Travesuras de la niña mala (reveiw here, although you really shouldn't read it because it gives away the last line of the book) by Mario Vargas Llosa is one of the best books I've read all year. And the language is simple enough that anyone with a high intermediate level of Spanish should be able to easily enjoy it. I know a lot of foreign language learners refuse to read anything but Harry Potter in the language they'd like to speak, but it is rewarding to diversify a little bit. I think you're all lying about being able to understand Harry Potter, anyway -- I've never looked at a translation, but I've always been struck by how advanced the language is in the original. What in the world is a deathly hallow? And how many learners of English are going to know what a goblet is? Also, there are puns on almost every page -- how do you translate Diagon Alley into Spanish? Or the Knight Bus?
One further recommendation: Unless you have a Ph.D. in Spanish etymology and morphology from the University of Salamanca, do not attempt to read the Spanish translation of Père Goriot.
jueves, 13 de diciembre de 2007
A note on terminology (and a postscript on the Malvinas)
I have to say this because at least one person who will read this blog (you know who you are...) will be terribly offended that I've used the word American in the last two posts to mean exclusively from the United States. When I'm speaking English, that's what it means, since that's how it's used by every native speaker in every English-speaking country in the world. Get over it. When I'm speaking Spanish, I say estadounidense or usano or yanqui, which isn't normally pejorative here like it is in Cuba and Venezuela. I've never liked the word norteamericano.
While we're talking about pet peeves, just once while I'm in Argentina I'd like to see a map of the country without the Falklands. Seriously, it was 175 years ago. You might think daily about the grave injustice that is being perpetrated upon the Argentinian soul by the cruel and unnatural British occupation, you might gnash your teeth and cry about it every night, but they're not, you know, actually part of the country.
While we're talking about pet peeves, just once while I'm in Argentina I'd like to see a map of the country without the Falklands. Seriously, it was 175 years ago. You might think daily about the grave injustice that is being perpetrated upon the Argentinian soul by the cruel and unnatural British occupation, you might gnash your teeth and cry about it every night, but they're not, you know, actually part of the country.
Where to go out in Buenos Aires
If you dutifully follow the recommendations of your Lonely Planet, or get advice from other expats, you'll likely stick to the anodyne nightlife options in Palermo, Belgrano and Recoleta, maybe venturing into San Telmo if you're brave (but take a taxi, or you'll surely be mugged!) Worse, many short-time tourists only make it to the massive international clubs like Pachá or that Opera thing in Puerto Madero, that blare awful house music and serve mostly as distribution points for ecstasy and cocaine, and miss the local nightlife altogether.
I'd rather have my ears gnawed off by a pack of crazed wildebeests than have to listen to house music, and I only go out in Palermo for the expat get-togethers that come around every two weeks or so. There seems to be a wider gulf between how expats entertain themselves here and how the locals do than anywhere else I've been, and the guidebooks are particularly unhelpful. For instance, did you know that Argentinians are absolutely obsessed with circuses? If you're an expat, you probably had no idea, even though there are at least 20 within walking distance of my apartment. They're called variettes, and they generally consist of a large, high-ceilinged room with performances by acrobats, jugglers, tumblers, clowns and mimes and often some political satire thrown in. You should go.
My most memorable nights out have been in neighborhoods that aren't mentioned in the guidebooks at all, and that upper class Argentinians (look up careta in the dictionary of words that don't appear in dictionaries) will tell you to avoid as if your life depended on it. I've only been here for two months, and I'm sure there are hundreds of places all over the city that are more fun than my recommendations, but here are a few of the places where I've had excellent nights out so far:
San Telmo
You should categorically refuse to talk to anybody who tries to tell you that San Telmo is more dangerous than Palermo. Seriously, that's just ridiculous.
El Aleph (Chacabuco 443, esq. Belgrano): An underground bar inspired by Borges, they have poetry readings, live music, and, of course, variettes.
