Adventuring Abroad...

Taking the GMAT in Africa

2009-10-12T06:47:00.004-04:00

Most business schools in the United States require a GMAT score as part of the application packet. The GMAT is a standardized test that is offered by Pearson Vue. In the United States, there are Pearson Vue testing centers in pretty much every town worth some salt. Outside of the USofA, however, testing centers are few and far between. On the continent of Africa, let's just say there are maybe a handful.

Well. Since I decided to apply to business schools this year, it became apparent that I would need to take the GMAT somehow. I looked up testing centers near Kigali. The nearest one was 470 kms away, in Kampala, Uganda. Oh goodie.

In order to take the test, you have to sign up well in advance, and pay a $250 fee. Oh extra goodie. I signed up for the 10th of October, hoping I'd be able to study for the test and find a way to Kampala before then.

As it turns out, there's a bus that runs from Kigali to Kampala every morning. Since the GMAT on Saturdays are only offered at 9am, that meant I had to take a bus friday morning. Oh goodie - I could waste a whole vacation day taking a bumpy, hot, cramped bus ride to a city I was mildly afraid of. I was told to expect to spend at least 9 or 10 hours on the bus ride. Oh goodie goodie.

Well, surprisingly enough, the bus ride was rather uneventful. At the Kigali-Uganda border, we all had to get out of the bus, check out of Rwanda at the Rwanda counter, walk across no-mans-land and check in again at the Uganda counter. Since 50 zillion busses all leave Kigali at the same time, there were 50 zillion and a half people trying to cross the border simultaneously. I could have complained about that, but I didn't mind being able to walk around, buy some water, go to the oh-so-yummy-smelling bathrooms that were really just holes in the ground, and exchange money. I did eventually get to the check-in counter in Uganda, and, oh goodie, I had to pay a $50 fee for the visa.

We arrived in Kampala at about 5pm. It was 11 hours door-to-city-center. Thank GOODNESS for a friend of mine who lived in Kampala for several years. She lead me through the city's chaos - and when I mean chaos, I mean chaos - and deposited me on a mutatu that actually drove me to my hotel. Thank you Ameliah, you were a god send. The mutatu ride was only 1000 shillings, but the value of the money that was pick-pocked from our bags will forever be unknown.

Dinner and a chat on the phone later, I was tucked into bed for a good night's rest. Lucky for me, however, there was a party going on down the street that thought everyone in Kampala should reap the benefits. I got to listen to thumping reggae, hip hop, and random pop songs all night. Oh goodie. The music stopped around 7:30 am. At least it was pivotal in making sure I was awake on time.

I asked the hotel to get me a moto driver that would take me to the right college at the right university in Kampala so I could take my test. Freddie arrived at 8:05 with a bike and no helmet. Oh goodie. We drove through the city, weaving between gridlocked cars and cutting through gas stations to avoid traffic lights. At one point a cop tried to grab Freddie's shirt, and he put pedal to the metal while I hung on for dear life. Later, when we reached the university entrance we did an about-face and scrambled around a corner into a little dirt alley way between shacks selling phone credit and tomatoes. This time I demanded an explanation.

"Oh," said Freddie. "Those police men are trying to arrest me."

Oh goodie again. Not only was I scared for my life as we skidded through traffic, now I was aware of sitting on the back of a moto controlled by a fugitive. Fun fun.

20 minutes of driving around looking for the right college ("I know where it is!" said Freddie, a few too many times) he leaves me at the Faculty of Technology. Unfortunately, the testing center is in the Faculty of Information Technology. Meh. It was only on the other side of campus. Goodie.

Oh crap! It was 8:45!! My test was a 9, and according to the GMAT website, if you're not there at least 15 mins early, you forfeit your chance to take the test. Shit.

I hissed another moto down and told him to book it over to the RIGHT faculty. That was fun. Yet again my life was held in the balance as wind blew around my non-helmet-protected hair.

I got to reception, and there was a dude whining about how he paid the registrar, but he still wasn't enrolled. Whaa whaa whaa. I could hear my heart thumping in my toes. I kept staring at the clock on the wall. 8:54.... 8:55.... 8:56... Finally the dude left.

"The Pearson Vue testing center. Where is it?" I'd lost all sense of propriety.

"9th floor"

"Where's the elevator?"

"There isn't one"

Oh extra goodie.

I ran up the stairs like a maniac. I only had to stop twice behind slow-ass african-style walkers who took up the entire width of the stairwell. "Excuse me, excuse me" I said as I pushed past them with my african-style pushing-past skills.

I got to the door of the testing center at 8:59am. I wasn't 15 minutes early, but technically, I was there before my exam was supposed to start. Phew.

Shit.

The testing center was locked. I totally KNEW it! They had left already because I was late. Great.

I asked the dudes at the Thompson Prometric center also on the same floor if the Pearson Vue people were supposed to come by. "Oh, she doesn't come by on Saturdays." was the response I got. Oh extra goodie. I wondered if the printed internet receipt I had of the $250 I'd paid and the appointment information was going to hold any clout if I needed it to.

Back down the 9 floors to reception, I asked if I could please get in touch with the Pearson Vue testing center lady as it was extremely important that I take my test THAT day. I thought about giving the full sob story, but she stopped me by saying "Oh. She's probably late. She'll come. Just wait." Oh those famous African words. Just wait.

Ok.

Back up the 9 flights of stairs, I sat down on a oh-so-comfy chair made of metal spokes and random rusty nails. "TIA," I thought. "This is Africa."

Good thing I passed out during the hour and a half that I had to wait. I never would have waited that long otherwise. Seriously!

Well, at least she showed. At least I managed to take the test. By the time it was over, I was starving... but it was over. Finally.

I rode with the fugitive back to the hotel. Why not, eh? TIA, baby. TIA.

Article in the Financial Times

2009-09-22T10:40:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago, I spent a day with a correspondent for the Financial Times who was doing a piece on Rwanda. Based out of Nairobi, he was attempting to get as comprehensive a picture of Rwanda as possible in one short week. This is what he came up with. I find it remarkably on the nose:

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/64d9911e-a654-11de-8c92-00144feabdc0,dwp_uuid=3a66dad4-a656-11de-8c92-00144feabdc0.html

The Month of April

2009-04-02T04:21:00.002-04:00

April is the anniversary month of the Genocide here in Rwanda. The plane crash that started it all was on April 6, and within hours thousands of people had been killed. The first couple months saw an unprecendented death toll.

15 years later, April is the month of rememberance and mourning. Everything has been cancelled. Band rehearsal is on indefinite hiatus, salsa classes don't meet for the next few weeks, night clubs are shutting down, taxis are rare, and hardly anyone even walks the streets. There's pretty much nothing going on.

Tuesday next week will be April 6th. It's a national "holiday" so no one's supposed to come to work. On top of that, Hannah's leaving for a week to India, and Erik's peacing out to Zanzibar. Whaaa! I'm going to be all alone for almost a week... with NOTHING to do - quite literally. Well, I guess I'll get a lot work done.

Salsa All the Time

2009-03-31T04:20:00.001-04:00

So even though I wasn't making a point of being conspicuous, I've apparently made such a name for myself dancing at Pasadena on Thursday nights, that Christian asked me to help him teach some classes. Christian is one of the Rwandese dancers who started dancing salsa when it first came to Kigali about 4 years ago. He's an exceptional leader by any measure, but even more so because he rarely has anyone to learn from. He spends most of his time trying to invent new moves with his own creativity, watching youtube videos (on an internet connection that hardly makes youtube watching worthwhile) and scouting around for expats that have recently come to Kigali that happen to know salsa. He and a few of his friends run a tuesday-night salsa class at the local rec center.

Christian asked if he could practice with me in order to try some new moves and learn whatever patterns I had to teach. He offered that I go to the tuesday class, help some of the other students, and then we'd practice afterwards. For the past two weeks I've been going. It's been quite fun, despite the fact that I feel grossly underqualified to be teaching him anything. We mostly work on simple lifts and dips that he then tries on unwitting partners on Thursday nights.

Anyway, Evette, the Rwandese girl that helps Christian out with the organizational details of the salsa classes asked me if I'd teach a ladies styling class. Again, I have to appreciate what a small pond I'm in if I am the one they come to for styling tips. Nonetheless, today was my first ladies styling class. We worked on arm styling and some basic hip movement. It was actually quite fun, and I was surprised how eager and willing all the students were. Christian has also asked that I keep an eye out for any women with special talent that he might recruit for a demonstration group. THAT would be fun.

A Disgusting Show of Overpriveledged Entitlement

2009-03-29T19:18:00.002-04:00

Yes, I'm ashamed to admit it, but today I believe I've out-done myself in terms of laziness and outright overpriveldged behaviour. Waking up to a house that had litterally been trashed from the inside out, Erik, Giudi and I sat our butts down on the couch we had moved outside for the party and literally have not moved all day. This wouldn't be such a big deal since we did party quite aggresively last night and because we're all feeling the effects of it today, but we're all rather ashamed of ourselves because Emmanuel, our weekend guard, has been up and at it all morning. He cleaned up all the beer bottles left all over the front yard. He's picked up all the bits of balloons and washed away the broken glass. He's even cleaned out the dead coolers that were left half-filled with ice last night. Then he started on the floor. The couch we're camped out on sits on a balcony that is floored in tile and covered in mud from the constant flow of traffic last night. Emmanuel has crossed in front of us 100 times at this point, mopping the tiles over and over, pushing murky water onto the driveway every time.

We called 'Sol e Luna' for pizzas since they deliver and won't require us to move. We're starving, but can't cook breakfast. There's nothing to cook anyway.

At least my hair still looks hot from last night. Mike and Erik agree that I might actually be one of the few white girls who could look good in dreads. Oh, if only I could grow them without worrying about little things like keeping a job...

Greece/Grease Night

2009-03-29T04:17:00.007-04:00

Last night my house threw a ridiculously giant party. We'd been working on it for weeks. Erik had a dorky spreadsheet that he passed around with various amounts of beer bottles in various brands and various sizes and costs, as well as options for entertainment and catering. I was even nominated to create the "flyer" that was sent out electronically to our entire Rwanda-based email list. We picked the theme Greece/Grease, and said people could do whatever they wanted with the theme, as long as they had a story or explanation.

A lot of people came in Togas - I guess that was the easy option, and by far the most do-able here in Rwanda - but we did have a "grease monkey" (mechanic) a bunch of 50s-esque outfits from the musical Grease, a few greek gods, and even a greek flag or two. I was hoping someone would show up as an olive or Ouza or something, but I suppose that's asking a little much.

Erik showed up in a toga outfit he'd acquired in London last week. Hannah and I went to the Novotel to get our hair done and showed up as Sandra Dee and Medusa respectively. Neither the DJ nor the Brochette maker showed up as anything in particular, but then again, we paid them to show up.

Hannah's greatest artwork to date was displayed proudly on my arms and ankles. Thanks Hannah!

Probably the most interesting aspect of the party was the fact that between the four of us, we only knew about 20% of the people that showed up to the party. Who knows how the word spread so widely, but my goodness did a lot of people show up for some free booze and some music. No matter... we all had fun.

For more pictures, go here.

Kigali's Diva

2009-03-27T04:15:00.001-04:00

So last night marked my emergence as a bona-fide diva in Kigali. Okay, so maybe not completely, but having already made my name in the city as the girl who dances salsa (more on that later), it was a rather thrilling experience to now also sing in a band. That's right, you read right. I officially sing lead vocals in a band. Hee hee!!

A few weeks ago, I went with Erik to the Goat & Gorilla for the first time. Only recently opened, the pub sits inside the British Embassy, serves only Mutzig and Amstel beers, and only opens on Thursday evenings for cocktail hour. Surprisingly, (or not) the pub has become a huge hit, and a standing thursday after-work event for anyone who can get an invite (since it's inside the Embassy, one either needs a British passport, or a willing escort with a British passport). As part of the entertainment there's a cover band that plays. Occasionally they even sound good.

Anyway, the band was trying to get some audience participation, and offered up a free beer to anyone who wanted to sing a song with them. With the not-so-necessary coaxing from Erik and Gary, I suddenly found myself up there singing Shania Twain and quasi regretting my earlier willingness to sing. Despite my meager performance, I did receive my free beer and a rather over-enthusiastic response from the audience. The following week I was approached by Richard (the guy who's the organizational energy behind the band) and offered the opportunity to rehearse and sing with the band on a regular basis. Heh! Who knew.

And so this week I attended rehearsals on both Tuesday and Wednesday and yesterday we had our first pre-rehearsed show together. Granted, I only did four songs since we didn't really have time to rehearse more than that, but it was a good time nonetheless. I even managed to get them to do 'Fever', so yes, I can officially check off my Bucket List "Sing 'Fever' in Front of an Audience." Yay!

Anyway, since we have the standing gig at the Goat & Gorilla, it's a great way for me to get some performance experience without the stakes being all that high. Apparently this band (I still haven't got their official name) also does gigs around town once in a while, so when that happens I'll hopefully be prepared.

St. Patrick's Day Ball

2009-03-22T04:37:00.003-04:00

So this weekend was a real ex-pat experience. Until now, I've had many occasions to feel how ridiculously small the ex-pat community is... everyone knows everyone. Or so it feels. This weekend, however, I had quite the opposite experience. I was absolutely stunned by how many people there really are.

St. Patrick's day was last Tuesday. Of course the Irish community here in Kigali (I believe there are 12 or 13) thought it would wildly fitting to throw a giant St. Patrick's Day ball, and were pleasantly surprised to discover their am

bassador decided to make an appearance in the country to coincide with the event.

For weeks and weeks they have been postering and plugging the evening everywhere you went. At the Goat & Gorilla (a pub at the English Embassy that opens only once a week for happy hour), I was offered tickets by every third person I talked to.

Despite the exorbitant price (more than $60), Hannah and I were eventually convinced to join Erik's group of friends. They had a few extra seats at their table, and we eager to not look lame.

Not too much coaxing was needed to get Mike to come along too (Mike is Hannah's flame as of late).

The evening was "black tie, or whatever you can get" so people had a wide range of outfits on. Kate and Sara got their dresses made by one of the tailors in town, but since Hannah and I didn't commit ourselves until the last minute, we had to make do with the stuff we already had in our closets. Ok, so I actually planned ahead a wee bit and spent last Sunday sunning myself by the pool at Novotel (a hotel walking distance from my house) in order to have hot legs for the party. My dress, after all, is a leg dress.

The event itself was very first-world. Held in a hotel, the lobby was converted into an art gallery full of art from our favorite artist friends. Upstairs, there was a cocktail hour outside the main ballroom during which we were served Guinness mixed with cheap champagne. Yeah, I didn't get it either... but we had to appreciate the fact that there was Guinness at all. Cocktail hour was followed by a buffet style dinner that boasted food so good I probably tucked away 15 pounds of it. Then there were speeches upon speeches I hardly paid attention to, and finally an Irish cover band played for hours and hours and we all got to dance the night away.

What astounded me more than the fact that I got to have cheesecake, or that the band was actually good, or that we got to have free wine (almost) all night was the fact that giant ballroom was jam packed with ex-pats, and I only knew about 12 of them. I felt like all my conceptions about what comprised the ex-pat community here was totally off base. Even Erik was stunned by the shear volume of people he had never seen before. Turns out Kigali really is the trendy spot to be for development workers.

For more photos, go here.

Trivia Night

2009-03-18T04:14:00.000-04:00

Oliver challenged Erik and I to a trivia night, so we got together a team of non-PIHers and set out to Torero for their weekly wednesday trivia game. Having never been to Torero, I was pleasantly surprised. Sitting below the street, the little bar/cafe boasts warm ambient lighting, a small stage (that incidentally had a solo guitarist/singer playing when we arrived), walls decked out with art from our favorite local artists, and not-entirely-ridiculously-expensive draught beer.

Trivia night has apparently quite the draw, because the place was packed, and about 9 teams competed. Erik had put together a team of a few of the Blairs (Brits who are here working for Tony Blair), a dude from DFID, and of course Hannah and I. Hannah brough along her new flame Mike as well.

And so trivia night began. The prize for winning is a round of beers on the house, and since we decided to call ourselves "And in Third Place," Erik offered to get us all a round if we actually did come in 3rd. Of course the questions were absolutely impossible. One we did manage to get was "The word that is used to describe a group of owls" (Parliament), and another "The animal with the largest eye" (Giant squid). One we got 75% of, but not completely was "The word 'Golf' used to be an acronym for what?" (Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden).

Anyway, as luck would have it, the we and the PIHers tied for 2nd place. We didn't win, nor did we really get 3rd, so no free beers for us. Boo. Maybe next time.

Mount Kibuye

2009-03-14T10:43:00.001-04:00

Yup. I decided to climb another mountain this weekend. Or rather, I decided to go on another hike this weekend - the climbing a mountain part was something I THOUGHT I had done before, but I was completely mistaken.

Sam, our usual taxi driver, has been taking tourism and business development classes, and wanted to try out an "excursion" that he plans to offer in his personal tourism business that will one day be launched. We were all willing

victims... Erik, myself, and Omondi, a Kenyan who works for a different Clinton Foundation initiative.

On Friday, Sam sent us all a text message on our phones that said "Be ready at 7am, wear hiking shoes, and don't go out tonight." We all found it rather endearing, but basically paid little heed to it. Erik, having done the Inca trail in Peru, was superconfident of his hiking skills. I, having just completed a nice little hike last week, felt I could handle Rwanda's hills. We both were puffing up our chests. Erik was even telling me he didn't want to be annoyed by my silly girly whining and hoped I'd be able to keep up on Saturday.

So, Friday night, when Hannah suggested playing Billiards at Planet around 8pm, Erik and I figured we could afford one drink and a few games. Since Planet is only walking distance from our house, we set ourselves up for a simple night, with the plans of being home by 10 or 11.

Well, Erik finally won a table and let Hannah and I play. Our game took over an hour to complete on game (we sucked that much). Since we took so long, we felt obliged to buy drinks, and before we knew it, we were each about 8 beers in, dancing up a storm on a packed dance floor, and discovering it was 2:30 in the morning. Oops.

We went home, slept briefly, attempted to quell the threatening hangover with a glass of water and some coffee, and slumped into Sam's car at 7am the next morning without breakfast and with a festering headache.

Mount Kibuye is about 1.5hrs north of Kigali. We drove out of the city on the same road we took to Butaro last week. Eventually we found the turn off, drove a bit into the little village, dumped the car, and started walking.

At first it was a wide path - probably wide enough for a car, if you had the patience for the quality of the road. The weather was nice, and the air fresh. Although the road continually wound upwards, it was passable, and only a mild challenge. Of course, the compulsory gaggle of children quickly collected, as Erik and I were yet again, a sight to be seen.

The path narrowed and turned steeper, our hangovers threatened on the brink of our consciousness, and we kept climbing. Eventually we come to a stream and hop across on a few rocks that had been strategically placed. There was a little teeny tiny footpath on the other side. That's when Sam said "ok, now we start."

WHAT?! We're only starting NOW? I had already broken a steady sweat, was filthy from my knees down (dust kicks up a lot) and quite annoyed already by the oogling kids. Omondi and Sam had made repeated attempts to instruct the kids home, but it made little difference. Erik was ready to pass out.

But we climbed and climbed. The path wound left and right across the face of the hillside since going straight up was way too steep. The kids ran ahead, then ran back, then ran ahead again, making it ever the more obvious we abazungu can't hike to save our lives.

And we kept climbing...

And climbing...

Finally Erik asks Sam how far along we are. He's ready to stop altogether. Sam told us that the first group of American's he tried to take up the mountain had finally crapped out about half way up. Erik wanted to make sure we were at least past half way. We weren't. We were about a third. Oh god.

We passed plot upon plot of cultivated land. I saw got an extreme close-up view of random crops I've seen growing my whole life, but never actually took the time to SEE before. I asked Sam a zillion questions about cultivation practices and ripening patterns of random fruits. I noticed, as well, that the altitude had less to do with the crop being planted than did the actual slope of the earth. As the slope got steeper and steeper, the only thing left growing as Eucalyptus trees. Yes - Eucaplyptus trees. My notion that Eucalyptus trees only grow in Australia was wildly off base. Oh well... you learn something new every day.

Eventually Erik quit. He'd had it. He wanted to sleep anyway. Sam, Omondi, and I kept going. Then the trail ended. Err, rather, Sam directed us off it. That was it - no more obvious way to go. Now we just had to head up. As long as we were going up, we were going in the right direction.

