a
pretty indomitable index of all things.

My adventures today involved several standard Buenos Aires tourist destinations. Just like Paris, there is a must-see cemetery here: Cemetario Recoleta. Can you spell E V I T A ? The Hard Rock Café Buenos Aires is just a heart beat away, as are all sorts of other treasures (in museums, of course).

I walk and walk and gawk and gawk. Just when I think, geez, where am I? a golden green park materializes. These plazas invariably include an inviting, gleaming park bench warming in the sun. I sit down, pull out the map, and reconnoiter.

The feria (street fair) in the Recoleta barrio is quite remarkable. Everything from top quality jewelry (we’re talking gold, silver, and gems) to silly magnetos for the fridge. What a delight! My purchase today was macramé. That’s right, 1970’s knots. Ask me about it when you see me. I don’t know if I am gonna love this thing, or be embarrassed when the context changes to Santa Cruz County 2008.

Saw my first (perhaps THE first) Buenos Aires Starbucks today. The line was out the door and around the corner. I am not kidding. Pretty silly considering the number of clean, wonderful cafes on every block. We humonids are all about NEW experiences, no? Picture the scene in the Sex and the City movie where a hunky guy guards the door of a night club, protecting it from a long line of well dressed, well proportioned young darlings. The kids out in front of this giant, brand new Starbucks could have been the same "extras" from those scenes.

Photos for this post: the typical cup of coffee at a typical cafe; Recoleta Cemetary; art and viewer comments about the art from a cultural center; and whatever else I stick in here.

It's the Weekend!

The first week of Spanish language class is over. The weekend stretches out before me like the red, purple, and yellow subway lines on the Buenos Aires map. I am a blue line expert now. These other colors are just waiting to be explored.

Okay, true confessions. I went off the wagon. After speaking and writing (poorly) in Spanish 90% of the time for the past six days, I went on a bender. I spent a solid two hours chatting nonstop in English with my neighbor. That's right. Jean lives in Aptos. We went to lunch, which is what women of a certain age do.

You know how it is when you're wandering the streets of a wildly unfamiliar city. Follow your instricts. We discovered a very chee-chee place that none of the younger students would be the least bit interested in. It had cloth napkins, wine goblets on the tables, and waiters in jackets and ties. I had the lunch special which includes wine, dessert, coffee, soup or salad, and a beautiful entre. I had the fish. Amazingly fresh and delicious. This was my most expensive meal so far - US$20.

English, Spanish, Both

I was savoring my time in the Zabala Cafe in Belgrano this afternoon. Belgrano is one of Buenos Aires's nicer residential neighborhoods. It is kind of like hanging out on the Upper East Side. This is where I am going to school every morning to learn Spanish. Class was over, and I was ready for refreshments.

Rainy days are so nice to watch from the vantage point of a cozy cafe table right by the window. Next to me, two young men were chatting over their large bottles of beer. While I looked up a word in my Spanish/English dictionary, I realized that the one with the fuzzy hair, the one with the loudest voice, had a very familiar accent - as in, like, sufer dude. He switched to English all of a sudden. He described how he "first smoked some pot, then had a cigarette, and then more pot. Wow. My lungs were all hazy." Chuckle, chuckle. Back to Spanish. Yup. The neighborhood is MUY INTERESANTE.

My big job tonight is to purchase another multi-trip subway pass and maybe some AA batteries for my flashlight. Too bad I forgot the really bright one Ed bought just for me just for this trip. What a nice guy! My darling apartment does not include a reading lamp next to the bed. It does included, however, plenty of hot water, a deep bath tub, a tiny kitchen, and solitude.

Homework this evening is to write a description of a famous person. I have to write in Spanish, of course. The other 7 students in my class will listen to my little speech, and try to figure out who I am talking about. Since these lovely women are in their late teens or early twenties, they may never have heard of Hillary Clinton. I presume I will not have a clue about who they write about. Can't wait to get back in class.

The Adventures of Jana Baumann

Introducing the Adventures of Jana Baumann.

On June 15, 2008, Ms. Baumann arrived in Buenos Aires. On June 19, she began her blog. How modern!

Four weeks of Spanish language school spread out before me. Photographic opportunities abound.