El Circo del Aire (Perú y Independencia): I haven't been here yet, but above their entrance is a hand-lettered cardboard sign, which pretty much guarantees that it'll be fun. They put up flyers around the neighborhood occasionally.
La Boca
The guidebooks make people think that everywhere outside of a one-block radius of El Caminito is a shantytown of cardboard shacks controlled by violent street gangs or possibly man-eating aliens. It's actually just a normal, working-class neighborhood.
La Kasa de las Estrellas (Magallanes 1265): A beautiful and crumbling old synagogue that's now used illegally as a (counter-)cultural center. They have punk and reggae concerts, circuses, and liters of beer for AR$5. Some conjunctive kittens who would like a home also live here, by the way.
Constitución
If I tell Argentinians whom I've met in Palermo about something I did in Constitución, they're liable to tell me that I must be mistaken, since nobody has ever entered that neighborhood without being murdered. In the popular consciousness, it seems to enjoy a reputation for safety somewhere between Kinshasa and Moqadishu. In reality, about all that distinguishes it from Once or Barrio Norte is that the people have darker skin. It's largely a Paraguayan / Bolivian immigrant neighborhood, you can hear Guaraní spoken on the street, and, very unusually for Buenos Aires, there's a concentration of Black people and a number of African cultural centers. I've walked around here at all hours of the night, and I haven't been killed yet.
Galpón Trivenchi (Caseros 1712): A formerly illegal squat house which, due to its popularity, managed to strike a deal with the government to avoid being evicted. Probably the best place to see variettes in the city. I think they have a clown collective, too, but I'm not sure what that means.
La Fundación Libertaria Argentina (Brasil 1551): An unmarked door and a long, winding hallway will lead you to the front of the house, where AR$3 or a food donation will get you entrance. A courtyard bar selling beer for AR$4 and wine and home-cooked empanadas for AR$1 is backed by a huge tin and wood shack, where they distribute anarchist literature, show films, and have heavy-metal concerts lasting for 8 hours at a stretch. They definitely don't get any Americans here.
Almagro
El Conventillo de Teodoro (Perón 3615): The front of the house is a traditional peña with tango music, but a secret hallway in the back leads to a boliche with rock concerts and clown encounters.
Flores / Floresta
Centro Cultural Cervantes (César Díaz 5131, esq. Cervantes): A football-pitch-turned-courtyard that has definitely seen better days, a small bar with attached dance hall, and a restaurant make up this cultural center, which hosts live music, often with an African flavor.
Palermo
I said I don't like going out in Palermo, but I'll make an exception for the full-moon parties in
Los Bosques de Palermo (around the Planetarium): Every full moon, at least during the summer, there's a big bonfire in the forest with drum circles, fire jugglers, and a new-age vibe.
A good way to find out about events at many of these places is www.poesiaurbana.com.ar; many also advertise in the newspapers or on the radio and put up posters.
If you're scared to go anywhere not in Lonely Planet and get nervous when you can't hear anybody speaking English, at least go to the decent expat hangouts like Bangalore or Gibraltar. The Drink Gallery is okay too, but hideously expensive. I really don't understand the appeal of The Alamo, where American study-abroad students often take up residence for months at a time. It's a sub-par sports bar with NFL games and a rat infestation. And then there's Kilkenny -- words cannot begin to describe how awful this place is. If there is a hell, it was modeled on Kilkenny.
I'd rather have my ears gnawed off by a pack of crazed wildebeests than have to listen to house music, and I only go out in Palermo for the expat get-togethers that come around every two weeks or so. There seems to be a wider gulf between how expats entertain themselves here and how the locals do than anywhere else I've been, and the guidebooks are particularly unhelpful. For instance, did you know that Argentinians are absolutely obsessed with circuses? If you're an expat, you probably had no idea, even though there are at least 20 within walking distance of my apartment. They're called variettes, and they generally consist of a large, high-ceilinged room with performances by acrobats, jugglers, tumblers, clowns and mimes and often some political satire thrown in. You should go.