The slope became so steep that we literally pulled ourselves up the mountain using the tree trunks as both arm and foot holds. Because the ground was mostly loose rock, it was easy to lose your footing, so we scrambled and grabbed and stumbled and reached and inched slowly up and up.

Sam then announces we're going to take a detour because he wants us to see this cave he stumbled upon last time he climbed the mountain. A cave?! Oooh! Coolness. And so we suddenly cut across the mountainside, holding onto trees as we move. Then it's up between two rocks, around a few giant shrubs, and voila! a ridonculously giant cave. We ventured a few "rooms" in before it got so dark we wussed out. Next time we're bringing flashlights, we decided. Sam mentioned we might want to be careful of bats and snakes too... so we stood outside and took pictures and made grand plans to come back geared up for a caving adventure.

Detour complete, we continued our way up. Unfortunately, now that we were in cave country, the mountainside was pretty much loose rock, some grass, and a few weak shrubs. Our handholds were no where to be seen. Suddenly my limited rock-climbing skills seemed a giant help. We were literally on all fours because every time we tried to "stand up" we experienced vertigo and lost our footing. None of us could look anywhere but at the mountain in front of us. Looking at the wondrous view was way too freaky.

Anyway, as luck would have it, we did eventually make it to the top of the mountain. There we found a cute little pond and pine trees. Yes, pine trees. We sat on a big bed of pine needles next to the water and ate peanuts and chapati - the only food Sam had brought along. (Our morning rush had caused both Erik and I to be vastly underprepared in terms of food and water. Goodness me.)

That's when the rain started. I should have known that it would rain since it's rained pretty much every single day since I got to Rwanda. But in some random moment of idiocy, I decided to risk it when leaving the house in the morning. And so it rained, and I got wet. And it rained and rained, and I got soaked. With the new rainfall, we had to start heading back down the mountain... this time jumping from tree to tree and using our arms to stop our momentum so we didn't just roll headlong down the mountainside. Every time I hit another tree, I was showered with extra-heavy raindrops off the leaves. Then, of course, I had to slip in the mud and end up with a great big swath of mud smeared across my butt. Fun fun. By the time we finally reached Erik (who had passed out on a rock, and woken to rainfall in his face), I was so completely soaked, my bones were wet. Oh joy.

Well, we still had a good hour of walking to get back to the car. We lost our gaggle of children, finally, as they all scurried away for cover, but we didn't lose the oogling stares since now we had both adults and children trying to figure out what the hell we were doing walking through the rain like wet rags.

Sam and Omondi ran ahead in a vain attempt to get to the car with at least some part of their bodies still dry. They failed miserably as the car really was a good hour away. Erik convinced me into "waiting it out" under a tree... but 15 minutes later the rain still hadn't let up, and I convinced him back into the rain.

The ride home was cold and wet. Like I said, my total lack of preparedness forced me to sit soaking wet and shivering in the car while we drove for the 1.5 hours back home. Sam and Omondi, obviously the better-traveled and substantially more experienced two had dry sweatshirts and pants in the car. Bastards.

Seriously though, the hike was awesome. When we entered the city limits of Kigali, Erik called ahead to a pizza joint in town and ordered a whole pizza for each of us. I didn't think for a second that I wouldn't eat it all.

For more photos, go here.

Sheer Strength and Will Power

2009-03-04T17:17:00.003-05:00

I remember writing a blog entry about the strength of the people in Nicaragua. At one point, I marveled at Ronald’s ability to do a pull-up into the ceiling and hang there forever, on one hand, as he motioned and gave directions with the other. I took pictures of the workers in the taller hauling ridiculously heavy boat engines around the yard like they were nothing. All the white boys that tried to do the same buckled under the weight.

Here, again, I find myself impressed by the strength of the people. But this time, it’s the women and children. I spotted a kid that was racing down the mountainside with an even littler sibling in tow. Frustrated by the limitations of his siblings short legs, he hoisted the kid onto his back in one fell swoop, without missing a beat, and continued his run down the hill to join the posse of children following us about.

Not quite as exuberant, but equally as visible, are the women who toil in the fields. I was so stunned by the image of this woman here. Barefoot and pregnant, with a child tied to her back and a huge pile of branches on her head, I watched her as she labored up a hillside that sits at a 75° angle to the horizon while the sun beat down on her. She endured so quietly, and when I got close enough to hear her breathe, I was stunned to find her breath even, regular, and hardly strained. How?! I was carrying a water bottle and a camera, and looking for ways strip off clothing in order to lower the amount of weight I had to carry. I tried pawning my bottle off on everyone at least once. I was huffing and puffing and wheezing and sweating. And here was this woman, calm and quiet.

Child Mob

2009-03-03T16:17:00.003-05:00

I’ve become quite accustomed to being an object of curiosity for the kids. Especially in Butaro, where the 3 abazungu in the entire region all work at the health center where kids go only when deathly ill, they just don’t see white skin that much. The adults are polite enough to keep their distance or stave their curiosity due to social norms, but the kids stare wide-eyed and not-so-surreptitiously try to touch your skin or hair.

You’ve already heard me talk about the kids a zillion times, but our experience on the way back from our hike on umuganda was the one that I’ve internalized forever.

Our hike lasted longer than Emily would have liked, and since she’d promised to cook for the PIH compound that night, she hailed an ambulance as it drove by. Luke, Hannah, and I didn’t want to forgo the last stretch of our hike – especially since it was passing through town and by a waterfall. Because of umuganda, there were community events going on, one of which happened to be a soccer game. It appeared to be highly organized; the players had uniforms, they were actually using a real ball, and they all appeared to be around high-school age. Surrounding the field were parents and little kids, all actively engaged in watching the match take place. The three of us were intrigued. We thought, “Hey, this is cool! A soccer game. Let’s watch.” And so we approached the side of the street and stood on tip-toe to see over the crowd and get a better look.

Suddenly we hear “Abazungu! Abazungu! Abazungu!” and the entire crowd around the soccer field (let me remind you this soccer field appears to be regulation size, and the crowd really does encircle the field) starts to stir. Screams and shouts erupted as everyone between the ages of 2 and 14 started moving toward us. Since there were significant people right beside us, not much happened at first, but as we looked out over the field to the kids on the opposite end, we saw them heading at a full-on run toward us. The weight of the crowd shifted second by second, and with one look at each other, we decided that for the sake of our safety, we had to start moving. Apparently watching a soccer game was not going to happen.

We moved back onto the street. Because kids were jumping around in front of us, we could only walk slowly. I felt both my hands get picked up and examined. Some kids were intrigued by my fingernails, probably since most people here work with their hands, and can’t maintain the fingernails endemic to an easy lifestyle. I was wearing a tank top, and I felt small hands run down by back above my shirt. The fact that I was super gross and sweaty from a day of umuganda work and a 4-hour hike didn’t seem to bother them. I felt some of the taller kids try to get my hair clip out of my hair. Kids were screaming and jumping around and grabbing at each one of us. I practically clung to Hannah, but Luke got stuck and ended up quite far behind us in the sea of screaming children.

We walked through town as the chaos ensued around us. The experience was literally overwhelming, and there was a part of me that was quite scared. Even though I was entirely aware of the kids’ motivations and objectives, the crowd was out of control.

Suddenly, in an instant, the kids scattered and the shouting stopped. It was like the light had just come on in a kitchen full of cockroaches. I looked up to see a police officer chasing one of the slower kids with a whip. Although none of us agreed with his methods, we all three couldn’t help but thank him. We walked out of town collecting the last threads of ourselves, heaving huge sighs and trying to calm the thumping in our chests.

Later Luke mentioned how he’d seen footage of Bill Clinton walking through town with a similar crowd, and had attributed it to the fact that Bill Clinton is who he is. He figured that even here in the back-country of Rwanda, people would know who he was. Now, he’s not so sure. Perhaps being umuzungu is enough to qualify you as a celebrity.

Hiking the Countryside

2009-03-02T13:47:00.001-05:00

The second half of umuganda consists of community meetings and events. Since they were all going to be in kinyarwanda, and our participation would be limited, we instead decided to head off into the hillside to enjoy some of the views. Since Emily lives up in Butaro, she knows the hills really well, and lead us on an adventure to see some of her favorite sights.

My first thought was on the sheer steepness of the hills. Gosh. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest after only 3 minutes of walking as I was basically walking up stairs the whole time. Thankfully we only had to climb for about half an hour or so before we were high enough up that the hillside smoothed out a little. This shot was taken at the top of the first hill. Luke leads the way, with Hannah, myself, Emily, and Eric (and of course, the gaggle of kids) following behind.

My second thought was on the sheer beauty of Rwanda. Mountains give amazing views. You can get up high, and look down on life going on all around you. What was particularly interesting to me was this was a mountain view that was actually defined by HUMAN life as opposed to the “natural, untouched landscapes” of most mountain views I see. Houses and carefully cultivated farmland dominate the hillsides, and what you see is human subsistence-living going on everywhere. Here, Hannah, Luke, Emily, Eric, and I pose in front of the valley we were about to walk through. You can barely see the path we walked in the mountain behind Hannah. It sits about halfway up the mountain side, and is wide enough for a single-file line.

We wandered through the pathways that act as the main routes of most transportation here. No one has cars – people walk. We wound around the perimeter of that valley (Emily has a particular affection for it), and entertained the revolving group of children that followed us in our apparently aimless wanderings. Here Hannah and Emily were far enough ahead that the group of abazungu were split up, and the kids followed behind whichever umuzungu was most interesting to them. I love this shot.

Umuganda

2009-03-01T11:52:00.010-05:00

Umuganda is a great concept that would NEVER fly in the United States. On the last Saturday of every month, every able-bodied person in the entire country is expected to work for three hours in the morning on some kind of community project. The community leaders have the authority to choose the project and everyone in town is expected to show up. Those that don’t are fined a rather hefty fee. Of course, being an umuzungu, no one really expects you to participate since the hefty fee is totally affordable for foreigners. But since Partners In Health is so integral to the community here, and we wanted to do something worth talking about, we participated with gusto.

The day started out EXTREMELY rainy, which rather affected the general level of enthusiasm in the area, but we persevered. The task for the day was cleaning off and fixing up the road that leads into town. Now, as a non-kinya-speaking umuzungu, I had a little trouble trying to figure out what the hell we were doing. I thought that since erosion is a giant problem with the roads, we’d want to KEEP the plant-life growning on the sides of the road. Simultaneously, I though that perhaps creating a drainage system might help – perhaps cleaning out the ditch along the side of the road would allow it to collect water in lieu of having a natural ditch create itself erratically across the middle of the road. I also figured creating controlled trenches across the road to guide rainfall into the roadside man-made river (and cover those trenches with wooden slats, much like what I did while in France) would help to create a more permanent solution to the eroding roads. But well, I was obviously mistaken as to our objectives. Instead we cut back all the plant life, killing whatever could possibly help to keep the road in place. We did clean out the ditch, but then spent a significant amount of time moving the recently-deceased plant life across the width of the road, (probably with the objective of dumping it over the side of the mountain) which effectively left piles and piles of dead grass and leaves and whatnot all over the road. I can just see the rainfall tomorrow moving it all right back into the ditch. Yeah, I didn’t get it at all. But hey, I was participating nonetheless. Of course, my skills with the hoe left a bit to be desired. I couldn't tell if all the attention I was getting was because I was white and participating, or if it was because I was absolutely useless with the tools I was given. Notice how graceful I look here [above left], and my devoted audience. I eventually got a lesson on how to hoe properly from a dude who wanted to marry me until he found out I was WELL beyond child-bearing age. [right.]

Anyway, what made the whole event even more exciting was having Oliver there. Oliver has been in Rwanda off and on for over 5 years now, and actually speaks a decent amount of Kinyarwanda (although he didn't help us understand exactly what our umuganda objectives were). He was socializing with the soldiers/community leaders in charge of the event and getting the crowds to sing and dance to random American tunes they had never heard before. Peter took some footage on a video camera that was such a hit, the kids were going crazy. Since the little ones aren’t expected to participate in umuganda, they mostly just hung around being jealous or watching the abazungu (that’s plural for umuzungu) super-intensely. [right]

Staff Party in Butaro

2009-02-28T10:16:00.001-05:00

Upon arrival in Butaro, Emily whisked us off to the kitchen where serious pre-partying was going on. After all the preparations for Umuganda (we’ll talk about this later) were complete, the party fell under way. Hannah and I were a little overwhelmed since we seriously didn’t know anyone outside of Emily, Oliver, Luke, and our driver. On top of that, hardly anyone spoke French, let alone English. We spent a good amount of time simply learning words in Kinyarwanda and smiling stupidly.

Some interesting observations/events from the night:

men don’t mind dancing with each other
men don’t even mind holding hands and grinding with each other
the concept of homosexuality is flatly rejected on grounds that it doesn’t exist
When the guy:girl ratio is 30:1, no one cares. Notice the plethora of dudes in this picture as compared to the two women appearing in the frame.
the body odor of 35 Rwandese men dancing together in a room with zero air flow is thick enough to cut with a knife.
Job titles are paramount to all things – especially high-level ones. While hitting on me, a dude told me his name once, and the fact that he was Head of Radiology about 40 times. Later that night, the Mayor of Butaro prefaced a compliment he gave me not with WHO he was, but WHAT he was.
People really are obsessed with my hair. I had a butterfly clip in that fell out at one point, causing my hair to swirl around and stick to my sweat-ridden face. The men were enthralled enough to try stealing my clip the rest of the night and cop a feel. For the first time I actually felt violated by someone touching my hair. The fact that my hair was slightly wet and sticking together only added to their curiosity.
Dancing occurs in full florescent light. All attempts by amazungu (white people) to turn the lights off were thwarted by a Rwandese man who eventually stood guard over the light switch.
People love Bob Marley so much that they can coordinate an entire room full of dancers to stop dancing to the thumping music that’s playing and sing “One Love” a cappella until the DJ puts it on.
Warm beer never tastes good – no matter what brand it is.
The compliment the mayor paid me was that I was an exceptional dancer and that he enjoyed watching me. At least he didn’t try to touch my hair.
Kissing in public is regarded as highly inappropriate.
Peter, a big-wig at the hospital, sang a drinking song in Kinyarwanda which was totally unintelligible to me, but apparently a big hit among the locals.
Patrick, the other big-wig at the hospital, danced a Merengue with me that caught the attentions of the locals as well. Who knew Haitians can dance Merengue?

Ride to Butaro

2009-02-27T20:24:00.000-05:00

Hannah and I decided we were sick of Kigali and finagled out of Emily an invitation up to Butaro. Emily works for Partners in Health there, and since there is a staff party going on tonight, we decided to head up north and check out some of the Rwandan countryside.

The first bit of the trip was paved and rather uneventful. We managed to get a ride in one of the ambulances that was carrying medical supplies up north, and climbed in the back with big Styrofoam coolers of meds with Oliver and Luke. Since the road was paved and the sun was still out, things ran smoothly, and we eventually left the city of Kigali behind the first hill.

The ride became a little more interesting after the sun went down and the road changed from pavement to dirt to a horrible excuse for a road. Suddenly we were winding around the hillsides with a sheer drop on one side of us and a solid wall on the other. The “road” consisted mainly of riverbeds washed out by daily torrential rain, a few wooden boards laid across the especially deep ones, and the more-than-occasional rock that jutted out of the road to remind me with every jar of the tire and jolt of the steering wheel that my spinal chord is on the fritz. Our driver drove slower and slower, mindful to blare the horn every time we came to a bend in the road in order to warn unseen oncoming traffic of our presence. Only, there was a bend in the road just about ever 10 seconds or so. Add to that music that was blasting on a blown out speaker system, my desperate desire to pee, and the fact that even after putting on TWO bras, I still had to hold myself down. Then make it a 4 hour ride. Oh goody. Poor Luke eventually got motion sickness from the whole thing.

Thankfully good company and a seemingly-endless-but-not-quite road brought us to Butaro’s Health Clinic safe and sound.

Uneventful Week

2009-02-23T11:57:00.000-05:00

My apologies to all of you readers out there trying to live vicariously through me. Unfortunately, this week has been rather uneventful. My office job is just that – I get to work every morning by 8am, sit behind my computer frantically trying to build a data model, have random meetings with Erik and Pascal, eat a lunch I brought from home, and eventually go home again. I spend Thursday night at the salsa place again, and met a few more people. That was cool, although not too interesting to you guys. Friday night we went out to dinner and dancing with the PIH crew again – Heaven was having a half-price special on their cocktails and appetizers since it was a brand new menu. The food was ok, my stomach ache afterwards wasn’t. Dancing was at a place called Black and White, which turned out to be fun only because the PIH crew was 18-deep, and the club was totally empty besides us. I could dance like a maniac, and not worry about decapitating anyone. Plus, they had black lights, and I wore a white tank, so I was glowing, quite literally. Heh. Saturday I went out with the Blair Group – that’s the name we’ve given to the group of Brits that work for Tony Blair here. They live, eat, and work together, so they’re kind of one entity. We went to a Chinese place called Flamingo, and were so surprised by the speedy service we didn’t really know what to do with our evening. We were finished eating by 9pm, and knew that dancing wouldn’t happen until much later. So it was back to Papyrus for drinks (VERY tequila-heavy margaritas) and on to Planet Club and B-Club. I feel like such a crazy club-hopper now… Basically every night I go out, I end up dancing. If I don’t lose weight simply by not eating enough, I surely will with all the dancing storms I’m creating.

Dinner Party

2009-02-16T11:30:00.001-05:00

Last night was AWESOME! Erik decided we were going to have a dinner party, and nominated me as the head chef. Since I had nothing better to do, I complied. We spent the morning wandering around town looking for various ingredients – some of which I was damn impressed to find. I decided to make a Thai Musaman curry just because I figured since we’re near the equator we must have somewhat similar produce to Thailand. It was a little bit of a stretch, but since we came across Thai Curry Paste at the grocery store owned by a bunch of Indians, we were pretty solid.

The afternoon was spent chopping and simmering. My wonderful sous chefs (Hannah, Giudi, and Erik) cut more veggies than I have seen in quite a while. I simmered that beef for a good 3 hours, and BOY was it worth it. Yum yum yum.

Our dinner party turned out to be extremely fun despite the fact that I have only been here a week and a few days, and basically don’t know anyone. Erik invited his entire network of peeps, and Hannah and I went around meeting people. I’d say we had a bout 25 people or so, and luckily, enough food to go around. I’m happy to say the curry went over VERY well… I’m afraid I’ve set a standard I may not be able to meet next time around. Uh oh. But hey, at least people think I’m a cook now. We were expecting it to be a rather low-key event, but after the 8th bottle of wine, and the majority of people had left, the party just kept rolling. Gary, a hilarious Brit, did dance moves well into the wee hours of the morning. A few local guys (from the art studio I went to the first day I was here) stuck around, and we drank and smoked a hookah. This picture is from the end of the night. Innocent, Gary and Hannah strike a pose. All in all, the night was a success. The question now is whether or not I can make it through this week… I definitely have NOT started out on the right foot. Oy.

Out with PIHers again: Shang Hai, Papyrus, Planet Club

2009-02-15T11:26:00.001-05:00

Last night turned out to be another night with the PIH crew. This time Hannah came along. We started at Shang Hai for a decently good Chinese-food dinner, went to Papyrus for a free ice cream (they were having a promotion, and they’re basically the only creamery in town) that was surprisingly good, and ended up at Planet Club which was way cooler than B-Club because it was actually packed with people. They had pool tables (yay!) and a lounge and a dance floor… AND one whole wall of the dance floor is mirrors… so you can stare at yourself while you dance. Heh.

It was a good time. I’m noticing a pattern with the PIH crowd though… dinner, drinks, and dancing. Definitely something I can work with ;-) I also got entertainment as Oliver hit on Hannah ruthlessly. I think that was Emily’s plan all along.

Run-In with the Kids

2009-02-14T12:53:00.007-05:00

One of the most iconic images of Africa white people seem to send home are pictures of themselves surrounded by local children. I always thought it was a little kitchy, but then I decided to walk home from town after running a few errands.

Town is full of paved roads and wide sidewalks, but once you go into residential areas, the roads become dirt (and extremely uneven) and little kids run around playing the street playing soccer with balls fashioned from old socks and rags. They look at any white person crazy enough to WALK shouting “umuzungu” and waving their hands furiously. Some speak English, some speak French, but most speak neither and just kind of stare at you in awe.

During the walk along the dusty road to my house, I managed to collect a bunch of kids following behind me. The girls spent most of their time trying to touch my hair and rubbing my skin. The boys just played with my camera. They managed to get a few decent shots, which I’ve posted here.