My most memorable nights out have been in neighborhoods that aren't mentioned in the guidebooks at all, and that upper class Argentinians (look up careta in the dictionary of words that don't appear in dictionaries) will tell you to avoid as if your life depended on it. I've only been here for two months, and I'm sure there are hundreds of places all over the city that are more fun than my recommendations, but here are a few of the places where I've had excellent nights out so far:
San Telmo
You should categorically refuse to talk to anybody who tries to tell you that San Telmo is more dangerous than Palermo. Seriously, that's just ridiculous.
El Aleph (Chacabuco 443, esq. Belgrano): An underground bar inspired by Borges, they have poetry readings, live music, and, of course, variettes.
El Circo del Aire (Perú y Independencia): I haven't been here yet, but above their entrance is a hand-lettered cardboard sign, which pretty much guarantees that it'll be fun. They put up flyers around the neighborhood occasionally.
La Boca
The guidebooks make people think that everywhere outside of a one-block radius of El Caminito is a shantytown of cardboard shacks controlled by violent street gangs or possibly man-eating aliens. It's actually just a normal, working-class neighborhood.
La Kasa de las Estrellas (Magallanes 1265): A beautiful and crumbling old synagogue that's now used illegally as a (counter-)cultural center. They have punk and reggae concerts, circuses, and liters of beer for AR$5. Some conjunctive kittens who would like a home also live here, by the way.
Constitución
If I tell Argentinians whom I've met in Palermo about something I did in Constitución, they're liable to tell me that I must be mistaken, since nobody has ever entered that neighborhood without being murdered. In the popular consciousness, it seems to enjoy a reputation for safety somewhere between Kinshasa and Moqadishu. In reality, about all that distinguishes it from Once or Barrio Norte is that the people have darker skin. It's largely a Paraguayan / Bolivian immigrant neighborhood, you can hear Guaraní spoken on the street, and, very unusually for Buenos Aires, there's a concentration of Black people and a number of African cultural centers. I've walked around here at all hours of the night, and I haven't been killed yet.
Galpón Trivenchi (Caseros 1712): A formerly illegal squat house which, due to its popularity, managed to strike a deal with the government to avoid being evicted. Probably the best place to see variettes in the city. I think they have a clown collective, too, but I'm not sure what that means.
La Fundación Libertaria Argentina (Brasil 1551): An unmarked door and a long, winding hallway will lead you to the front of the house, where AR$3 or a food donation will get you entrance. A courtyard bar selling beer for AR$4 and wine and home-cooked empanadas for AR$1 is backed by a huge tin and wood shack, where they distribute anarchist literature, show films, and have heavy-metal concerts lasting for 8 hours at a stretch. They definitely don't get any Americans here.
Almagro
El Conventillo de Teodoro (Perón 3615): The front of the house is a traditional peña with tango music, but a secret hallway in the back leads to a boliche with rock concerts and clown encounters.
Flores / Floresta
Centro Cultural Cervantes (César Díaz 5131, esq. Cervantes): A football-pitch-turned-courtyard that has definitely seen better days, a small bar with attached dance hall, and a restaurant make up this cultural center, which hosts live music, often with an African flavor.
Palermo
I said I don't like going out in Palermo, but I'll make an exception for the full-moon parties in
Los Bosques de Palermo (around the Planetarium): Every full moon, at least during the summer, there's a big bonfire in the forest with drum circles, fire jugglers, and a new-age vibe.
A good way to find out about events at many of these places is www.poesiaurbana.com.ar; many also advertise in the newspapers or on the radio and put up posters.
If you're scared to go anywhere not in Lonely Planet and get nervous when you can't hear anybody speaking English, at least go to the decent expat hangouts like Bangalore or Gibraltar. The Drink Gallery is okay too, but hideously expensive. I really don't understand the appeal of The Alamo, where American study-abroad students often take up residence for months at a time. It's a sub-par sports bar with NFL games and a rat infestation. And then there's Kilkenny -- words cannot begin to describe how awful this place is. If there is a hell, it was modeled on Kilkenny.
lunes, 10 de diciembre de 2007
I hate Argentinian food
And I'm not ashamed to admit it. I haven't yet traveled outside Buenos Aires, where I hear things get more interesting -- stews in the northwest? King crabs in Patagonia? Lucky nobody's told the locals, or we might not get to eat steak 21 meals a week anymore! -- but I can say without any hesitation that the food in the capital is easily the worst of anywhere I've ever been.
It continually baffles me that Argentina is viewed as a food-lover's paradise, a gastronomic destination of the highest order. Many of the expats I've met here have told me they moved specifically for the food, and everybody I've met claims to love it. This adoration is due to one thing, and one thing alone: the beef. It turns out if you let cows roam free on the pampas and eat grass rather than keeping them penned and feeding them the entrails of their compatriots, they taste better. Who'dha thunk?
I'm not a big meat-eater -- I'd never ordered a steak in a restaurant before coming to Argentina -- but I will grant that Argentina has some decent steaks, if that's your thing. However, that's as far as it goes. In one of my English classes I asked my students to name their favorite foods, expecting to spark some sort of discussion. All eight immediately said asado, grilled meats. When I asked for other options, they became perplexed and eventually settled for naming the various cuts of meat. Beef, along with the odd (and uninspired) pizza or pasta, is literally the only game in town, along with the ubiquitous milanesa, a thin breaded veal or chicken cutlet that is, by law, completely indistinguishable from cardboard.
But there are empanadas!, you say. Yes, there are empanadas. I'm willing to bet any amount of money that nobody in the history of the world has ever claimed the empanada as their favorite food*.
Argentinian food is aggressively bland. I've met one woman who told me she didn't like McDonald's because the special sauce was too spicy. (She was possibly an outlier, as McDonald's here is more popular than in America, but in general the locals seem unable to tolerate anything with more spice than a marshmallow.) The three closest grocery stores to my apartment literally don't carry hot sauce, red pepper, or even black pepper. I've asked. I've now reached the two-month mark sans spicy food, and I've begun experiencing hallucinations and night sweats. Having gone out of my way to search out ethnic restaurants of various persuasions (the selection here is a little better than Cairo, worse than Europe, and far, far worse than anywhere in the United States), order the spiciest thing on the menu, and beg the waiter to have it made as spicy as possible, I've yet to find anything I'd rate as higher than a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10, while I usually go for dishes in the 28-30 range.
If you love steak more than you love your children, don't like spicy food, don't like seafood, don't like ethnic food, and aren't a big fan of fruits or vegetables, than you'll probably be quite happy here. Otherwise, don't come for the food. Oh, and don't expect any street food, either -- except for choripan, which is surprisingly limited in it's availability, all you'll find is the most vile and inedible hot dogs and hamburgers you've ever tasted in your life. A popular brand of frozen hamburger patty here is called Barfy, and that's not an ironic name.
I'm not sure where the penchant for bland food comes from. There's certainly no similar aversion here to sweet or bitter tastes. Dulce de leche, which the IAEA recently began tracking as a fissionable material, is the most radioactively sweet substance ever invented. You can literally feel your teeth dissolving as you eat it. And the most popular method of preparing it -- several gooping tablespoons, spread between two cookies, then adding another layer of dulce de leche and another cookie for good measure, then covered in chocolate, then sprinkled with sugar crystals, doesn't help matters. Mate, an herbal infusion, and fernet, the national liquor, are, on the other hand, abrasively bitter.
A word on the ice cream, which everybody says is the best in the world: yeah, it's good. Especially the lighter fruit flavors, and sambayón. Probably better than Italy's. But it's nowhere near as good as Turkey's. Turkish ice cream is made by magical elves or something, and it hangs in large loops from wooden poles all day in the sun and never melts, is cut into cylindrical portions with a machete and best eaten with a knife and fork, and is really quite delicious. No, I don't expect you to believe me, but if you go to Istanbul, or, better, Sanliurfa, you'll be a convert too.