Genocide Memorial

2009-02-14T10:35:00.002-05:00

Today Emily wanted to see the Genocide Memorial that commemorates the Tutsi Genocide in Rwanda in the 90s. Hannah and I went along. I figured it was probably a good idea if I learned a little more about the history of the people here – especially because it’s both so recent and horrifying. Everyone here has vivid memories of the time although talking about them is not common.

The memorial was actually designed by the same people that did the Holocaust memorial in Washington DC. Here's a picture of it. It was well designed and quite informative. It was split into three parts – the history leading up to and the actually events of the Genocide in Rwanda, Children as victims, and then other genocides that have occurred in the world. Emily, Hannah and I made it through the first part before we were totally drained, entirely upset, and ready to leave. We decided to do the other two parts another day, when we could handle it.

A little factoid I found interesting was the fact that Tutsi and Hutu differentiation didn’t even exist before the Belgian colonists arrived. Those labels used to refer to the level of income a person had, but was used across all the different tribes living in Rwanda. It was more of a label of class, and was never used as a way to limit a person’s opportunity. People could move from one class to another simply by becoming more or less profitable. According to the memorial, there were somewhere around 12 different “tribes” that lived in Rwanda prior to the Belgian imperialism. When the Belgians came, they made an effort to register people and give out ID cards that differentiated the people according to a Hutu or Tutsi label. Basically everyone that had 10 or more cows was a Tutsi, and everyone else was a Hutu. This all happened years and years before the actual Genocide, but is essentially want laid the groundwork for bad blood and irrational hatred.

The designers of the memorial put a lot of graphic imagery and video interviews of survivors throughout the space, and by the end I was such a mess I couldn’t see any more. When I walked outside, the contrast of the bright sun to my dim mood is probably the only thing that made the rest of the day possible.

Here’s a picture of Emily, Hannah and I. We made valiant efforts to smile…

Dinner with PIHers, Bel Aire, B-Club

2009-02-14T10:31:00.000-05:00

Last night I finally went out with Oliver, the man I’d heard so much about via my multiple avenues of 2-degree separations. He invited me to dinner with a bunch of his friends from Partners in Health. They are all stationed in posts around the country, but come into Kigali once in a while to party and get much-needed resources.

We ate at Papyrus, which is one of the fanciest places in town, and a total expat hangout. They double as a creamery and specialize in ice cream, yogurt, etc. They serve Italian food that’s definitely cream-heavy, but quite good. They’re also notorious for being exceptionally high-priced. Boo.

Dinner was cool. It was good to meet some other people. These guys are mostly Americans and were younger, on average, than the crowd I’d met so far. Most of them are in Med School or doing year-long fellowships as a break from university. I even met two architects who are designing a new building for PIH. I couldn’t help but think of you, Maya, again.

I also met a girl named Emily who happens to know Hannah – my room mate that moved in Thursday night – from a previous gig in Tanzania. Oh the joys of 2-degrees.

After dinner we drove back to the PIH house which is even more giant that my house and used as a half-way house for the PIHers all over the country when they need to stay in the city for a night or two. There were mattresses and rooms all over the place. Oliver tried inventing ways to entertain himself with the infinite mattresses. Mattress-surfing down the stairs was even suggested.

Eventually we decided we didn’t want the night to be over, and went out for drinks at a place called Sphinx Bel Aire which was a 4 second walk from the house. The place was very Carribean – it was basically a big barn made of bamboo-like wood. They played random music that was reggae-heavy, shined a strobe light on an empty dance floor, and served us Waragi with Fanta (which is sort of like a gin and tonic… sort of).

Finally Emily rallied, and got a sub-set of us to go to a club called B-Club. I was a little surprised when they charged a cover of 5000 RWF, which is close to $10. Ack! Well, it immediately became obvious why when we walked up the stairs, and I found myself in NYC swank. Plush leather couches, red and black lighting, low glass tables, a DJ booth, bar tenders in bow ties… the place was like a cut-out from a designer magazine that had been plopped down in the middle of Africa.

Well, I got over the un-authenticity of the place soon enough as rockin’ 80s music came on, and I lost myself to dancing.

Salsa Dancing in Africa

2009-02-13T10:11:00.000-05:00

Of course I should find a salsa group here in Kigali... why not, right? I found out about it via an ex-pat newsletter that Erik sent me. One of the advertisements was for a salsa event happening at a place called Pasadena. They mentioned a facebook group they had, so I randomly joined it. Thursday night finally came around, and I was unsure of whether or not to go, since I wasn’t going with anyone or didn’t know anyone I could possibly meet there. Erik thought I was crazy to go, and Judy, another house mate, mentioned she knew the Belgian guy who was running it, and said some interesting things about his style and demeanor. So, I was a little wary. But the two degrees of separation kicked in just in time. A girl named Amy sent out a facebook reminder email to the entire facebook group, and what do I find? She’s friends with Laura Noons… yup laura… you came through for me again! ;-) A quick message to Amy, and I suddenly had a name that I knew, and a face to look for in the crowd.

I arrived at Pasadena after a relatively easy cab ride (thank you Sam for speaking English) and walked in to an open-air courtyard with a dance floor in the middle PACKED with salsa dancers. Amy was there (and a little surprised I actually showed up) and get this… a bunch of MIT ballroom dancers were teaching a beginner’s lesson. Yes… MIT ballroom dancers. Once again, my two degrees of separation proved true as I mentioned my sister’s name, and a recognition light bulb went off in their heads. Whoot! Not only were there a LOT of dancers, but there were GOOD ones as well. Within two seconds I was part of the inner dancer’s circle (I only had to dance a few times with Phil, the guy leading the event, who happened to NOT be the Belgian dood, since he’s retired from running the events) and I was set.

It turned out there were several local dancers as well with some real talent. I will say, however, the best part of the whole evening was discovering that there were more MEN that could dance well than women. That NEVER happens.

So yup… I’m set for Thursday nights from now on. Obviously I’m going to become very good friends with a few of the local dancer types (many of whom learned all their salsa skills from watching youtube videos – don’t ask me how). It’s decided.

2 Degrees of Separation

2009-02-12T02:08:00.000-05:00

I’ve now talked to a few people here and discovered that everyone seems to know each other. The whole 6 degrees of separation thing is being blown out of the water and I’m beginning to think it’s closer to 2. I sent an email a while back announcing my arrival in Kigali and was pleasantly surprised when Jared, a friend of mine, wrote back with the name of a friend I should meet, Oliver, who happens to be here in Rwanda as well. Well, I shot Oliver an email and he invited me out to dinner with a few of his friends for this Friday night.

Later, I was talking to another friend of mine, Jon, who’s completely disconnected to Jared, and find out that Jon actually worked for Oliver when he was here in Rwanda.

Later still, I was telling Amy, one of the girls that’s living in my house this week, about how I thought it would help if I could get an intern the work on the project with me. She was mentioning how she knew a few people that might be able to help, and that I could probably find an intern through the Orphans of Rwanda organization. Well, goodness me, guess who founded that organization? Oliver. I haven’t yet even met this dude, and I’ve heard his name so much already.

Burundian Drummers

2009-02-10T02:01:00.000-05:00

The Burundian Drummers were the closing act of the ceremony. The center had brought them up from Burundi to do a show, and my goodness did we get a show. They opened their act by entering through the audience. They each carried a giant drum on their heads, and as they walked down the aisle, they banged on their drums and danced around, the whole time keeping the giant thing balanced on their head. The leader dude was actually doing high-kicks, and playing the drum with his feet! Yes… it’s true. I was convinced some giant accident was going to happen, but nothing did.

When they arrived on the stage (still playing and dancing away) they took turns lowering the drums to the ground. That’s when I realized those how much those drums weigh. The leader dude actually had to walk around helping people lower them down because they were giant and bulky and HEAVY! Judging from the level of strain these boys were exhibiting, I was guestimating the drums were probably somewhere around 50 or 60 pounds each… minimum.

Then for 30 minutes or so, the drummers did a whole act with different rhythms, acrobatics, chanting, singing… It was crazy. They seemed to be led by one guy that stood in the middle of the semi-circle of drummers and played his own rhythm. I guess based on his hand motions or shouts or something, they all seemed to know exactly what to do when. I was extremely impressed. I kept imaging my days of a cappella singing, and realized we were DEFINITELY never as in tune with each other as these boys were.

I don’t think I blinked for the full half-hour.

National Performance Dance Troupe

2009-02-10T01:51:00.000-05:00

The performance that kicked off the Inauguration ceremonies was definitely one-of-a-kind. All the performers were dressed in the whitest white I’d ever seen, bordered by woven geometric designs in really bright colors. All the women had these white ribbons/ropes tied around their heads that made them look like Aida or something along the lines of Nubian princesses. Then, they all had bells on their ankles that they rang by stamping around.

I have seriously never seen any dancing as extreme as this was. The dancers were bending over backwards and standing up again in a heartbeat. They waved their arms around and kicked their feet up… I imagined them losing their balance every other second, and yet they managed to pull it all off without much trouble at all. For their finale they did this one dance where they all jumped like 10 feet in the air, and managed to land exactly on the beat. I thought that was damn impressive… until they did it about 400 times in a row. Then I was just astounded. I couldn’t believe none of them passed out!

Simultaneously, the other half of the troupe was drumming and singing in order to create the music for the event. They were as interesting to watch as the dancers.

First Day of Work

2009-02-09T23:13:00.000-05:00

Woah. Let’s just say that I will NEVER walk around without a camera again. Who would have thought that my first day at work would probably be one of the most amazing cultural experiences of my life? What an IDIOT I was to not bring a camera. ARG! I apologize to all you blog readers out there who have been commenting on my distinct lack of photos as well… I will do better, I promise.

Anyway, what did day one have in store for me, you ask? Ha! Well… here goes.

The first few hours were boring bureaucratic stuff. I read a bunch of documents about the overall structure of the organization within the context of Rwanda, all the other partners and their roles, what the Healthcare Expansion Framework is, etc, etc blah blah blah. I also got a phone (yay!) and ate a croissant (yay!).

Then it was time for a field trip. Basically the entire CHAI group (all 5 of us) got in a little van-car-thingy and drove about two hours east outside of the city of Kigali. Apparently, a training center that is kind of the first really big project that Partners In Health and the Clinton Foundation have spearheaded together, was being inaugurated. This was particularly interesting to me since I worked so closely with Maya in Nicaragua, who was designing exactly the same kind of thing – a convention center / office / training facility / dormitory–esque space. The center itself is on the same land as one of the hospitals CHAI and PIH renovated together. I approached the space with a particular eye for sustainability, since that’s what I’d been so focused on in Nicaragua. I figured out soon enough, that was NOT one of the objectives of PIH nor the Clinton Foundation in terms of this building, but it was nevertheless, a beautiful space. Apparently Paul Farmer, the founder of PIH, has a side-hobby of landscaping, and you could totally tell. The entire space was landscaped beautifully with plants he’d imported from various parts of the world. There was a pond and a waterfall in the central courtyard, and rock gardens in every open space (that, at least, is totally sustainable).

The inaugural proceedings were impressively interesting as well. Granted, there were a whole bunch of VIPs that had to give little speeches, but that becomes an interesting exercise in attention when some speakers are speaking in French, others in English, and still others in Kinyarwanda. The mayors of both the district we were in, and the neighboring one gave their two cents. Then there was the director of Partners in Health for Rwanda, Mike Rich. Then there was Paul Farmer, the founder of Partners in Health, the Ambassador to Rwanda from the United States, and the distinguished and honored guest, the Minister of Health in Rwanda. The list went on and on. It was cool to meet/see all these veeps on my first day of work.

I also got to meet a whole bunch of expats from all different NGOs that had something to do with the center. Obviously there were several clinical workers from PIH, but also there were people from USAid-funded projects and smaller local NGOs. There was lots of chatting, mingling, and socializing. The best parts of the proceedings, however, were the bookends – performances by a dance troop and by Burundian Drummers. I’ll talk about those in separate entries, since they were awesome in their own right.

Anyway, we had this fancy schmancy inauguration. I got home around 8pm, after a two-hour drive home during which I slept almost the entire way. I guess I’m still adjusting to the time difference.

The Journey Home and an Art Gallery

2009-02-08T23:23:00.000-05:00

So after Bourbon Coffee Erik and Amy and I split up to do random things. I was left alone in the middle of the city to wander around, get lost on purpose, and finagle a way home again. I discovered a few things, one of which was that a super-cute pair of shoes that looked to be about Payless quality was being sold for US$100. I guess that settles whether or not I’ll be buying any shoes while I’m here. I stopped by the supermarket, which is like a super Walmart because it sells food and TVs and office supplies, and basically whatever you could possibly want. However, unlike Walmart, it’s DAMN expensive. The yougurt was selling for about $5 for half a liter. Boxes of cereal run in the $9 range. The cheapest bottle of wine I could find was going for $12, and the whiskey was $100 a bottle!! Ugh… being broke is so annoying sometimes.

Anyway, I wandered the streets and found that two left turns actually brings you back to your starting point… so this’ll be interesting trying to navigate the city. Then, against all recommendations, I took a motorbike (they’re about a tenth the cost of a cab) back to the house. That was an experience since I didn’t realize HOW much French I DON’T know, and the driver didn’t speak a word of English. Erik had written explicit instructions on the back of a receipt (albeit, in English, so I’d understand) with landmarks and left turns all delineated, but once we got to the last main landmark in town, and I had to direct the driver myself, I was hopeless. I couldn’t even remember the word for “pond” or “road”. Seriously… I’m screwed.

With some luck, and a few questions to passers-by who spoke both English and Kinyarwanda, lots of gesticulating and a bunch of false starts, I made it back to the house. A quick shower and a change of clothes (it’s COLD here man, I needed a sweater desperately) I went to meet Erik again. He had a painter-friend who wanted to show him his studio. Oh my god… WAY cool. It’s a little space that acts as a studio and art gallery for about 12 painters. Some of the stuff in there was SUPER amazingly good. I’m jealous I’m broke and can’t buy any – especially since they’re running for only about $300. Erik wants to outfit his house with a bunch of paintings, and boy did we come to the right spot. It was also cool because a bunch of the artists were just hanging out there, and you could talk to them and ask them questions about their work and whatnot. One guy was even nailing together canvases on frames. I was really impressed. Erik mentioned that I was amazingly lucky to see something like this studio on my first day in town only because there’s not a lot of artists around – especially not any good ones – and he’d apparently been looking for something of the sort for the last several months. Anyway… the plan is to go back and make friends. Maybe they’ll even give me a class or two.

After that it was dinner with a bunch of British expats… pesto pasta that tasted remarkably like pesto. I was impressed.

Bourbon Coffee

2009-02-08T08:14:00.000-05:00

So even though we don’t get internet in the house, we DO get it at the local hangout; a Starbucks-like café called “Bourbon Coffee”. The service here might compete with Bluefields for the worst in the world, but the couches are comfy, the coffee’s good, and there’s electricity plugs everywhere to hook up your computer. Right now they’re playing reggae music, so I’m being brought even further into my Nicaragua nostalgia, but the fact that I’m speaking English with the waiters and actually kind of chilly is reminding me that I’m here instead.

The clientele are ALL expats. I hear French, English (both American and British), Spanish, Dutch, German… I’m definitely in an international environment, that’s for sure. Everyone also has a little computer with them… most of them are Mac’s, I’m happy to note. I totally feel like I’m in Brooklyn, to be honest.

Outside it’s rainy. Boo. According to the locals, we’re in the rainy season even though the rainy season is supposed to end mid-January. The weather patterns seem to be changing everywhere you go the world. Rainy season means either a torrential downpour for a few hours each day followed by Ithaca-like overcast skies the rest of the time, or intermittent misting all day… it depends on who you ask. So far today, it’s been the torrential-downpour kind of day, but now it’s misting. I think I’m gonna assume both parties are correct, and it depends on what time of the day you’re napping.

The music’s changed to hip-hop now. Yup, I’m in New York.

The café here is sitting inside a mall-like structure that has a bunch of little stores and a GIANT supermarket. I’m going to take a little tour of the place later, when the café here becomes boring. Since I’m paying more than a dime a minute for internet service, I might peace out soon.

And we’re back to Reggae again.

So earlier today I went to a little general store called T-1000 or something like that. It’s got everything. I bought a surge protector, some hangars, and changed some money. There was a little boy that stood outside with a humongous umbrella (when I say humungous, I mean the diameter was probably about 8 feet or so) who walked me to the car like a princess. He smelled like pot and his eyes had trouble focusing, but I guess his job is boring enough he looks for other ways to entertain himself.

First Impressions

2009-02-07T23:08:00.000-05:00

The Smell – There’s something so specific about the scent of tropical air that makes me feel so completely at home. I stepped out of the airplane and the smell of lush-ness just enveloped me. Mommy, you told me I’d be overcome by an impressive waft of heat, but that didn’t happen. I was actually quite comfortable in my jeans and leather jacket, but it felt like a clear summer night after a day rain, when the steam starts to come off the earth and the greenness of the world almost turns into a taste it’s so thick on the air.

The Moon – I don’t know if it’s just the fact that traveling again has me reminiscent of Nicaragua, but Maya, I send a shout-out to ya. The first image I had of Rwanda was a valley of lights crowned by a giant full moon. You know how intimately aware of the moon we were in Nicaragua. I get the feeling it’s going to be very similar here.

The House – It’s giant. It’s more giant than my house in Jersey. It’s got weird light switches all over the place, with no apparent rhyme of reason. My room is giant. I have a KING-sized mattress. I’ve never had a King before. I also get a closet and desk. We have a big giant living room that looks like no one ever sits in it. There are 4 long couches arranged in a square and a huge dining table that seats 10. There’s also a cat. Yay! She was insanely curious of all my stuff as I unpacked it, and had to sit in every single one of my bags and climb all over my piles of clothes. I suppose she was sniffing out my potential. I’ve already found a few of her special spots, and now, as I type this, she’s sitting on my desk (which is huge) right next to me, purring away. Word. To Do: Make a friend… check.

The Electricity – Yeah, this is gonna be interesting. The airport had four power surges, or outages, or whatever they were, in the hour or so that I was there. The people in immigration didn’t seem to have issues with it, and every time the lights went out, they pulled out their backup lamps within 13 seconds. A few minutes later, the lights would come back on, and all the backups would promptly be shut off. Now I’m sitting in my new giant house in complete darkness, because yup, the electricity’s out again. I see my computer battery will be put to good use.

The water – we have a water heater!! I actually took a HOT shower when I got in. Yes… and I mean HOT. I scalded myself all over my stomach. It’s still red, and I took a shower about an hour ago. Ow.

I’m pooped. I’m passing out.

The Flight

2009-02-07T19:00:00.001-05:00

So I’m gone again. This flight was relatively painless. Nothing was delayed, and I only had a bit of turbulence a few times. I actually got two meals on both legs of the flight (which is debatably good or bad, depending) AND the seat next to me was empty both times too.

Hanging out in Brussels for a few hours was interesting. I had forgotten how distinctly European people can look. All the women were super tall, with short cropped hair cuts and a very euro-esque bone structure. They were all blonde too. What’s with the blondeness? There was actually a group of about 15 SUPER-platinum blonde (and natural to boot), freckled girls in their 20s on my flight to Kigali. Andy… I thought of you. I wonder what they’re doing here in Rwanda now… and how people are reacting to them. Seriously, even I couldn’t look away.

Tilke and Marissa, a shout out to you both. I impulsively bought the 2nd book in the Twilight series while in the airport in Newark, and was infinitely happy with my purchase. I finished the 600-page book before landing in Kigali, and was able to leave the thing on the plane for the next poor soul imprisoned there for eight hours. To all of you who are prejudiced against the series, you can shut it. I haven’t been that riveted by a book in a VERY long time, and even though it wasn’t nearly as good as the 1st, I’m still planning on reading the other two when they come out in paper back. I wonder if there’s a bookstore here that sells NY Times bestsellers in English.

And So It Begins Again

2009-02-03T12:26:00.004-05:00

That's right... I'm on my way to another whirl-wind adventure. This time I'm going with the Clinton Foundation, and it's not to Latin America, but to Africa. Yup... time to break out those French skills I've managed to squish so way down in the depths of my brain, they're probably sitting somewhere near my stomach (not to say my stomach has brain cells in it.... ok... gaa... bad image).

AAnnnyyyway. So yeah, I've replaced the stolen camera from my last trip, injected myself with a live culture of the Yellow Fever, boostered up on Polio, gotten hoards of cash in $100 bills dated after 2003, washed and folded and re-stored in the basement all my clothes, and given notice at the temp job I was using to occupy myself. Things are falling into place, and even though this time I only have a few weeks to prepare instead of a few months, I may actually be ready on time. For all of you friends based near Philadelphia, I'll be having one last climb at Go Vertical on Tuesday the 3rd, and for those of you in NYC, I'll be in for Happy Hour at Verlaine on Wednesday the 4th. Then it's run home, zip up the bags, cancel the phone and netflix services, and off on a 22-hour flight across the world to being a new life again.

Wish me luck, and try not to forget about me.

Masaya

2008-06-29T11:55:00.001-04:00

Saturday we decided to make a one-night trip to Granada, stopping at Masaya on the way. Masaya is known for it’s markets, with artists and vendors of all kinds. We wanted to do a quick stop over on the way to Granada, so we asked at the bus station for a bus that was headed for Granada, but would stop at Masaya along the way.

Well, lots of jostling and bustling finally got us onto a bus still empty enough for us to sit down on chairs! We bought an apple juice through the bus window from a guy carrying a bag at least as big as he was, filled with juices, water, and tons of ice. The apple juice was good. Ahh… I’d forgotten that flavor.

We sat on the bus for a while as it crossed through the city of Managua and pushed past the endless pick-ups loaded with random supplies bound somewhere, with piles of workers loaded on top, surfing their way down the streets. Eventually we ended up on a long, straight road that connects the capital city to Granada, and waited for our queue to get off.

Well, apparently we missed our stop. At one point several people in the bus started acting all anxious and motioning towards us. A quick conversation later, we find ourselves jumping off the bus (it only barely stopped) and leaving it to disappear down the road behind us. A light rain started to fall. We looked around.

“Where the hell are we?”
“Um… on a road.”
“Where’s Masaya? And the Market?”
“Um… that way, I think.”

And so we started walking. Some guys on bicycles passed us and asked us what the hell we were doing, walking along the side of the road, in the rain, obviously slightly lost, and completely aimless. Well, we figured this was all part of the adventure, so we just kept walking. People had told us that the Market was so big you couldn’t miss it. We just had to wander until we found it.

We walked until we came upon the only intersection for miles.

“Meh. Let’s turn down this one.”
“Right or left?”
“Um… well, there’s more people going left. Let’s go left”
“Aight”

And so we walked some more. Donkeys passed hauling wood. Some more bicyclists zoomed by, stopping long enough to whistle appreciative greetings to Maya and I. Oh, the joys of being young, female, and white in a country that appreciates all three of those traits so blindly. Despite being soaking wet and covered in mud that had kicked up from the street, we still managed to attract attention.

After walking for over an hour, we decided that we were definitely lost and started keeping an eye out for busses that said Masaya on them. We flagged one down only to find out we’d walked way past Masaya and her markets.

We turned back and wandered some more.

Suddenly the soft rain decided to be mean, and picked up to the level of torrential downpour. It is rainy season, after all. With about 2 seconds to save ourselves, we ran into the first place with a roof. Que suerte! A restaurant.

We ate yummy food and drank beer. For the first time in our Nicaraguan experience, we were not accosted by three different drunk men trying to sit at our table and marry us. Who knows… maybe it was the rain.

Waiting out the rain, we drank beer and more beer. Never mind that it was before noon on a Saturday. At one lucky moment, we happened to look down a narrow alley way and saw the “unmissable” market at the other end. Whoo hoo! And so when the rain settled back into it’s soft drizzle, we wandered through the thousands of stalls selling anything from onions to hand-carved African figurines to beaded jewelry made from local seeds to high fashion dresses left over from the 80s.

Rafael

2008-06-28T17:46:00.000-04:00

Rafael lives in the bE house in Managua. His job is to stay in the house whenever no one else is there to ensure that robbers don’t come. It’s especially difficult to watch Rafael go about his day because he’s 19 years old, and there is absolutely NO stimulation for him at the house. The television has one channel, the internet doesn’t work 99% of the time, the phone costs so much to use he can’t even call his friends, and leaving the house for the 5 minutes it would take to rent a movie is prohibited. Maya and I gave him a present of some drawing paper, pens, and a how-to book on sketching since he’d expressed some interest in drawing, and we wanted to encourage him to try doing something productive with his endless days of boredom.

We also made a point of spending some time with him in the evenings. We figured he couldn’t possibly mind the company, and later discovered that he too, had plans to marry one of us. Well… actually his plan was to have one of us “older women” teach him how to kiss, but when that plan fell to pieces, he changed his tactics and made public his desire to marry one of us. Oh the joys of Nicaraguan men. Heh.

Anyway, one of our nights of hanging out and chatting resulted in us having an interesting conversation about religion, our beliefs, God, and that which we hold sacred. Rafael was spellbound by the fact that not one, but BOTH of us didn’t believe in God. We were absolutely astonished by the fact that evolution was such a ridiculous theory to him. We engaged in a heated conversation about what it is to believe in something, and the differences between our experiences in the States versus the exposure people in Nicaragua apparently get. Maya and I realized how little variation there is between religions here. They range anywhere from Evangelist to Advantist to Baptist to Catholic, but all are somehow related to Christianity and Jesus Christ. Rafael had to disagree with us vehemently, mentioning the differences between praying to God, the Virgin Mary, or to Jesus Christ, and pointed out how ridiculous the beliefs of some Nicaraguans were. Somehow this didn’t convince either one of us, as we pointed out our exposure to all the world religions as varied as Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, Catholicism, and Buddhism. In a way it feels like there just less exposure to be had here, and as a result the people are not encouraged to think as critically about what it is they hear and read.

There was another volunteer here before I arrived that was deeply Evangelist and went to church every week in Bluefields. What she noticed was how literally the stories of the bible were interpreted here. She pointed out that despite her rooted beliefs in her religion, she had the perspective to understand that the stories of the Bible were simply ways to explain the world; metaphors to act as a navigating compass. And yet, the people here, never having been taught to think critically or articulate what a metaphor is, are left truly believing Adam and Eve were the first human beings, and Moses split the Red Sea.

Anyway, the conversations we had with Rafael were interesting. And, PS, we did it all in Spanish.

Managua: Two Objectives

2008-06-26T11:53:00.001-04:00

In Managua, we had two purposes: Go to the US Embassy for a meeting with all the NGOs in Nicaragua that have American affiliations of some sort, and buy stuff in Managua that we can’t get in Bluefields.

The first objective was easy, and relatively painless. We went, we sat through lots of hours of people talking at us, ate really bad “refreshments” and schmoozed with a bunch of oldies that work for NGOs on the pacific side of the country. No one had any idea what it was like to work in Bluefields, and they all thought Maya and I were crazy for even trying. It felt like the reputation of Bluefields, at least on the Pacific Coast, was that it’s full of savages beyond the point of even trying to save (whatever they meant by “save” I’ll have no idea). We were surprised by this mentality… but then again, while in Bluefields, we’d heard more than once how dangerous and evil the people of Managua were. Apprently there isn’t much exchange between the two sides of the country.

The second objective, however, didn’t turn out to be as easy as I had thought. In Bluefields, whenever something isn’t available, or is out of stock, the immediate thought is that it’s available in Managua. “Go to Managua.” people say. “You have to get it there.”

The problem is that once you’re in Managua, there isn’t another place you can go later. It’s either you find it in Managua, or it doesn’t exist in the country. Since part of our mantra is to provide our services with local talent and local materials, we either have to find our materials in Managua or use different ones.

Now imagine a shopping list something like the following, and you might get an idea of what we were looking for: architect’s scaling ruler, laminating plastic sheets, ceiling fans, 3/8” plastic tubing, ceramic tiles, volcanic sand, egg incubator, etc. Obviously we’d have to go to a bunch of different stores, but let me give you an idea of what it is like just to find, oh, I dunno… ceiling fans.

We walk into the hardware store we have a friendship with and ask for the ceiling fans. First we’re met with a surprised stare as they check out two young white females with a quiet older Nica servant/chauffer in tow. Then another surprised stare as we ask for ceiling fans (of all things). Then we’re questioned about or marital status, our non-existent children, and our age, and asked how long we’ll be in town, and if we’re available for dinner with some guy and his friend. Finally we get around to the topic of ceiling fans again, and we’re told that yes yes, they have them, but today they don’t. Ok then… where can we get them? Our chauffer knows.

And so we drive across town for 25 minutes staring at the same statues we passed on the way out to the first place and park in front of a giant hardware store chain… three of which we also passed on the way to this particular one. We go through the routine of our marital status, age, and availability this evening again only to discover that this place too has them, but not today. When will the next order come in? No one knows, but maybe this Friday. What about the other stores with the same name and brand and everything as the one we’re in now? Can we call them and ask if they have them? No, no one knows the number. Is there a phone book? Yes, but it’s back at the house.

So we go back to the house to look at what is apparently the only phone book in the entire city of Managua. We call the other stores. Yup yup, they say. They have them in stock right now today. And so back in the car we go, across town again, to store #3 that happens to be another version of store #2. Unfortunately this giant hardware store chain closes for lunch from noon until 2, so we have to wait an hour in order to even get inside the doors. We repeat, once again, the marital-status-and-are-you-available-this-evening charade only to discover that whoever thought ceiling fans were in stock today lied, because no hay.

Yes. Shopping in Managua is like that. We had something like 8 items on our list, and it took us almost three full days of running around town with our personal chauffer just to get half of them. The rest we couldn’t find. In the case of the ceiling fans, we did finally find a few that were miraculously in our price range. We bought them, took them to Bluefields, installed them, and THEN realized that the only reason the store had them at all, let alone for the price we got them, was because they ran on 220 voltage instead of 110, so no one except the super fancy special people can even use them anyway.

El Rama

2008-06-24T23:41:00.001-04:00

El Rama is the name of the "port city" that has both a river-way that leads to Bluefields, and a roadway that leads to Managua. When traveling between Bluefields and Managua with the Bus/Panga combination, one stops in El Rama to grab a bite to eat and switch modes of transportation.

Now, the use of the words "port city" to describe the place is nothing short of ridiculously generous. The "port" is a wooden pier that juts out into the river a bit. It can house about three or 4 pangas at a time if the boats are smushed right up against each other. Immediately past the "port" is a hill lined with stairs (probably 30 or so) that leads to the main road and bus depot. Really, it feels more like a random town corner with a quasi-exciting existing in all four locations. The bus depot is a roof and a bunch of benches under it. There's a counter at one side that sometimes has someone sitting there. Tickets are bought from random vendors on the street that wave things around in your face until you either push them out of your way, or you buy something. Buses leave from the street corner once every two hours or so - all of them headed for the great city of Managua.

Kitty-corner to the bus depot is a "hotel" with a few rooms, and ooh la la, a BATHROOM! Since they have a monopoly on the bathroom industry for this particularly busy corner or travelers, they charge 2 cordobas in exchange for a pre-cut slice of toilet paper to accompany you on your adventure of the special room (never mind the poor souls with liquid poo... it's not like 4/5 the population is suffering from this condition at any given moment or anything).

On a third side of this corner lives a little woman and her daughter. They have taken advantage of the unreal amount of traffic that miraculously finds themselves stuck on this corner for several ungodly and rainy hours by opening up a little restaurant. They sell Gallo Pinto (rice and beans), corn tortillas, ensalada verde (which is really shredded cabbage with tomatoes and lime juice) with whatever form of chicken they feel like serving that day. Granted, their only competition is a bunch of women walking around selling tortillas with goo and cream in them, and so they kind of have a captive market, but there's something to be said about real home-cooked Nica food that just warms the stomach. That the walls of the restaurant are painted a combination of bright pink and sunshine orange, and a cage-full of squawking parakeets adds percussion to the latino rock music blaring out of overtaxed loudspeakers only adds true Nica-style ambience to the place.

Maya and I arrived in El Rama after a particularly interesting Panga ride and collapsed into our chairs on the bus that wasn't due to leave for another 4 hours. After peeling off our oversized rain suits covered in rain, brushing out the massive bird's nests that had manifested themselves in our hair, and indulging in a few chocolate chips that had the effect of brighting up the cloudy day, we ventured into the little restaurant for a hearty dinner of the best grilled chicken we'd ever had. 45 minutes later we were stuffed, and clueless as to what to do with ourselves for another 3 hours.

And then Maya stumbled upon a new gem. A pool hall. The fourth corner of this little intersection has a three-table pool hall with some more of that overly loud music playing, and a bunch of dudes standing around or shooting pool. We asked about the price. Only 3 cords a game? Nice. Although we'd been to a pool hall or two in Bluefields with some of the boys from the workshop, this was the first time the two of us ventured into a hall without any male accompaniment. Since the requirements women have as part of their daily routine, the sight of two women - obviously not related and old enough to have at least a few children already - out and about disfrutando (having fun) is definitely a foreign one. I have never felt so stared-at as we played our little games of pool, American-style. (The rules here are way different from those in the States). Although they didn't bother us, it was obvious all the clientele at the hall were quite intrigued by our presence. Every shot was scrutinized and every movement we made duly noted. Only one dude had the balls to give us some pointers as he passed by on his way to another table. I felt a little like I was back at Gualpatara standing on the cliff in my bathing suit watching the locals snap camera-phone photos of me to show to their friends later.

Anyway, three hours passed quickly. Both of us were decently pleased with our skills on the table, and returned back to the bus in time to eat a bit more trail mix before finally pulling out of the "town".

The Ultimate Panga Ride

2008-06-24T23:08:00.001-04:00

Maya and I – the only American volunteers here in Bluefields right now – were sent to the US Embassy in Managua for a meeting with all the NGOs that have connections with the US. The meeting is on Thursday, but we decided to go into MGA today because we have to run a bunch of errands and whatnot before hand.

Seeing as you can either take an airplane for $130 round trip from Bluefields to Managua, or you can take a bus/panga combination for $10, we opted for the latter. The panga ride from Bluefields to El Rama is about 2 hours long, and boy oh boy, was it an experience.

Now… imagine it’s a nice hot summer day. You’ve decided to go to the beach. You have on a nice little bikini top with a pair of cute little shorts, and you’re driving along in a shiny convertible with spacious leather seats and hot wind blowing your hair back. You’re listening to your favorite tunes, and singing along once in a while. The road is straight and smooth, and you feel like you could go on for miles and miles endlessly, enjoying the simple fact of being alive. Ahhhh… how wonderful.

Now…

Replace the shiny convertible and wide leather seats with a boat crammed full of people on hard wooden benches with no backrest. Lower the temperature of the air around you about 20 degrees. Add rain. Add more rain. Change the straight, flat road with a tempestuous river that bends and dips, climbing up over the side of the boat with every blast of wind. Your bikini top and cute shorts are replaced with giant rubber pants and an oversized raincoat completely impermeable to both water and ventilation. In an attempt to escape the biting rain, you and your comrades-in-suffering pull a giant plastic sheet over the group, and as you huddle down underneath it, holding the side down against the edge of the boat, you contemplate the overwhelming scent of rat piss that has suddenly overpowered the original odor of dead fish. As you’re sitting in the front row of the boat, you have the distinct privilege of allowing your face to be pressed up against the plastic that is pushing back at you with the 45-mph winds that whip you about. Your hair is no longer blowing backwards, but forwards into your mouth and eyes. You try to tie it back, but you only have the use of one of your hands, as the other is vainly trying to hold the plastic sheet in place. Despite the wind and rain, you’re sweating inside your rain gear. You search for ways of inhaling clean air, but never succeed. Your back aches from the constant thrashing of the boat against the river and the effort required to compensate for the giant plastic sheet endlessly pushing you backwards.

Your 2-hour journey feels like a lifetime, but you arrive at your destination – which is not a beach, but a nondescript wooden plank that juts out into the river at what appears to be a completely random location – and convince your cranky back and knees to carry you onto land. Since you’re the only white person besides your friend, you’re accosted on all sides by vendors selling bus tickets to Managua. You pick the earliest bus – you only have to wait 5 hours for that one – grab your soaking wet stuff, and try to clean yourself off. Luckily you packed trail mix with chocolate chips in it. Ahhhh… how wonderful.

Climbing the Turbine Tower

2008-06-23T16:49:00.004-04:00

Maya calls herself a quasi-obsessive climber. She entered climbing competitions in college, and every time an opportunity to climb presents itself, you find Maya mousing around checking out various possible hand-holds.

Anyway… since our week and a half of crazy construction-ing resulted in our being absolutely DEAD, we sorta took a chill day for ourselves. Having been inspired by some turbine-maintenance the workers had done on one of the turbines on campus, Maya decided we were going to climb the tower. Yay!

And so we did. Ronald and Eliot in the workshop were a little concerned that GIRLS wanted to climb it… I had to endure several repeated lessons from Ronald on how to climb and quadruple-check the harness, but eventually we got to go up.

We took some pics once we got up there.

AAAAAAhhhhh. EEk!

2008-06-18T15:24:00.000-04:00

One of the objectives in the office reconstruction was to replace the ceiling panels that had gone to shit. It’s always a little interesting to pull back the outer layer of construction on something that hasn’t really been renovated in a while, and pulling out the ceiling panels was no exception. Maya gave me the wonderful job, and I started in the back corner with some of the worst panels.

Well, let’s just say that my grit as a woman was tested to its core. The first panel I pushed up seemed oddly heavier than expected (they’re made of Styrofoam and are actually quite light) and started wobbling because its weight wasn’t evenly distributed. Then a shower of dust and dirt started raining down on me… only it wasn’t dust and dirt. It was termites. Termites galore. I had seen their work on some of the other projects I had worked on, but never actually run into any of them. Here was a COLONY! I had little crawly termites run down my shirt and get stuck in my bra. My hair gave termite larvae a nice little bed, and my underwear caught a few more little critters. GROSS!

The not-so-wonderful part of the whole experience was that I got to enjoy the termites for the rest of the day as they scurried around indefinitely. Since the rainy season we thought had started was actually just joking with us, I got to come home to a VERY limited bucket shower of brown well-water “purified” with Clorox… NOT what I was wanted. Ugh. Even though (most) of the termites were eventually washed away, I still walked away smelling like the combination of an indoor swimming pool and pond water. Yummy, yummy day.

Anyway, we didn't get a picture of me covered in the termite masses - we seem to have made a pattern of missing all the crucial moments - but this one here was taken after I had managed to shake off most of the creepy crawlies. You can see the heap to termites in the bottom corner of the room there, behind the desk. It totally doesn't look at gross and creepy as it was in reality - but if you imagine that mass is actually in constant movement, then you get an idea.

Strong People

2008-06-17T16:11:00.005-04:00

One of the most striking features of the people here in Bluefields and in the communities that we serve is the brute physical strength they all have. Logically thinking, it makes sense that people that live by producing things with their hands turn out to be really strong, but logically thinking about it, and actually experiencing it are totally different things.

The other interesting bit is that the men here, although ridiculously strong, don’t look it the way big gym-buffs from the States do. Their muscles are flat, but 1000 times more functional than all my big body-builder guy friends put together.

During the construction of the office, there were a few times when desks or ladders to stand on were in high demand – but this never stopped anyone. At one point, Ronald, the boss man of the bE workers at the workshop, wanted to check out what was going on above the ceiling, so he does a little jump, grabs one of the ceiling beams, proceeds to do a pull up until he head is well above the “bar” and then looks around for what felt like eternity, yelling instructions to people, using one hand to point at random things, and just kind of chilling. Another time he climbed up the side of the wall outside to check on the status of the security grates. We managed to get a picture of that one before it was over.

Oficina Nueva

2008-06-16T13:31:00.007-04:00

Maya went to Managua with G in order to buy stuff not available in Bluefields, and meet with a bunch of people before returning to Bluefields with the instructions to gut and renovate one of the INATEC classrooms into a new office for blueEnergy’s base of operations. Since bE has developed a plan to build CERCA (Centro Ecologico Regional de Capacitacion Ambiental) on INATEC’s campus, we’ve been working on both convincing INATEC that it’s the right move, and developing a design for the building and what it will represent. Maya’s main business here in Bluefields is to create CERCA in all its glory. Step 0.01 was to build the office on the campus so that it can be used as a conference room, offices, library, and whatever else it will need to be while CERCA is being built over the next couple years.

Anyway, so there was Maya, back in Bluefields, with explicit instructions to have everything done within two weeks. Getting the key to the soon-to-be-office only took four days, so suddenly she was down for 10 days of crunch time. G instructed me to put my water project efforts on hold, drop everything, and run to Maya’s aid. Here's a pic of the room when we got it. Those are typewriters on each desk, which apparently are super-high technology and needed to be guarded with our lives as we simultaneously ripped out everything else in that room.