*Yes, I used their as a singular pronoun. If you complain about it, I'll smack you.
It continually baffles me that Argentina is viewed as a food-lover's paradise, a gastronomic destination of the highest order. Many of the expats I've met here have told me they moved specifically for the food, and everybody I've met claims to love it. This adoration is due to one thing, and one thing alone: the beef. It turns out if you let cows roam free on the pampas and eat grass rather than keeping them penned and feeding them the entrails of their compatriots, they taste better. Who'dha thunk?
I'm not a big meat-eater -- I'd never ordered a steak in a restaurant before coming to Argentina -- but I will grant that Argentina has some decent steaks, if that's your thing. However, that's as far as it goes. In one of my English classes I asked my students to name their favorite foods, expecting to spark some sort of discussion. All eight immediately said asado, grilled meats. When I asked for other options, they became perplexed and eventually settled for naming the various cuts of meat. Beef, along with the odd (and uninspired) pizza or pasta, is literally the only game in town, along with the ubiquitous milanesa, a thin breaded veal or chicken cutlet that is, by law, completely indistinguishable from cardboard.
But there are empanadas!, you say. Yes, there are empanadas. I'm willing to bet any amount of money that nobody in the history of the world has ever claimed the empanada as their favorite food*.
Argentinian food is aggressively bland. I've met one woman who told me she didn't like McDonald's because the special sauce was too spicy. (She was possibly an outlier, as McDonald's here is more popular than in America, but in general the locals seem unable to tolerate anything with more spice than a marshmallow.) The three closest grocery stores to my apartment literally don't carry hot sauce, red pepper, or even black pepper. I've asked. I've now reached the two-month mark sans spicy food, and I've begun experiencing hallucinations and night sweats. Having gone out of my way to search out ethnic restaurants of various persuasions (the selection here is a little better than Cairo, worse than Europe, and far, far worse than anywhere in the United States), order the spiciest thing on the menu, and beg the waiter to have it made as spicy as possible, I've yet to find anything I'd rate as higher than a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10, while I usually go for dishes in the 28-30 range.
If you love steak more than you love your children, don't like spicy food, don't like seafood, don't like ethnic food, and aren't a big fan of fruits or vegetables, than you'll probably be quite happy here. Otherwise, don't come for the food. Oh, and don't expect any street food, either -- except for choripan, which is surprisingly limited in it's availability, all you'll find is the most vile and inedible hot dogs and hamburgers you've ever tasted in your life. A popular brand of frozen hamburger patty here is called Barfy, and that's not an ironic name.
I'm not sure where the penchant for bland food comes from. There's certainly no similar aversion here to sweet or bitter tastes. Dulce de leche, which the IAEA recently began tracking as a fissionable material, is the most radioactively sweet substance ever invented. You can literally feel your teeth dissolving as you eat it. And the most popular method of preparing it -- several gooping tablespoons, spread between two cookies, then adding another layer of dulce de leche and another cookie for good measure, then covered in chocolate, then sprinkled with sugar crystals, doesn't help matters. Mate, an herbal infusion, and fernet, the national liquor, are, on the other hand, abrasively bitter.
A word on the ice cream, which everybody says is the best in the world: yeah, it's good. Especially the lighter fruit flavors, and sambayón. Probably better than Italy's. But it's nowhere near as good as Turkey's. Turkish ice cream is made by magical elves or something, and it hangs in large loops from wooden poles all day in the sun and never melts, is cut into cylindrical portions with a machete and best eaten with a knife and fork, and is really quite delicious. No, I don't expect you to believe me, but if you go to Istanbul, or, better, Sanliurfa, you'll be a convert too.
*Yes, I used their as a singular pronoun. If you complain about it, I'll smack you.
I suppose...
Well, being an expat in Buenos Aires, it seems the thing to do is start a blog. Either that or buy an opulent apartment along the Costanera Norte, but as I don't have the resources for the latter, the choice seemed clear.
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