Working in construction has always been especially fun for me. That’s why I gravitated towards Habitat for Humanity in college. Besides, who doesn’t love using power tools? And demolition? Don't even get me started. The situation becomes infinitely more interesting, however, when you and your counterpart are a) the only women involved in the entire operation, b) the only two that barely speak Spanish, c) the only ones with a clear picture of everything that needs to be done, as well as a ridiculously high standard as to how it should be done, and d) the only ones with 1/10 the construction experience the rest of the crew has. We very quickly learned how to use the imperative form and how to yell things like “stop!” and “good job!”, but cultural issues ran much, much deeper. Since Maya was the designer of the project, she was essentially the boss, but being a woman with limited Spanish abilities made her job exceptionally difficult. She and I spent hours at the end of each day discussing how we’d best schedule the workers the following day, organize the timelines for each person, figure out where they’d work best, what tasks they were capable of, how quickly they’d get it done, how to best approach each worker, what to say, how to say it… the list was endless.

Another issue we dealt with daily was the need for more raw materials. We’d make lists of things we needed for the next day, but since we don’t have the authority to use bE money to buy stuff, we had to send it through Ismael, the INATEC liason, who would run around town buying stuff all morning. The difficulties were that that half the stuff on the daily lists weren’t available in Bluefields that day (who knows…) or were simply forgotten or ignored, so getting ahold of every necessary piece of equipment was a challenge. Simultaneously, we had Felix working on all the furniture (since he’s the resident wood expert) but since the wood that comes into Bluefields is wet (due to the unrelenting rain and impossible panga rides), we couldn’t use any of the stuff we bought. Maya eventually designed an entire furniture design out of plywood since that was the only dry wood available, and Felix pulled off a monster feat of actually accomplishing everything within the allotted time.

Anyway, what must have been 14-hour days ran together. As Maya and I sprinted past each other issuing orders, following up on each of the workers (we had a team of 17 for most of the week – each of which was working on something different), making sure they hadn’t hit a snafu, and checking on quality, we simultaneously threw in efforts to paint walls, hang doors, re-panel ceilings, etc. Phew! Sunday night at 1am, we pulled up the last drip of paint off the floor and secured the new door with the recently installed lock. Meetings for CERCA and the soon-to-be newly-installed curriculum of Environmental Studies at INATEC could now begin.

RAIN!!

2008-05-23T16:49:00.002-04:00

Woah woah WOAH! My definition of a summer storm has suddenly been ripped to shreds by giant bolts of lightning and earth-shattering strikes of thunder. Last night it rained so hard for so long there were times I wondered if we were experiencing a hurricane. Bluefields is famous for hurricanes, after all. I couldn't even hear any dogs!

But this morning, the day had settled itself into a pattern of heavy showers and occasional, not-earthquake-inducing thunder rolls. According to the volunteers, we've officially entered the rainy season. Between now and when I leave at the end of September, it will supposedly get more and more rainy. I'm not sure how that's going to happen seeing as this was the worst summer storm I've ever lived through... but we'll see.

Dancing Dominos

2008-05-21T13:18:00.001-04:00

Tuesday turned out to be one of the coolest Bluefields experiences to date. Somehow, for some reason, blueEnergy decided to have a party and co-host it with Bluefields Sound System. It was especially interesting because we managed to figure out a way to get BSS to host the thing, so all we had to do was show up.

It turned out to be a really interesting crowd because we had all our extranjero voluntarios and a whole bunch of local BSS musicians and artists - the people BSS is trying to promote. There was the occasional impromtu music concert, lots of beer, some local pharmeceuticals, and a set of Dominos.

Now, Dominos in Bluefields is like a religion. People play it the way people in other countries play Chess or Go. It's a delicate game of balance and manipulation. When I saw the table of players in the corner of the balcony, I went over to watch a few hands, and quickly decided the game was kinda boring... but then I somehow got roped into playing, and suddenly the world of Dominos opened up. There's a slow rhythm to the game - a pulse or beat - that you have to sculpt with a gentle hand in order to win. The best way to play the game is with four players, where players sitting across from each other are team members and try to help each other out. After a few hands, I started to catch on, and Moses (a local Rasta) and I became table champs for a good hour or so.

Whoo hooooo! I've decided Dominos is my new favorite game.

Anyway, eventually we had to lose, and so I left the table to rejoin the rest of the festivities. We danced and danced - I learned a few moves from Julie, who's been studying with the Spirit Dancers here in town (who knew your body could move like that?) and enjoyed being one of the three girls in the room (every time we go out I notice the distinct dearth of women out and about - there's something about children and staying home and cooking...).

The party was particular in it's chemistry, and I left that night feeling like I'd really felt what it was like to live in Bluefields like a local; local friends, local music, local dances, and local games. Yay for Bluefields!

Laundry Day

2008-05-11T16:43:00.004-04:00

I read nursery rhymes as a kid that talked about the different days of the week, and their specific purposes. I remember one day was market day, and one day was bathing day. One day was always laundry day too. I never really understood why the days were delineated the way they were, because I would think about how you didn't really need a whole day to do each of those tasks.

I never really understood, that is, until I suddenly found myself living it.

Today was laundry day for me. The ladies in the kitchen here are also responsible for cleaning and laundry, but they're notorious for being a bit rough on the fancy materials, so we're encouraged to do our own laundry if we're particular in any way. Since I'm obsessed with my underwear which is NOT on the cheap side, and I'm also picky about how stretched-out my cotton tank tops become, I figured it wouldn't be that much of an issue to just do my own laundry.

Well, laundry is done on a special table. It's got a basin for clean water, and a little scrubbing pad to scrunch your clothes against as you pour soapy or clean water over them. It is NOT easy getting stains out of your clothes that way - especially when you're like me and hopelessly trying not to ruin the stretch and pull of the materials your abusing.

Here's a picture of Barbara doing laundry...

Gualpatara

2008-05-10T16:21:00.002-04:00

All this week we had training for the locals operators in the communities that we serve. That means we shipped in all the people from Monkey Point, Pearl Lagoon, Set Net Point, Punta de Aguila, and everywhere else that we have turbines set up, and had them sit through a week-long class training them up on all that is the blueEnergy system. This was a really cool to finally get off the ground - it's something that we've been talking about doing for several years, and finally Marie made it happen. We even have an official operator's manual and everything.

Anyway, as a result of having all these people in Bluefields, we gave the kitchen staff a break and ordered in catering from INATEC. The catering service was cool (albeit rather un-inventive) but they made us go to the workshop in order to eat. As a result, there was an unprecedented amount of mingling between operators, volunteers, and local workers. Since Maya, the newest addition to our volunteer corps, also happens to be a super cute female, the two of us have become fast friends (partly as a self-preservation / protection technique, and partly cause she's super cool). We got to talking with a bunch of the workers, and discovered (FINALLY) that there's a little swimming hole hiking distance from casa blueEnergy! Who knew?!?!

Well, obviously Maya and I were sold on the idea of being able to submerge ourselves in clean, running, cold water seeing as it's hot and sticky here ALL the time, and dusty to boot. We made plans to go with a bunch of the locals, but plans never really materialize, and we ended up just going with Lâl (he said he knew the way, and we didn't wanna wait any longer for the workers... "Nicaragua time" sometimes means "never").

Well, the hike was interesting since Lâl had been there before - but not this year. The paths change every year depending on who's build a new house, or where the hurricanes washed out the trail the previous year. We managed to make it there eventually, but we were definitely REALLY hot and sticky by the time we arrived. Never before had clean cool water been so appetizing.

I stumbled upon an interesting cultural experience while enjoying the water as well. The women here aren't big on using bathing suits. They tend to swim in whatever clothes they have on instead. I don't think this is a modesty issue as often their clothes are white, and when wet, entirely see-through (boys, they wear underwear... stop getting ideas). I think it's more an issue of just not bothering with buying/owning/maintaining swim suits. Who knows? In any case, Maya and I found ourselves to be BIG attractions and conversation points for all the other swimmers at the swimming hole. When I was down to my suit and standing on a cliff preparing myself to jump into the water, I had about 5 different camera phones focused on me with both girls and guys pointing, giggling, and chatting. I never thought I could be that interesting. Lâl mentioned that maybe I should swim with my clothes on too, but I was too hot and sticky and dirty to want to do that. Maybe next time, I told him.

Anyway, an hour of hanging out in the water, jumping off the cliffs, avoiding rocks, and getting scared by locals swimming up to us under the water and nipping at our legs, we were sufficiently freezing enough to begin our journey home. Lâl wanted to show us some other parts of the city, so we took a different route home. This was the first time I walked around the city away from the roads, and discovered how much of Bluefields I had been totally unaware of before. Bluefields has roads upon which the taxis and trucks run, moving people and cargo around the city. Cement houses and shops line the streets on both sides, causing the city to appear as if it's all visible from the street. In reality, however, there are little pathways that cut away from the road towards large plots of little wooden houses built practically on top of each other. Every several houses or so is a well that is used communally. Laundry lines criss cross your line of sight, and pigs, chickens, and dogs run around freely. What appeared to me to be a decently set-up, quasi well-off city suddenly showed itself to be substantially poorer than I'd originally thought. I could suddenly see the deficiencies in sanitation and water purity I've been reading about, and see right into the one-room houses filled with 7 children playing with a bicycle tire. I became really self-conscious of the two-story nicely-painted cement sky-scraper that I live in here. Gosh, even my bucket shower is a luxury.

Los Cayos Perlas

2008-05-08T21:23:00.006-04:00

"Tropical Island Paradise" only sounds more beautiful when you've actually experienced it in real life. This weekend I went with a bunch of the volunteers to Los Callos Perlas (otherwise known as the Pearl Keys). The Keys are little teeny tiny islands in Pearl Lagoon, north of Bluefields. In order to get there, we had chartered a Panga to Pearl Lagoon (the "city), then took off again for a particular Key that Lâl had in mind (did I mention that Lâl, Maïte, Mathias, and other big-shot important blueEnergy people are here for strategic planning meetings, some face time, and general milestone marking?).

We had to wake up at the ungodly hour of 5:30, which manages to be hot here anyway. Then we set off to the docks, sat around for a bit, got in a boat, and were off. We randomly met this Quebecois girl who fit right in with the rest of the group considering I was the only one there that wasn't either Canadian or French (and the only one, therefore, who didn't speak French). Nonetheless, the day was perfect. I got to take a nap in a hammock on a perfectly pristine tropical island, watch the others play bocce ball with coconuts or practice random synchronized swimming routines in the water, and eat tropical fruit all day... Is there anything better than that?

Here are some pics:

Obviously tropical island paradises have coconuts and machetes... what would they be without them!? I probably ate 6 coconuts that day. Here's me struggling with one of them.

Hanging out in the hammock. You can see the back end of the island in this picture. The island was probably a 20 minute walk around the whole circumference. In this picture, Mattieu is chillin with Maïte and Claude, the Quebecois girl we picked up on the way. She was just a random backpacker we invited along. She kept giggling about how perfect this island was, and thanked us a thousand times for inviting her along. She was super fun - she even played underwater rugby with the boys when the rest of the girls were sleeping on hammocks.

Andrea teaching Max about synchronized swimming. This was an absolutely hilarious spectacle to watch. At one point they'd actually put together a little routine and performed it for us. Take notice, btw, of the tranquility of the water. On top of that, the sand underneath the water was super spongy and SO nice to walk on. Aahhhhh.

Lâl and Francois playing Bocce ball with Coconuts. Yup... I was surrounded by the French.

Did I mention it was a tropical paradise? It seriously doesn't get more pristine than this.

In the chartered Panga. From left to right: Lâl, Maïte, Francois, Maxime, Charles, Andrea, and two random driver people that we hired.

There are more photos available on Facebook if you're connected to that network

Water Filters Abound

2008-05-01T21:18:00.007-04:00

After the craziness and stress of the UNDP presentation, I was allowed to partake in the water-filter training that we also have going on this week. Andrea, a consultant for CAWST, a Canadian-based firm that trains NGOs on water filtration, sanitation, and creating a successful project, is here in Bluefields this week providing a seminar for a few blueEnergy volunteers, employees, and partners. Andrea has turned out to be especially cool - she speaks four languages damn near fluently, lives in Calgary, and is super cute!

Anyway, I've had the chance to really get my hands dirty with the water filter effort. Since Bruno is leaving on Saturday, he wants to transfer all his knowledge and make sure that his last 6 months of energy don't go to waste because his project fell flat, so he planned this seminar right around his take-off date to make sure the momentum was in place.

What we've been working on some more is really perfecting the process of creating these filters. I've already posted pics of our attempts at our first filter, but that one only half-succeeded. Since then there have been 5 more attempts, and each time we get closer - but still no cigar.

This is another attempt at a filter. We've put the cement in the mold, and now just have to wait for it to sit before extracting it.

After 24 hours of letting it sit, the cement is both solid enough to remove the mold and have it not melt into a puddle, but soft enough to still come out of the mold. The trick is making sure not to screw it up. Here Octavio, Danny, and Charles are flipping the mold over to put the filter upright.

The guys then attach the extractor which screws into the inner piece of the mold and should pull it up slowly with a crank.

Here they go, cranking away. This is actually uber hard to do. We need about 4 strong dudes just to crank it around a bit. Once it gets far enough out, they can lift it the rest of the way - but just the weight of the mold is itself quite heavy.

So this filter got stuck to the inner mold, and we had to break it out in order to save the mold. Unfortunately. We were very sad, since this was the first amazingly formed cement. Damn... the grease wasn't enough.

Yay! A filter that worked. We managed to get it out of the mold, fill it with water, and have the water come out - meaning that the water tube was also in good condition. Schwweeeeet!

After two days of drying, the filter was ready for us to add the sand column on the inside. Here you can also see the plastic splash guard that will prevent buckets of water from disrupting the delicate eco-system that is supposed to develop in the sand.

Putting sand into the filter. This sand had to be pre-washed... although not for the reasons you would think. "Washing" sand really means just taking out the smallest particles of the sand. We actually want the biology (whatever there is) in the sand to be there because it helps to eat up all the bacteria and parasites that will come into the filter with the water. The only reason we wash the sand is to make it slightly easier for the sand to pass through it - this decreases the absolute effectiveness of the filter, but makes it more practical. If it takes three days for the water to pass through the filter, no one will want to use it.

After filling it with sand, we have to test the water flow. A flow that's too fast means that we washed the sand too much, and the water will not be filtered properly. A flow that's too slow means the sand wasn't washed enough, and although the filter will be effective, it won't be practical. The trick is to find the balance.

Clean water! Whoo hoooo!

Presenting to the UNDP

2008-05-01T20:24:00.006-04:00

Tuesday was an uber high-stress day that was exactly how I had imagined all my days on the ground here in Bluefields would be like. It was super crazy, but also exciting. Sunday night we received word that our contact with the UNDP in Nicaragua had finally managed to convince the organization to take a look at our operation and figure out a way for them to help us.

Of course, that meant that we suddenly had to scramble to put together a presentation, a tour, and somehow simultaneously appear to be super organized, and effortlessly professional. HA! Well Guillaume, Ben, Julie and I sat in our little Bluefields Office Headquarters and hammered out a presentation (in spanish, I might add) that talked about where we've come from, what we're doing now, and our 5-year implementation plan, mentioning of course, that we need close to $7M to do it right. Fun fun fun.

Tuesday night came around, and we were running numbers up until 3 minutes before the UNDP was supposed to arrive. We managed to get the kitchen staff to put together a little coffee and cookies tray for the presentation (since it was happening at the workshop) before starting on their preparations for dinner. Did I mention we had offered to host the UNDP for dinner too? Also, the workshop was frantically being cleaned and polished in the background, and certain select locals were chosen to appear busy while our tour was going on.

Anyway, the event was a huge success. We gave a tour where local employees gave an overview of their section of the workshop - what they were working on at that moment, and how it fit into the larger picture. We showed off the turbines that we are using to provide energy for the workshop, and then we finished in our little classroom where Guillaume gave our banged-out presentation. Whoo hoooo!

Then it was back to the house for a super-nicaraguan meal and lots of Flor de Caña (that's awesome Nicaraguan rum, by the way)... and the real substance of schmoozing. Thank god Guillaume's so good at it.

Here are a few pics...

Here's a good chunk of the group during the tour of the workshop. There's local employees, volunteers, UNDP peeps, random professors from UMich who happened to hear about us and were interested, and Guillaume all mixed in there together. At this particular point in the tour, Seb was explaining the stators, and the actual electricity production inside the turbine. And yes, that's me in the back, center there - and no, I'm not pissed, even though I look it. Apparently I've developed a habit of giving this kind of pissy stare whenever I listen to Spanish really closely.

Dinner with the bigshots. The kitchen staff even managed to throw together matching table cloths and everything! We were also lucky enough to have Lâl here - the guy in charge of the French operations of blueEnergy - in time for the presentation as well. He works full time for the civil service in France, but spends every other waking moment he has left over on furthering the vision of bE. The next step for him and for the French arm is to open up a point of operations in Africa based as much as possible on the model we've implemented here in Bluefields.

Step Two: Cleaning Sand

2008-04-24T00:21:00.008-04:00

Creating the cement casing was step one of building a water filter. Step two is preparing the inside of it - a whole crap-load of sand. The general idea is that the sand will pull out all the impurities of the water as it travels down the length of the filter, and reach the bottom all nice and drinkable. The problem is, the sand we put into the filter has to be very very fine, and clean... unlike the sand that you purchase at the sand-store.

	Bruno had rigged up a 3-tier sieve that separates the sand into four sizes. The giant pieces from the top layer were tossed - they were mostly fist-sized rocks, random pieces of glass, sticks the size of fingers, and other wierd objects you'd never expect to find in "sand".
	The small stones that were separated in tier 2 of the sieve were saved for adding to the cement mixtures in the future. Apparently a certain amount of small stones is preferable in cement-making.
	The finer stuff was a little more complicated to sieve. Because store-bought sand it wet (seriously... why?) it wouldn't sift through the finest sieve, so we had to help it along a little by pushing it around. This did wonders for the skin on my hands - although it wasn't so great for my valiant (albeit useless) attempt to maintain my self-administered manicure from the night before. Nevertheless, the "rough sand" separated out at this layer was washed and set aside for the main body of the cement mixtures later.
	The finest granularity of sand is what will eventually end up in the filters. Today, all we did was collect it. Tomorrow we will wash it and pack it into the cement casing.

The Dirty Business of Clean Water

2008-04-23T21:13:00.021-04:00

Bruno, our resident water expert, is on his way out in a few weeks, so his priority at this point is to transfer his knowledge to a new volunteer in order to preserve the momentum of his work. Lucky me, I get to be the sponge. Today, Bruno was ready to build the beta model of the water filter he's designed over the course of the last 6 months, so Francois and I got to go along and help him out.

	Here are the pieces of the mold we will use to pour the cement into. The filter is essentially a long skinny cement bucket filled with sand. The piece on the left is the "center" of the mold, and the other two are the sides. These are made of steel, and extremely heavy.
	We had to create a kind of "spout" that would carry the water at the bottom of the bucket through the cement filter out to the other side.
	Before pouring in the cement, we had to make the mold extremely slippery with lots and lots of grease. Yumm.
	After mixing together the right proportions of sand, cement powder and water, we started dumping it into the mold. Every so often we'd stop shoveling and push a dowel down the sides to help settle the cement.
	In order to settle the cement some more, we had to hammer the outside of the mold a bunch.
	Leveling off the cement... The 'top' of the whole thing here is actually the bottom at the end of the day, so we had to make it as level as possible.

Pobre Perritos

2008-04-17T15:38:00.006-04:00

Two days ago we were fortunate enough to find perritos otherwise known as tiny little doggies. They're unbelievably teeny - probably less that 3 or 4 weeks old and I've suddenly become wildly aware of how much harder it is to survive in a place as isolated as Bluefields.

I thought the poor things were so adorable that I immediately set about doing research on how to take care of baby pups that have lost their mother before they are completely weaned (she was hit by a car). Websites advise things like "feed the puppy milk with a bottle several times a day" and "keep the puppy warm by placing it by a heater".

HA!

First of all, we don't have bottles out here in Bluefields - let alone milk that isn't powdered. I looked up the nutritional value of powdered milk for puppies, and not surprisingly, it's less than wonderful. Then finding a heater is obviously a little difficult in a country that never dips below 25°C, even though 25°C is not considered warm enough for a puppy without a mommy. The general consensus we eventually came to was that we would blend up some food for the poor things, and hope they could handle it. We made it liquid-y, but didn't have a bottle to feed them with, so getting it into their bodies was up to them.

It's now been three days. The little boy-doggie has already died (and believe me, a dead puppy is even more difficult to deal with than a flapping, headless chicken - even if I was more actively involved with the chicken-decapitation than with the puppy-starving). The little girl-doggie is still hanging in there. According to the vet, it'll be in the clear in a few weeks. Let's hope she can make it that long.

A Night Out in Bluefields

2008-04-13T14:02:00.002-04:00

So last night was the first time I went out in Bluefields and experienced what the "city" has to offer in terms of nightlife. We started at a bar on the top of a hill called La Loma. This bar is really just a giant gazebo with a thatched roof, and no walls (who needs walls when it's invariably 29°C?). We sat around and drank nicaraguan beer while a live band played some random tunes. This was particularly interesting because the place had no lights what-so-ever... just a few candles and the ambient light from the surrounding night. Watching a band in almost-complete darkness is definitely a new experience... it brings out the 'musical' aspects of the band, I guess.

Then we went off to Cuatro Hermanos (or Four Brothers, depending on which language you speak here). Cuatro Hermanos is essentially a night club, but really it's a giant bar where they turned all the lights off, and the music up past the decibel level the speakers can handle. Since the speakers were blown, and you couldn't see a thing, the place had this kind of dungeon-y allure that brought out a special kind of mood in the clientele. I have never seen more overtly sexual dancing before in my life (except for maybe the wind-and-grind dances from high school). There was one woman, probably 300 pounds, who was GETTING-DOWN with the guys she danced with... they would invariably wind up laying on the floor with this crazy woman riding them like a bull. The guys would actually pump themselves up to dance with her, and come back from the experience changed men.

I enjoyed the specific privilege of being the sole white female in the entire club of carribean-blacks, so despite being completely overwhelmed with the sexuality of the dancing surrounding me, I also had to fend off the vampire-like men that clawed at me in an effort to taste new blood. Needless to say, I spent most of the night looking for the protection of my fellow volunteer friends (and only other white people in the place) but they were all off getting jiggy with locals, doing the boy-thing I guess... A word to the wise - never go to a dance club with a group of boys if you're the only girl. It never bodes well. Anyway, being so aware of my skin color was a new feeling, and interestingly quite scary. Next time I choose to jump into a distinct position of minority, I think I'll do it in a place that isn't dark and full of sex-charged men three times my size.

The Return Home

2008-04-07T13:50:00.002-04:00

Our original plans to return to Bluefields on Sunday were shot down when our boat-driver and guide both decided that Sunday was a "day of rest" and didn't want to go out. Why this was suddenly decided after we had already made specific plans to leave on Sunday was a mystery to us, but hey, what the hell.

We spent Sunday doing absolutely NOTHING. It was an incredible feeling to be able to do absolutely nothing, and not feel guilty about it. Usually doing nothing comes at the cost of putting off doing something... but out there, at the end of the world, doing nothing really means having nothing to do.

And so I sat in the hammock. I read a bit about buddhism (something that seemed oddly fitting seeing as I was sitting in a hammock at the end of the world), and killed a chicken.

Monday morning (and my morning, I mean 3am) found us all packed, dressed, and ready to move. The sand flies were exceptionally frisky - those damn things - and decided to chomp into my feet like it was Thanksgiving. Only an hour-wait later (yes, time is not really of the essence here) a boat showed up, and we all got it.

Taking a teeny tiny boat out onto the ocean in the middle of the pitch-black night was a little creepy. I had no idea how we were going to be able to see a thing, especially considering that the moon was still non-existent. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the plankton in the water played a nice little trick, and as soon as the boat started moving, they lit up like a carnival. We literally steered our way through the waves using the flashing plankton as our guides. The 5-hour boat ride turned out to be pretty uneventful, other than the sunrise we got to watch along the way.

Arriving back in Bluefields was like coming back to civilization. I did take a minute to realize that suddenly a bucket-shower was a luxury instead of an inconvenience, and the fact that I could sit on the toilet seat and actually take my time was worth appreciating. Three days in Monkey Point had suddenly shifted my priorities so much further to the left.

Friends Forever

2008-04-06T17:24:00.001-04:00

One of the most striking differences between my life in NYC and the life I observed in Monkey Point was the human connections that exist when there's an utter lack of pretty much everything else. In Monkey Point, it gets dark around 6pm or so... and dark doesn't mean that the sun just isn't there... it's absolutely 100% pitch black dark. I was lucky enough to be in Monkey Point during the new moon, so at night I couldn't even see my own hand in front of me. People use headlamps and flashlights when they need to get around, but mostly they just sit around and chit chat in the darkness. Since there's not even a radio (let alone a TV) to provide mindless entertainment, they're forced to occupy themselves with each other.

Additionally, they've lived through everything together, and invested so much in each other's lives. Every guy that owns a house had the entire community help him build it. When we lowered and raised the turbine tower, all the men pitched in their strength. I even heard a story from one of the guys about how he'd known Pito since the civil war (think Reagan era in the US) because Pito had led him and his friend from Monkey Point all the way to Costa Rica on foot.

As a result, I noticed that the guys I hung out with were friends on a level that ran much deeper than I've seen in a long time. They seemed to have a certain respect for each other that only comes with knowing someone more intimately than he knows himself.

Punta de Aguila

2008-04-05T18:08:00.001-04:00

Today we went to Punta de Aguila, another community that we serve. This community is interesting in that it's composed almost entirely of the Rama people - an indigenous group that dates back to pre-cristopher-columbus days. Sebastian had to check up on the maintenance status of the turbine and tower there, but I was going along simply as a guinea pig to test out one of the activity suggestions for the EcoLodge business plan: an excursion to Punta de Aguila.

We took out our trusty little dug-out canoe and braved the ocean waves for about half an hour before coming upon another perfect, empty beach with a random cow chewing on some foliage. A quick hike and a few pigs and chickens later we came up to a house. On the porch was this really old dude, who probably looked a lot older than he really was, who was using his machete (everyone here has machetes, by the way) to whittle down a giant piece of wood into the shape of an axe handle.

Now, machetes around here consist of a small black handle that fits in the palm of your hand, and a blade between 2 and 2.5 feet long made out of some kind of metal that is both flexible and strong. The men carry it around them like I carry around pens or gum. So here's this really old dude, hacking away at a piece of wood (probably a 4x4 measuring 5 feet in length) with a giant knife-like thing - and using an impossible amount of precision, skill, and patience.

Next to him sits a little baby playing with chickens.

I sat and watched him for a while, but could hardly communicate with him, as he spoke a native language and only a few spanish words. And to be honest, after observing him for 45 minutes and seeing only a 1% improvement on the shape of the handle, I was getting frustrated and impatient myself. I have no idea how he managed to stay so calm.

To Kill a Clucking Bird

2008-04-05T14:00:00.005-04:00

Yes... that's right. I had to kill a chicken. The people of Monkey Point were being particularly extravagant with their meal-making while the rich, white, out-of-towners were on the Point doing what they do... so we had a chicken every night for dinner. The first night I just ate the food - that was the extent of my involvement with the dinner-making process, but by the third night on the Point, they decided it would be fun to make the white girl kill the little clucker.

AAhhhhh. Bird hearts beat at lightning speed, and when you're holding a freaked-out chicken in your arms, you can imagine it's poor little beater is pumping as hard as it pretty much can. I had to slice his neck with a knife that was SORTA sharp... it required a few back-and-forth strokes before he was officially decapitated, and then hold the headless carcass for another 4 or 5 minutes while the poor thing flapped and bled away. Oh my god. I felt like I had to do some kind of spiritual cleansing afterward. I have officially decided that I want to have nothing to do with the killing process of my food ever again.

Unfortunately the pics of me actually committing the deed aren't on the cameras I've managed to steal photos from - only the first one posted here, with me holding the bird, and being offered the murder weapon. I did manage to get some pics of the process from the other days, however. This pic, on the left, is of three people holding down the flapping, spasing chicken several minutes after it had already been decapitated. Above is of Pito using a sawing motion. God, I can still hear the bones grinding.

Pito kept telling me that I had to stop feeling sorry for the food. One day I may forget the horrifying experience of committing murder, but I can tell you one thing... I still feel sorry for the food.

The Accomodations

2008-04-05T01:15:00.001-04:00

Monkey Point doesn't have much, but what it does have is a guest house for all the random people that come through, and all the single men that don't yet have houses to live in because they haven't built them, or haven't really figured out a way to make a living yet. Nonetheless, this house is basically empty except for a giant pole in the middle from which you can hang a hammock, and a kitchen in the back where you can cook some food. Seeing as we were guests, we got first pick on where our hammocks went, and which chickens to kill for dinner and such, but pretty much all the single men hung out at the place the whole time as well.

Surprisingly enough, hammocks are actually quite comfortable to sleep in. They're cool, suspended above the ground so no lizards, rats, or scorpions can get to you, and you can still stick a mosquito net over them. The key is to get one wide enough that you don't worry about flipping out of them in the middle of the night. Additionally, the hammocks that are traditionally sold in the states - little weave numbers - are absolutely pointless here because they mold when they get wet, dig into your skin when you sleep on them, and don't protect you from the mosquitoes one bit. The best hammocks are actually made of tarp - but they tend to shrink over time. Oh, the glories of hammocks...

As for the food, although it wasn't as varied as most diets, it still managed to be quite good. Every meal we had bread of some sort - either deep fried or "baked". It basically tasted a lot like the bannock we had camping in Canada... flour, water, sugar, some baking soda, and if we were lucky, some coconut shavings to sweeten the dough. We also had some sort of meat or fish as well. The fish we got on the days when the men woke up early to go fishing and managed to bring back a bit extra. Otherwise we'd kill a chicken or something. Usually it was deep fried (they love their oil here) or put into a sort of stew-like mash. This pic is of the fried bread and fish we had one morning. The lime is pretty much a universal topping for the food because it flavors the food while killing of a few bacteria here and there.

A Scorpion

2008-04-04T22:00:00.004-04:00

My initial tour of Monkey Point ended at the school house where all the kids were getting handouts from some church-charity group that was there. They were all getting backpacks and notebooks and stuff (and interestingly, recorded versions of the bible in english and - who would have thought - Farsi... I'll talk about these bibles later). I was sitting around enjoying the sun, and watching all the absolutely adorable kiddos getting their presents and being excited. Some of the older kids were bored and wandering around outside.

Suddenly there was a big to-do, and a few of the kids ran over to Pito and I. They were holding sticks like chopsticks, with a writhing scorpion between them. From my memories of "Honey I Shrunk the Kids," I had imagined scorpions to be the size of lobsters or something... but apparently they're not. They're closer to the size of the palm of your hand.

Nonetheless, the kids and Pito were running about - apparently the sting of a scorpion is extremely painful and can even cause pancreitis - things that are no fun to deal with when the doctor comes to town only once a month. They pinned the scorpion against the floor and started hacking at the tip of it's tail until it's stinger had been neutralized. Then it was all fun and games. They all thought it would be great to have me play with the thing, so I had to take it in my hand and let it crawl around. AAAhhhhh. They were right, however, in that it was utterly harmless at this point. Unfortunately, my camera wasn't with me, so the pictures are on the cameras of the church-charity people. Maybe I'll get them, but I doubt it.

... to the end of the world

2008-04-04T21:21:00.005-04:00

Today we left for Monkey Point. We are developing a partnership with a dude that lives there, Pito, who wants to set up an eco-tourism business where he brings backpackers or other tourists from Bluefields to Monkey Point to explore the native community, get to know about the way the people there live, and maybe spend some money in the local economy. My job on this trip to Monkey Point was to gather as much information about what he has in mind for this mini-business, and to simultaneously take notes as a first-time tourist visiting the place.

Well, the first obstacle was actually getting there. Monkey Point is located south of Bluefields on the pacific coast of Nicaragua as well. The easiest way to get there is by boat, since roads don't really exist outside of the confines of Bluefields itself. Now, when I say boat, I don't mean a nice big power-ferry that churns up the water and gets you there in five seconds. I mean a little hollowed out canoe-type thingy with a motor stuck on the back. Like this one... We piled the boat high with all our stuff, and set off on a wild, wet adventure.

Navigating the ocean waves is not an easy task when they're looming twice as high as the side of the boat. For 4.5 hours, the driver at the back of the boat had to speed up, slow down, angle into or out of a wave, and simultaneously attempt to actually get us closer to our destination. We were all sitting on little wooden planks wedged into the boat, soaked to the bone because of the splashing about, and taking turns bailing out the water that threatened to sink us. At one point I noticed a bamboo plug that had been stuck into a hole in the bottom of the boat, and decided it was probably better if I didn't ask if there were others like it.

Nevertheless, we arrived at our destination in one piece. Granted, we were sore, soaking, cold, and a little miserable... but that's just the way things are out here.

The Bluefields Environment

2008-04-04T12:04:00.005-04:00

I got ahold of a camera and took some pictures of the place in Bluefields where the volunteers live and work. Here are a few...

	This is dinner time with the volunteers. From left to right around the table, it's Marie, Julie, Francois, Charles, Bruno, Stephanie, Max, Ben, and two locals that live down the street - we often have random guests over.
	This is the office where we get our computer-stuff done. This room is by far the fanciest in Bluefields - there's AC, and enough computing power to impress pretty much any nicaraguan.

Off to Monkey Point!

2008-04-04T08:13:00.002-04:00

It's 6am on Friday morning. I've been awake since 4:20 listening to the roosters going insane. The past few days I was confused as to why I kept hearing rooster calls in the middle of the day since I was under the impression that they crow at sunrise. ... and this time I was awake at sunrise. Damn those creatures are crazy. No wonder the farmers wake up to them.

Anyway, the reason I'm up so early is that I'm on my way to Monkey Point. Monkey Point is one of the communities the blueEnergy serves. My job for the next few days is to talk to one of the locals who's interested in setting up a micro eco-tourism business. blueEnergy is interested in facilitating the growth of micro-business because businesses are the most reliable customers for our energy that we can have. A business would have an invested interest in maintaining the systems we install because it will depend on it. One of the problems we've encountered is that the accountability of the local people charged with sustaining the system in our absence is less than desired. Having a micro-business rely on our system would increase the probability that it is well-maintained. Additionally, a business would be able to pay for our services - something that is essential to the economic viability of our projects.

So off I go. I won't be posting anything for a few days, but I'm sure I'll have thousands of things to write about when I return. I mean, c'mon... we're bringing hammocks to use as beds.

The First Day of Real Work

2008-04-01T22:10:00.002-04:00

Today I felt like I was back in NYC. My first day on the job was basically a day of orientation. I had a meeting with Guillaume (the big boss man here) and talked about where the organization is heading, how my skills can plug into the organization's vision, what I hope to do/learn, and blah-beh-di-blah.

I spent most of the day talking to the different volunteers already here, and figuring out what exactly it is that they do. One girl is focusing on formalizing the training of the volunteers, the local talent, and the coordinators in the communities that we serve. A guy is trying to figure out what kind of water filter is both most effective and most practical to build here (with local import restrictions, material restrictions, knowledge restrictions, cost restrictions....) and how we can make them affordable enough to sell to the local community members. Another guy's focus is the technology of the turbines. He's the tech guru, and knows everything about the turbine and the wind flow. Another guy is the electrician dude. He knows all about how to convert the energy from the turbines into something appropriate for storing, and how to store the energy in the most effective way.

It appears that I'm the only volunteer here that has any experience in the corporate world. Guillaume mentioned a few ideas he had about plugging me in on the logistics/business/processes side of the organization since I've been a part of a large multi-national organization, and could help with developing policies and processes for blueEnergy.

Who knows... we'll see. Tomorrow I have a meeting with the CEO in Cali, and we'll discuss some more.

As for the water situation... we got the fire men to come and fill our cistern today, so we have enough water for a few days now. The pump in the well went out because the water in the well dropped so low that the siphon was lost. Fixing the pump required Guillaume to be lowered into the well (a good 50 feet down) to fiddle around a bit. When we discovered there was only a few feet of water left, we pumped it all out so that Guillaume could clean out the silt from the bottom of the well (who knew you were supposed to do that once a year?) and get it ready for the rainy season (which apparently starts next month or so).

Anyway, dinner smells good again today... I'm definitely not going to mind having french cooks all over the place!

Arriving in Bluefields

2008-04-01T11:20:00.002-04:00

Woo hoooo for 3rd world airlines! I took a flight from Managua to Bluefields yesterday that was by far the scariest flight I will probably every take in my life. There were a few times when a girl in the back of the airplane screamed out loud because the nose of the airplane pointed down a little too much for comfort, and everyone's stomach got to go on a little roller coaster ride the whole entire way. I found my own knuckles to be white a few times, but hey, we made it in one piece, and this time none of my luggage was stolen in transit.

The blueEnergy house is a giant 2-story cabina with an office/den/kitchen downstairs, and a whole slew of bedrooms equipped with bunks upstairs. There's a cook and a maid that look after the house, make sure the drinking water tank is filled with filtered, treated water, wash all our clothes, and basically manage the day-to-day household activities. Most of the volunteers live upstairs. It's like one giant family since we all eat all our meals together, and live where we work. The majority of the foreigners here (9 out of 11) are French, so I get the feeling I'll be learning as much French as Spanish while I'm here. Ben and I are the only Americans, but we're managing ;-).

The most intriguing issue I've discovered so far is the distinct shortage of water here. The house has giant rain cisterns that catch rain water that then flows through the faucets throughout the house (showers, sinks, toilets...). Since we're right in the middle of dry season, it doesn't really rain much, and these cisterns have a tendency to empty (yesterday we ran out again... yay! what fun!). The 2nd source of water that we use, then, is from a well down the street. This well water, however, is not potable, so we cannot cook with it or drink it (even if we filter and treat it). Essentially this water is good enough for showering... but that word is used loosely, since really what you do id dump bucketfulls of water on your head once in a while and hope that you get clean somehow. Well, anyway... the wells also have a tendency to run out, and guess what?! yeah, that too is empty today. The ultimate source of water that we have access to, in desperate times, is from the fire department. They come and fill our cisterns with water from their hoses. But we have to pay a hefty price for that, so we have to be careful. Fun fun.

Today I start my work for blueEnergy. I don't really know what I'll be doing, but for the next few days I have to get a sense of the organization, where it is now in working towards it's various objectives, and where I can pitch in. So far I've heard about a water-filtration project one of the engineers is working on, a microfinance/community effort being made to get families equipped with batteries to power their homes, and the turbines being constructed in the workshop down the road. Unfortunately I can't take pics of any of this since my camera no longer exists, but I will figure out a way to post something when I can.

Day 1 in Nicaragua

2008-03-30T01:05:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I finally left Buenos Aires (whaaaaa) for Nicaragua. I was wildly disappointed to discover that my elite status on Continental had been taken away since I was no longer as faithful a customer as I had been before (poopy) so I had to fly economy class with all the other plebians. The strangest part of the whole trip, however, was the random stopover in Houston, TX, where suddenly I could eavesdrop on random conversations of people all over the place. I didn't think it would be strange to hear English being spoken in all the reaches of my earshot, but it was. Thankfully it was only for a few hours... my flight to Managua was back to being spanish-focused, and once I arrived in the airport I was back to my new idea of the norm.

Managua is different than Bs As in about as many ways as possible. The airport didn't even have internet (we'll come back to that later), and the percentage of people that speak functional english is somewhere around 2 or 3... not that thas was a huge problem. I arrived at the airport without actually knowing what I was going to do when I got there... I didn't have an address to go to, I didn't have someone there to meet me, I didn't know a phone number of anyone in the organization... and the fact that internet was non-existent made all these suddenly a huge problem seeing as I had no way of finding anything out without access to my email. Oh fun.

After a few false starts with the pay phones and random people's cell phones, I managed to find a phone that cost $1 a minute to use, and I called the only phone number I have memorized... my parents. Via a few phone calls to the States and harried instructions on how to log into my email account, I got a few phone numbers to try. Eventually I got in touch with the admin here at blueEnergy and she freaked out and sent me a special driver that's been hired by blueEnergy to drive people around. Aparently the taxis here are so unsafe, no one takes them.... I wondered how there were so many cabs on the road then, but no one could answer that.

I was brought to a house that is owned by blueEnergy in Managua. No one else was around besides this old dude who's been hired to look after the house. He was extremely social, and talked a mile-a-minute in spanish that I could barely understand (the accent here is extremely different than in Argentina) but I got enough to know that he was hitting on me (gross... seriously dude, you're over 60) and couldn't believe that I was in my mid-20s and still not married (apparently 20something women are already mothers here).

I realized how much had changed in my environment, however, when I took a shower to freshen up. First, there was only one knob to turn on the water... signifying there's only one water temperature.... cold. Oh yum. Then, there wasn't a shower head, just a spout that peed water much like a dog... water pressure? what's that? and wait... you want a steady stream of water? hahahaha! Unfortunately, my camera is no longer in my possession.... I think the security checkpoint guys at the airport thought they'd enjoy it's uses more than I would.... so I couldn't take a picture of the apparatus.

I eventually won my battle with the soap and water, and emerged from the "shower" as "refreshed" as I could be. Another 2 hour conversation with old-dude knocked me out completely, and I slept like a dead person with the fan blowing over me all night.

A Navy Excursion up the Rio de la Plata

2008-03-28T22:56:00.002-04:00

Yesterday turned out to be way more interesting than I imagined it would be. Matías was supposed to leave with his boat for Rosario quite early in the morning, but at the last minute, plans changed, and he wasn't to leave until after noon. Since he had to be on the boat anyway because of guard duty, he invited me out to the ship to hang out for an hour or two and say goodbye. Well, the wheels of the Argentine Navy needed more greasing than expected, and the boat wasn't ready to go for several more hours, so I got the chance to hang out, chill, eat lunch, and meet all the officers of the ship (up until then, I only knew Matías and the 2nd in Command). Suddenly I saw the boat with all it's crew members up and about. The place was bustling with activity. People were everywhere. The commandante was issuing orders, people were running around with walkie talkies, and suddenly all the pomp and circumstance of the Navy became apparent. People were saluting each other left and right, and I saw how much respect the commandante and the 2nd in Command get. It was incredible.

Then the 2nd in Command offered to let me ride as a passenger on the boat up to their first stop - in the city of Zarate - in order to see how it all worked, hang out with Matías some more, and just kinda chill. Well I wasn't about to turn up that opportunity, so after some fussing, a bit of paperwork, and the final delivery of fuel, we all set off. I got to watch the sun set over Buenos Aires while riding off up the river in a boat filled with men in uniform. Did I mention that living in Buenos Aires has been like a dream? It was really cool to see the guys fretting over the navigation charts with all these fancy tools I didn't understand, and sending messages over the radio. I got to hang out in the boat's version of the cock pit and ask whatever questions my spanish permitted me to ask.

The trip was about 6 hours. We traveled up the river past the final reaches of Buenos Aires (the city went on FOREVER), and past several little industrial towns with nothing but countryside in between them. Towards the end of the trip we came upon a giant bridge (that Matías compared to the Brooklyn Bridge) full of lights and super huge. We traveled under it at top speed, and as we were coming out the other side, I ran to the back of the boat to check out the view. The moon was hanging low over the river, as it was just rising, and it was perfectly framed by the lights of the bridge and the stern of the ship. It was definitely cool.

Matías was granted permission to accompany me back to BsAs on the bus and hang out with me for my last two days, so suddenly my last few hours here aren't as bad as I expected. I spent most of the day today buying gear for Nicaragua. I now have very fancy schmancy light-weight light-colored long pants and shirts that will supposedly protect me from mosquitos and the sun without causing me to overheat. Hopefully they operate as advertised.

The next time I post will probably be from Managua... por eso, hasta luego!

Winding Down

2008-03-25T09:12:00.002-04:00

So it's Tuesday of my last week in Buenos Aires. Suddenly I find myself tying up all my loose ends here, and preparing myself for an adventure of a lifetime in Nicaragua. I can't believe how scared I am. I think I felt a lot more ready for this whole thing before, when it wasn't so completely about to happen. On top of that, I'm sad to be leaving Argentina. Although I knew I was going to like the city, I didn't think I was going to fall in love with it the way I have. Buenos Aires is not perfect, but it's character is so particular - the scars of the economic crises that mar it's beauty, the lost pride of the people that live here, the sad nostalgia of the tango dance, the simple beauty and tranquility of the corner cafe - it's all here, and I'm about to leave it.

Thankfully my parents are here to distract me from the inevitable, and keep me focused on seeing the last pieces of the city I still haven't seen. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself on Thursday when Matías and my parents will all leave, and I'll find myself all alone once again. Hopefully my last three days here will be different than the first three - the ones rife with fright and the incapacity to communicate. We'll see.

La Boca

2008-03-22T14:16:00.001-04:00

La Boca is a neighborhood of Buenos Aires that was the original port way back in the colonial days of the city. It's on the south side of the city, and although a lot of cantinas for the sailors are still there and thriving, the neighborhood has now become the home of artists and the bohemian lifestyle. Many of the Argentine artists get their inspiration from the gritty buildings painted bright colors in the style of the original italian immigrants that shaped the area.

I first checked out this neighborhood with Matías and the girls when they were down here. It's a bit touristy on the main strip with bad tango dancers doing their little performances, and knock-off artists selling their wares. But when we stepped just a block off the beaten path, La Boca suddenly felt like a real immigrant/artist neighborhood. The paint hadn't been redone on many of the buildings, but we could tell what it used to be. There were balconies on both sides of the street that lined the houses, all covered in plants and laundry lines.

Friday, Mommy and Daddy went to see it, and seeing as I had nothing better to do, I went along as well. Mommy and Daddy have been surprisingly intrigued by the art scene here - I guess the fact that their hotel is right next door to a gallery, and that the first day I sent them on a walk through the rich part of town where all these fancy expensive paintings are up for sale helped to inspire it. Nevertheless, they have taken a particular interest in a native Argentine named Politi who has art up for sale in over a bazillion galleries here in the city. My parents were especially lucky to meet the man himself in one of the galleries they visited, and so here we were in La Boca, with a business card and address of the artist himself... a real La Boca artist.

Without really knowing what to expect, we wandered around the neighborhood until we came upon his door. A brazilian maid saw us loitering and asked us if we were interested in the artist that lived there. With the extensive language barriers between us, we tried to communicate that we were, but didn't want to bother him on (did I mention this?) Good Friday. Well, part one of the message was received, but not part two. 2 minutes later we found ourselves in the artist's studio surrounded by hundreds (and I mean hundreds) of his paintings, talking to the man about what inspires him (yeah, right... at least we tried), and negotiating prices (again... yeah right.... it doesn't matter how many zeros you take off from that number, we still can't afford it). Nevertheless, the whole experience was totally cool. Now I can say I've been in the studio of a famous artist who's art is way out of the price range I'll ever be able to afford, in a neighborhood famous for it's artists.

Opera Pampa

2008-03-22T10:58:00.006-04:00

Mommy, Daddy, and I all went to Opera Pampa last night - a show about the history of Argentina that includes traditional dances and music from the aboriginese people all the way up through to the modern Gaucho culture of the countryside and some of the traditional stuff from the city as well. It was way touristy, but quite fun anyway. We were nicely entertained.

Part of the show is an equestrian spectacle, so there are horses galloping around and people doing all these crazy tricks. Unfortunately, unlike at Notorious, I had absolutely no idea how hard some of the tricks were to do because I have never ridden a horse (other than the 10 minute little stint at the zoo in Luján where I had no idea what I was doing) and cannot appreciate the intricacies of the art. Nevertheless, Mommy assured me that the tricks they were doing were super hard. The one most impressive to me was when the riders would get off the saddle and ride over the side of the horse, hidden from the audience by the horse itself. At the last second they'd pop up out of nowhere and be on top of the horse again. This was apparently one of the tactics the native americans used when fighting the colonists because it gave them the chance to blend into a herd of wild horses and get very close to the colonists without being noticed.

Notorious

2008-03-16T21:54:00.003-04:00

Whut whut, Notorious!

Friday night was another random gem of a night. My professor told me about Notorious several weeks ago, and one of Matías's friends, Juan-chi had also mentioned the place, so we were aware of the reputation of the place, and were casually looking for an opportunity to go. Friday night presented itself with hardly any options, so we looked up Notorious, and set up a reservation for the night.

Notorious functions as a cafe, a music store, and a little live stage all in one. The tables are equipped with touch screen computers that have all the music available in the store uploaded onto them. Cafe patrons can listen to whatever they like with one of the several headphones available at each station (a nice touch, for social listening). In the back of the store is a little cafe/theater where they serve coffees, liquors, and desserts while a live show is being performed.

Matías, Juan-chi and I had no idea what we were going into, other than the fact that the show had something to do with Jazz. It turned out that it was a female duo - voice and piano - doing American Jazz numbers of which I probably knew about half. Talk about amazing luck! I mentioned to the boys that this particular kind of show was especially interesting to me because I was able to appreciate both the singing and the piano because I actually know something about both.

The singing was good - the woman was from Chicago... a homegrown american... It was absolutely enchanting listening to her horrible spanish in between numbers and being able to catch mistakes here and there... but she was understandable, so that's all that matters. However, the incredible part of the show was the unbelievable pianist. During the first number, when she broke out her improv skills and started just going at it on the piano, I actually, quite literally, had to pick my jaw up off the floor once I realized I had been staring open mouthed and drooling at her hands. The girl couldn't have been more than 25 years old, was absolutely adorable, and could play jazz piano like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. There were times when, while playing her little super-speed improv sections, when she'd just close her eyes and play and play. UGH I was so JEALOUS! Juan-chi, after a few songs, leaned over and told me he'd fallen in love. I didn't blame him.... I practically had too.

The Most Authentic Parrilla Yet!

2008-03-11T09:19:00.001-04:00

So Marissa and Dana's presence here in BsAs inspired Matías and Juan-Chi to look for especially authentic things to do. Since the girls had expressed and interest in eating some real argentine-style meat, they promptly set up a household barbeque and invited us all along.

Juan-Fri (yes, all the Juan's here are differentiated by some kind of suffix) was studying for a giant medical exam (he's a med student) and needed a little study break, so Juan-Chi and friends decided to host a parrilla at his place.

Marissa and Dana were especially happy, and the parrilla was a huge success. Check out some of the pictures...

	The parrilla with the meat. Dana, Marissa, Juan-Fri, and Juan-Chi.
	Juan-Chi and Matías taking a break from managing the grill to chill out and try to look cool.
	Juan-Fri and Martin just chillin.
	Matías with the final presentation.

A Football Game!

2008-03-05T11:45:00.003-05:00

Dana and Marissa arrived in BsAs on Friday night with a three-page list of things they wanted to do and see while here. It's been a blast, running around the city doing all the touristy things I haven't actually done yet. I feel like a totally different kind of Tourist suddenly.

Sunday was a Day o' Football. The three of us met at their hostel and went with a giant group of tourists to a football stadium to watch a game between different teams in Argentina. It was SUPER fun. Granted, I don't know much about soccer, but I know enough to enjoy the game. There were even some players that I saw on the field and could TELL that they were absolutely incredible players. Some of the guys that were in the tour group with us were Australians and Brits, who obviously watch a WHOLE lot more soccer than I do, and even they were impressed with the level of play from the teams.

What was probably even more fun, however, were the fans. These people were crazy. They put a whole new spin on the definition of dedication, and I am no longer afraid of Red Sox or Yankee fans anymore. The ENTIRE stadium of people went crazy throughout the game - it reminded me very much of the insanity of Cornell Ice Hockey games, but with 1000 times the number of fans.

During half time, the rain started to fall, but that didn't stop anyone. Most of the men in the stands just took their shirts off and continued to chant and scream and sing and do whatever it is that fans do, while wringing out their shirts on the other team's fans. By the time the entire stadium was beyond the level of soaked, the players were splashing through knee deep water on the field, and the ball would no longer move, I was convinced that only here in Argentina will Football have such a sacred place in the hearts of the people.

Unfortunately, due to the weather, the game was suspended, and no one actually got to take home a win. Our team was up a whole bunch though, so we left happy. Marissa, Dana, and I sat in a puddle of rainwater all the way home, taking pictures of the flooding throughout the city.

La Catedral - New Argentina

2008-02-29T05:44:00.003-05:00

Last night Barbara invited me along to La Catedral - the "New Argentina" interpretation of a tango hall. Matías warned me that the place was feo (gross), but I wanted to check it out anyway. The reviews I read said that it was an abandoned factory that had been turned into a space for tango dancing and "art".

Arriving at the door, the first thought I had was that I was in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The place looked like a warehouse from the outside, and the inside was no better. "Abandoned factory" to me means an old building with a lot of space... but this, well this really was an abandoned factory. There were still a lot of the installations in place from the factory days, and absolutely nothing had been done to make the place "habitable" other than throwing some tables and REALLY old couches into it. The walls were half painted, and the light fixtures were either broken or flickering.

Barbara was totally in her element. She loved the space, and kept talking about how it had such a good vibe for just chilling. Matías and I, on the other hand, felt like the people in charge were just really lazy, with low standards of living, who didn't bother to clean up the place. At one point, we had two guitarist/singers come out and do a few numbers, and although Barbara and her friends seemed to enjoy it, all I could do was notice when they were wildly out of tune, or singing with terrible technique. Matías kept going off on the "New Argentina" and how it has no standards and how they expect so little from their artists, so little in terms of manners and respect from the people around then, and so little from the city they live in. In a lot of ways he's right - how can a city improve if the people in it don't expect it to?

The real kicker to the whole experience, however, was when a cat crossed the dance floor with a mouse in his mouth, and no one even turned to notice. Later, while the cat was feeding on it's prey, one of the waiters went over to pet the animal. Can I say "eew" any louder?

Nonetheless, the experience was worthwhile. I got to practice tango for a few songs (Matías said I've improved since Mendoza, but I dunno if he's just being polite... he's big on being polite) and see another side of the city.

Gay Men in Bs As

2008-02-29T04:52:00.003-05:00

I've been told that BsAs is a great place for the gay community, and that it's basically the San Francisco for Latin America. I don't anything about whether or not that's true, and would have no idea how to measure it anyway, but Wednesday night I got a little taste of the gay community here, and I must say, it was fabulous.

The night started with Barbara (a dutch student from the same home stay I used to live at) and I having plans to grab dinner some where and meet Pablo out dancing at this club called Museum. Now, I'd heard mixed reviews about Museum, and didn't really know if I was gonna like it or not. Obviously, I should know that no matter what, I'm not really a night club person, but every so often I need to remind myself of that fact. Nevertheless, Barbara and I went for dinner on the Navy boat with Matías and one of his friends, Sebastian. We chilled, ate papas fritas and carne milanese, and basically waited for Pablo to contact us.

Apparently I'm not cool, however, because Pablo never called. Obviously Barbara and I were gonna go out anyway, but suddenly we were free to pick whatever location we wanted. Sebastian suggested we check out this club that was in the microcentro of the city, and relatively close to my hotel and Sebastian's place. We figured, why not?

Since Matías had to work, it was just the three of us. We get to the club around 12:30, which is super early by BsAs standards, so when we arrive, there are probably 15 or 20 people in the space, sitting around and pretty much waiting around. Most of the people were guys, but we thought nothing of it since the people that arrive at clubs early usually are men on the prowl. An hour later, however, the place was full... and still there were no women. Sebastian even said to me, "I wonder what happened to all the women!" Of course, at this point Barbara and I had figured out that this was a gay club. Schweeeeet. There were videos of Madonna in concert being broadcast on the walls of the club, and music like Michael Jackson to a techno beat blasting in our ears.

And so, for the first time in BsAs, Barbara and I enjoyed the feeling of NOT being an object of voyeurism. No one whistled words like linda and hermosa in our ears. No one attempted to kiss us before asking our names. No one even bothered to look over at us. And so we danced it up and partied on. Sebastian was a little out of his element, but I don't blame him. Suddenly Madonna has a whole new side.

Azúcar

2008-02-24T16:30:00.003-05:00

Before leaving my home stay in San Cristóbal, a girl from Holland moved in. Barbara had been to BsAs in December, left for a few months to travel around, and decided to come back because she loved the city so much. Luckily we overlapped just enough for me to find out she's a dancer as well. Schweeeet. And we're talking SALSA dancer, here.

So, finally, I had a buddy to come with me to Azúcar... the local go-to place for Salseros. It turned out to be absolutely awesome. The locale was small enough to be intimate, but not populated to the point of it being gross. Everyone was a spectacular dancer, and people intermingled a LOT more than they do in places like Copacabana in NYC. It was impossible to walk across the room without being grabbed by someone and pulled onto the dance floor.

Being from the United States, people were all excited to practice their English on me. I got a few lines that were especially interesting... "I want to make love with you" and "When I touch you?" I corrected them on their grammar and then pointed out that sentences like that are not usually muttered to people within the first 5 minutes of meeting them. But nevertheless... everyone was nice, and in the end, they were all gentlemen. Most of them didn't care whether I said I had a novio (boyfriend) or not.... oh boy, the latin culture is something else. But they did understand if I said "no me podes besar... solo bailar"

Living in a Hotel

2008-02-24T16:23:00.004-05:00

I never understood people that chose to live in Hotels until I became one of them. After living on Avenida Independencia for 5 weeks in Bs As, I wanted to try something else. I spent much of last week looking at random apartments and trying to get a feel for the different neighborhoods - their prices, the kinds of apartments they offer, and whether or not it would be worth it for me to move into an apartment for only 5 weeks.

Well, there were a bunch of options, but they all reminded me of very sad apartments in NYC - too small, with every millimeter of space being used for something - and old as hell. Creaky to the point that you wonder if the mice have eaten away the support beams. So I was pretty disheartened when Matías suggested we look into his discount at the local Hotel for people in the Navy (no matter what country they're from).

Suddenly, I have a fancy schmancy room in a hotel for the price of a hostel in the city here.... I have to pay about $350 for 5 weeks. That ROCKS. I was paying $100/week in my homestay, so I'm saving money, AND I get this am-MAZ-ing breakfast every day. My life is awesome. I'm living like a princess. whoo hoooo.

Another Lucky Stumble

2008-02-21T06:14:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, after finishing class and discovering that the apartment I was going to look at was no longer available, I found myself with some extra time and nothing to do. I decided to call up my trusty friend Matías once again... he always knows something that's going on in the city.

Well, it turns out, he had no idea what to do either. We went to a mall simply because there was AC there, and we needed to escape the heat. The food courts at the malls here aren't really food courts, they're more like really posh cafés with table service.... so we chilled there for a while waiting for the sun to stop being so strong. I looked at random leather goods (there are zillions of stores here that sell leather) and walked by a make-up store that was giving away free makeovers (schweeet). Basically we killed time.

When the day was finally cool enough to endure, we set about wandering around again, looking for something to do. When we walked by a little restaurant, suddenly Matías was inspired. Clasica y Moderna is an institution in BsAs. It's been around for a zillion years... originally built underground the building feels like it's a courtyard in Venice. The floor is all cobblestone and the walls that aren't covered in books are exposed brick. The ceiling is quite high, with a mezanine balcony around the perimeter that serves as a library. In the back of the restaurant there's a little bookstore that sells books on philosophy and politics, or those considered "high" literature. There was a lot of Borges and Marquéz and the likes.

Luckily the place still had tables available (it usually functions on a reservation basis) so we sat down to what was an absolutely delectable meal. The best part, however, was the show that went with it... In the middle of the restaurant was an old piano taken from the collection of the Argentine version of Frank Sinatra. We knew there was going to be some kind of music thing, but we had no idea what we were in for. It turned out to be a singer who came out onto the floor. She did a little bit of acting, a lot of talking, and a whole bunch of singing. It was great because she talked about the 1960s and 1970s when Argentina was in it's heyday, and the movements here in BsAs, the student uprisings in France, and the civil rights movement in the United States. She compared the politics of the different countries during that time period. Throughout it all, she would sing songs that were either from the era or particularly fitting to the theme. Since she'd lived in France during the demonstrations there, she did a lot of songs in French - several made famous by Edith Piaf - and talked about her own experiences at the time. She threw in a little snippet of MLK's "I Have a Dream" speech (which was interesting to hear in Spanish) and sang "We Shall Overcome" as well (again, the spanish interpretation of this song was to die for). The show was unbelievable. Once again, Matías came through. Mommy and Daddy.... when you guys come here, this is going to be an absolute Must See.

Tango Lessons

2008-02-20T15:27:00.000-05:00

Last week being my first week back in BsAs, I finally got in touch with Ariel, a friend of Danny's from when he was here. Ariel is a Spanish teacher by day and teaches Tango on the side, in his spare time. Since Matías suggested I take lessons (he said I have the "gift"... but what does that really mean, right?) and I was kinda planning on taking them anyway, I met up with Ariel with the plans of setting up private lessons with him.

Monday last week I met up with Ariel just to chat over coffee. Phew, was that intense. Every time I meet someone new, it always takes a few minutes to get used to a new accent and cadence and voice, and figure out a way to converse. 2 hours of talking later - I finally had to beg him to let me go home. I was exhausted, but kinda proud of my accomplishment. We'd talked about philosophy, racism, politics.... ok so maybe I didn't sound like a debate speaker, but I managed....

Anyway, we set up tanding tango classes for Tuesday and Thursday, so at this point I´ve now had three lessons, and I´ve got another one tomorrow. I LOVE them!! Ariel is a very very good dancer, and he has a decent understanding of all the different schools of thought regarding the dance. He likes to teach one, but points out the differences in the others so that if I get a leader that is from a different school, I´ll know how to respond to him. He´s even given me technical exercises to do.... right up my alley of how I learn.

Tango is way different than the dances I know from Ballroom, and yet all the problems I´m having are the same ones I had while I was on the team at school. I guess dancing is dancing... and you can´t really get that far from the basics, no matter what dance you choose. We´ll probably go to a Milonga soon to try out my new steps (although I´d say I haven´t learned a single step really - just techniques for how to follow, and certain flares for my footwork). I´ll let you know how that goes.

Tilke... once again, you and Yann should quit trying to learn tango in the States, and just come here for a month or two, take a zillion classes for 1/10th the price (did I mention I´m paying about $13 for 1.5 hours?) and dance with a zillion incredible dancers.

El Tigre

2008-02-20T09:03:00.002-05:00

El Tigre is a part of Buenos Aires that takes about an hour to get to on the train. It's at the edge of the city, and has an entirely different feel from the microcenter. On Saturday we went to walk around there a little, and I felt like I was in Cambridge walking along the river Cam. Instead of little punting boats they have something that's a cross between a skull and a canoe. There are zillions on the river. Every country that ever sent emigrants to BsAs has a boat house club in a giant gorgeous house that's designed in the traditional architecture of that country. These houses have bazillions of these little boats, and they're all ridiculously gorgeous because they're made of old wood and they're all shiny and cool. The seats on them are designed like the seats in a skull boat, where you can row and your chair moves back and forth, but only 3 people fit in a boat - like a canoe.

We walked around looking at the river traffic - there are also bazillions of tour boats packed with North Americans with cameras and ridiculous visors, and coast guard boats running around saving people that have collided - and enjoying the sun. We also had what was probably my best Helado in BsAs to date... Marissa and Dana, when you guys get here, we're totally going back for more.

Walking in Buenos Aires

2008-02-19T13:08:00.002-05:00

This week has been especially interesting simply because of the ungodly amount of walking I´ve done. I dunno what inspired it, but whenever Matias and I hang out, we don´t really have a purpose in mind, and we end up walking and walking and walking all over the city, just wandering around like lost puppies. It´s been fun because I´ve gotten a new found appreciation for the city now that I´ve seen it at a slower pace. Before, it was always taxi rides of subway trips that would spit me out in a new part of town, but now I´ve seen the city change from neighborhood to neighborhood.

Things that I took particular notice of:
- There is an ungodly amount of really really big buildings that used to be mansions like the ones in Pride and Prejudice, except now they´re all closed down or converted into hotels. I wanna live in one of those houses!
- There´s a part of town called ´Palermo Viejo` where all the rich people live that´s super quiet and very quaint. The cars there are fancy but old, like Mercedes from the 80s or preserved classics. They were really cool to look at.
- Ice cream here really varies from heladeria to heladeria... it´s a science to find the best ones in town
- The Argentine people are obsessed with Plazas. You can´t walk more than 10 blocks in any direction before happening upon one or two or ten.
- There´s a slaughter house right in the middle of the city where all the cows from the coutry come to be killed.
- Tango dancing here is WAY more serious than in Mendoza. Matias and I went to a little outdoor Plazita and I didn´t dare dance. God, the people here are good. Matias pointed out, however, that the only other place in the world where people dance as well as they do here is in New York.... who knew, right?
- If you really want to see what desperate poverty is, walk through the microcenter of BsAs in the middle of the night. At 2am, all the hungry people of the city come out onto the streets and strew garbage everywhere in search of a meal. I saw families of 20 people - half of them kids lost to the system - sitting in the middle of the road, blocking traffic, while they chowed down on someone else´s discarded leftovers. I felt terribly guilty for walking by them in clean clothes and gold jewelry, but Matias kept assuring me that it was their choice to be there. I don´t know enough about the economic situation of Argentina or the governmental policies for the disenfranchised to actually have my own solid opinion on the matter, but it was a sight I probably won´t forget for a long time.

Class in Mendoza

2008-02-09T16:05:00.001-05:00

My school, COINED, has several different locations. One of the main reasons that the trip to Mendoza was possible is that COINED has a branch there. I continued with all my classes and got the same classroom experience, but got to enjoy another city. This school, however, is a LOT smaller than the one in Bs As, so we had the advantage of being able to move much faster through the material, and the students were a lot more tight-knit and connected. We all went out together every time we went out. Unlike in Bs As where the languages you can speak greatly affect the friends you make, in Mendoza everyone was friends with everyone else.

The best part about the school, however, was the back yard. The building had a gorgeous courtyard we would take classes in sometimes. This picture is of my class the first week in Mendoza. The second week I just took private lessons so I'd have more freedom to explore the city.

Cafe Soul Once Again

2008-02-09T16:02:00.000-05:00

Wednesday night found the entire school back at Cafe Soul for another go at the group tango lesson and a real Milonga experience. This time I was prepared! This was the first time I really danced with anyone besides Matias, though, so I learned a whole lot of new things. Every leader had something else to tell me, but they were infinitely nicer than the dude I came across in the Milonga in Bs As. They were actually helpful, encouraging, and all very positive. Tango rocks!

More Tango Dancing

2008-02-09T15:59:00.000-05:00

Monday night was another perfect night of Tango dancing. Matias met me at school and mentioned that he'd discovered a little place that has Tango on Monday nights, and asked me to come along. Who was I to refuse, right?

The joint was an old house (around 150 years old) that had been converted into a little restaurant. The inner courtyard had been tiled with special tango-dancing tiles, and so people sat in the restaurant that surrounded a little open-air tango floor. It was super super cute. We drank a bottle of Argentine Tempranillo - a wine that isn't as common as the Malbec's and Cabernet Sauvignons, but definitely just as worthy of praise. But then again... I'm partial to Tempranillo's anyway.

The combination of the wine and the heat from the day made dancing a little harder than on Friday night, but it was no matter because half way through the night we were pleasantly surprised with a live band that doubled as a circus show. Of course, the band played tango music, but there were members of the troupe that did cirque du soleil style tricks for a good hour. I didn't understand all the acting that happened simultaneously, as it was all in spanish, but I got enough to be entirely entertained.

Tuesday night we went back to the same place. We weren't lucky enough to have another impromtu tango/circus performance, but we did get some torrential rain. If you remember, this is a restaurant with an open-air courtyard. Yes, open-air. After finding ourselves thoroughly drenched within 15 seconds, the crowd moved inside, pushed the tables to the corners, and cleared the restaurant floor for more dancing. Nothing in this country can stop the tangueros from dancing.

I liked this place especially because it was entirely full of locals, and seeing as it was a Monday and Tuesday night that we were there (Monday and Tuesday nights in Argentina are the "days of rest" for the nightlife, so anyone that goes out on one of those nights is serious about whatever he or she is doing), the dancers were especially good. I couldn't decide which couple to stare at since they were all incredible. The people here really take Tango seriously. I think it's great. It's an art that is so special to Argentina.

Caballos en la Noche

2008-02-09T15:49:00.000-05:00

During our mountain climbing, Tamara did a little research on her other favorite thing in the world besides water: horses. When we stepped off the boat, Tamara came running over to us saying "let's go, let's go! I found a great price for a mountain tour on some horses!" Who was I to say no? At this point it was nearly dark, but the horse tours run night and day. Horses, like cows, are unbelievably prevalent in Argentina. Since their introduction to South America by the Spaniards, horses have run rampant throughout the countryside - mostly wild. The Native Americans, just like those in the States, adopted the animals and became exceptionally skilled with them. Of course, the horses we rode weren't wild, but it wasn't uncommon to see wild horses running through the mountains and across the roads.

Anyway, we get to the horses, and have some time to play around with them. Seeing as I have hardly any experience with horses (the only other time I've ever been on one was in Lujan - the zoo outside of Bs As) I'm still quite surprised by a lot of things. For example, I was really surprised to discover how tough and rope-like their hair is. It's not soft at all. However... in this particular collection of horses were a few baby horses. My favorite was a black-as-night little thing that was no taller than my shoulders. The baby horses had the softest fur ever, and we really curious. My favorite one keep sniffing me and using his lips to taste my fingers. At one point, I wasn't paying attention, and it bit me. I was left with something that looked curiously like a hickey on my arm, which still hasn't gone away.

After some time (remember, it's Argentina... everything takes time) we finally got on our horses and went off into the wilderness. At this point it was pitch black out except for a sky so full of stars it was practically white. I had always considered astrology to be a particularly boring field of study, especially since the constellations seemed to be so arbitrarily defined and totally pointless since half the time the stars weren't visible. This night, however, changed my mind. The milky way actually appeared as a white swath across the sky, and constellations like Orion suddenly made sense to me because the important stars are so wildly crystal clear, you HAVE to name them. Another interesting little factoid I noticed is that the constellations on this side of the equator are upside-down. I think I lucked out, however, because there was no moon that night - making the stars even more striking.

And so the horses walked through the mountains. We had to learn some techniques for balancing our weight as we went uphill or down, and I had to put an ungodly amount of trust in the animal since I couldn't see a thing that was happening on the ground. The horses were fine though. We traveled in a little line just like the Native Americans do in the movies, and the guides in the front and back of the lineup help up little oil lanterns. It's like I was transformed back to the 1800's. Definitely super cool.

Hiking en la Montañe

2008-02-09T15:35:00.000-05:00

Around 6pm we were able to venture out of the house again. The entire country of Argentina is all on the same time, despite the fact that the country is well beyond the standard width of two time zones. On top of that, the entire country is an hour ahead of what it should be anyway because the government figured that with the energy crisis going on here, it would make more sense for the country to be on their own version of "daylight savings". As a result, the western cities of Argentina (Mendoza and San Rafael included) have sunlight until sometime around 10:30 or 11. The also means that when we went out at 6pm, the day was really like it would be at 4pm anywhere else in the world.

Anyway... Marc and I decided we wanted to go on a hike. Tamara, Cecilia and Eduardo wussed out, so it ended up being just the two of us. We talked to one of the guys that worked at the club and asked if knew the mountains at all, and if he's like to take us on a walk. One of the guys, Marcello, decided to do us the honors.

We took a boat across the lake to a little inlet and jumped out at the bottom of a random mountain. When I say random, I mean random. In all my experiences with hikes in the mountain, there was usually some sort of marked trail or path or something to follow in order to not get lost. This was nothing like that. A trail? What's that? It was seriously completely untouched earth. We had to hack our way through the brush and over the rocks. At points we would climb huge boulders, and at other times we had to crawl under the thick bushes on our hands and knees. Daddy, you would have been so proud. Your little dotta was so tough. Marc kept saying he was so glad Tamara didn't come because he was sure she would have thrown a hissy fit.

Anyway... there's more to what made this hike a particularly Argentine experience. About 15 minutes into our hike, Marcello sat down on a big rock, took out a blunt, and lit up. Now Marcello didn't speak a word of English but the language barrier wasn't an issue. After taking a few hits, he extends the joint out to us and says "Bob Marley?" I cracked up. Where in the States would an employee of a club that's acting as a tour guide decide to get high in front of his clients?

Nevertheless... our journey continued. 15 minutes later we came across a herd... yes a HERD of mountain goats. They were amazing. The were bleating away, and there were little kiddos and mommies and daddies. They were grazing away on the side of the mountain, totally chilling. I took a video of them (currently available on facebook), and will try to figure out a way to post it on a public site so you can all see them.

Another 20 minutes later, we came across a crazy-as-can-be llama. It was insane. It keep screaming at something... maybe it was us, but I couldn't tell... in a way I had never heard anything scream before. It sounded almost hyena-like. I dunno... it was weird.

We hiked for a bit longer and came onto a clearing where the mountain leveled out for a while, and there were actual trees growing. Oh yes - the mountains here are almost entirely made of rock. The climate here is so dry and hot that the northeastern mountains covered in trees and pine needles and such simply don't exist. The earth is much more raw. At times, it's as if the tectonic plates created the mountains 20 years ago, because only a few bushes as high as my waist have managed to take root.

Anyway... this clearing was awesome, so we hung out in it for a while. At this point there was also the one and only sign of human life that I saw the entire hike - a fire pit with a parrilla and spit... what else, right?... this is Argentina, the land of the asado.

After a little break, we continued on a little further. We kept climbing up and up, but there was always another mountain blocking access to a great view. Then suddenly the earth just dropped out from under us, and we were standing on a mountain that looked out over hundreds of miles of untouched earth that was thousands of feet below us. I was absolutely speechless. The view was due west, and since the sun was in the process of setting, you can imagine what it looked like. I decided that if someone ever decides to propose to me, he has to do it there... on that cliff, over looking the raw earth, at sunset. Unfortunately the photos I took just don't do the view any justice.

Marc and I sat in complete silence for about half an hour, just looking out over the world, watching the sun set behind the farthest peak.

Day o' Excursions: El Lago

2008-02-09T15:32:00.000-05:00

Sunday rocked. The day was broken into three different experiences, and I've decided to make each one it's own entry because they were all absolutely awesome, and deserve the space.

Tamara, Marc, Cecilia (from Brazil), Eduardo (also from Brazil) and I started our Sunday with a nice, huge breakfast. Yummm... it was so good to have a change from the daily boring-ass bread that they serve for breakfast here in Argentina. Phew. We had eggs, and juice, and toast, and yogurt. yum yum yum yum yum.

Then we hiked down to the club house of the cabinas and rented a pedal boat and a canoe and went out on the lake. The water was unbelievable. It was perfectly placid, and as green as can be. We paddled out to a little mini peninsula and set up camp. We laid out in the morning sun, splashed around a little, and giggled like idiots. Tamara was SO happy. Tilke, she reminded me of you because all she could do was keep giggling and screaming "Me gusta la agua!!" It was quite pristine though... definitely worth a visit, if any of you readers end up in Argentina any time soon.

The sun in San Rafael is extremely strong, however. Seeing as it's high summer right now, it's even more so. It's so strong, in fact, that the siesta actually makes sense. By noon, the sun had become so hot that the only thing we could fathom doing was getting inside, under some shade, and passing out. The heat was stifling and entirely sleep-inducing.

And so we slept.

San Rafael

2008-02-09T15:28:00.000-05:00

Tamara, in her infinite wisdom, planned an excursion for a bunch of students from school for the weekend. San Rafael is a city about 3 hours away from Mendoza, but when I say "city" I use the word quite liberally. Really, what it is, is a little outpost with a gas station, a super market, and a few shops somewhere between Mendoza and Buenos Aires. The drive out to San Rafael was the first time I saw completely untouched countryside. Now I've been through the prairies of the midwest in Canada and the states, and seen what seemed like untouched land, but this was a totally different experience. The countryside here is really nothing but countryside. I didn't see a single electric line or road sign, or ANYTHING for almost the entire 3 hours of driving. It was just tumbleweed, some wild grasses, and a scraggly little tree here or there. The road itself was the only sign that human beings existed, but even it had a maximum of three cars on it.

We arrived in San Rafael and ran around running some errands (we bought food) before driving to our cabina on a lake about a hour farther away. It turned out the cabina was more like a private house, and between the five of us, the food and the house cost less than living in Mendoza for two nights. Schweeet.

Saturday night we had (of course) an asado once again. Every house on the lake had as very fancy, souped-up parrilla, because the grilling culture here is so advanced it would be a faux pas to offer up a house for rent without one. Tamara proved to be quite the cook, soaking the meat in a fancy marinade before putting it on the grill. Wow, was it yummy.

I, on the other hand, couldn't get over the beauty of the lake we were perched above. The water was a crazy shade of green, and nestled between huge mountains of rock and weeds. I actually thought at first that it was a quarry because of all the rock everywhere, but here, the mountains are just much dryer than in New York. In a lot of ways, they're like the mountains of Arizona - just less dusty. Check out the view.

Dancing under the Stars

2008-02-09T14:32:00.000-05:00

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH. Friday night was SOOOO fun. My professor at school let it slip that her brother is a tango dancer, so after class I approached him with my broken spanish to ask him about it. Matias was entirely humble, and totally downplayed his dancing abilities, but told me he was going out Friday night to an outdoor tango event, and invited me along. At 10:30 we met for dinner and drinks with his first dance professor who, I found out later, he started taking lessons from over 10 years ago. Suddenly I was conscious of the fact that I was going dancing with a very serious tanguero. Over 10 years of dance lessons?! What the hell was I in for?

The dancing started around 11:30 at night. It was in one of the bazillion little Plaza's here in Mendoza. It really wasn't much in terms of music - just a boom box and some CDs - but it was special because it was so impromtu and small-town. Everyone knew each other - I even knew half of them from Wednesday night - and no one was really in charge. People had brought CDs from home, and were just playing whatever they felt like. The weather was perfect - just a warm breeze and a clear-as-crystal sky, and I got a 4 hour private lesson from an absolutely incredible tango dancer. Whoo hooooooooooo! It was SOO fun. I told Matias that I suddenly understood the need to close your eyes, listen to the music, and just follow. I don't think I could actually teach any step to someone at all, but I can say quite surely now, that I can dance a little tango. Granted, I had the advantage of dancing with the father of all leaders, and have no idea if I'd be able to follow anyone else, but whooo hooo anyway. Matias's teacher told me I will win money dancing tango one day. I dunno if that's true, but they were both impressed. That made me happy. I think I'm in love with Tango.

Dancing was followed by an ice cream (at the heladeria Matias swears is the best one in town) and a walk through one of the larger plazas. Mendoza is proving to be quite the romantic city. So many stars, perfect warm night breezes, summer scents, and little park benches with couples snuggling everywhere. It feels like a movie sometimes. And there's always a little bit of tango music somewhere off in the distance, with a couple dancing that sad dance in the moonlight. Mommy and Daddy - I've found the city you should retire to. It's quiet, tranquil, and beautiful without loosing sight of what it is to be a city. I think it's probably got a population 10 times that of Princeton, and even though the square footage of the city is also about that much bigger, the peace and tempo match Princeton. Only there's wine and it's much warmer. What more could you want?

Wine Tour

2008-02-09T14:02:00.001-05:00

Thursday Linea and I went on the bodega tour finally. Although it still rained in the morning, the afternoon was pretty nice. Unfortunately, all of us - me, Linea, Tamara, Tais... - were quite sick - who knows why, but puking is no fun - so tasting wines was a little daunting for the two of us. We managed though. Of course.

We went to two different wineries. One was super huge and industrial and I couldn't believe the size of the tanks they aged the wine in. They were totally about the business and seemed to have little reverence for the wine making process at all. The other bodega was wildly different. This bodega produces wine that is sold exclusively at the vineyard and in Kentucky (yeah, go figure). The bottles here went for something between 10 and 30 pesos, while in Kentucky, the cheapest bottle is closer to $60. If I wasn't limited to a backpack I can actually carry, I would have bought 15 bottles. The wine was incredible. They also have this bazillion year old tradition for how they ferment their wine, and use a process that was used to prepare the wine for the founder's daughter's wedding more than 100 years ago.

Following the vineyards, we went to an Olive bodega. Here they grow both table olives and olives for olive oil. Wow. I can't say yum enough times. We got to taste all these different kinds of olives, oils, pastes, and whatever else they had. Gosh, I was in heaven. Again, I would have bought the store had it not been for my weight limitations.

The ride home on the bus was another cultural experience. Since time is not an issue, we drove each and every person on the bus home to their house. It took over an hour and a half, but we got door-to-door service. I was quite impressed. I've never heard of that happening in the States.

Beauty Treatment

2008-02-09T13:32:00.000-05:00

Wednesday was supposed to be the day that we went on the wine tour, but the rain here has been unstoppable. All the locals are going crazy. Since Mendoza is usually a super dry place, and experiences only 18 days of rain or something, the fact that there's been almost 6 in a row by this point is making the locals restless. Nevertheless... the wine tour was pushed back to Thursday, and Linea and I decided to go get our nails done instead.

I think as far as beauty salons go, this was one of the high-end ones in Mendoza, but I will say that they were quite a "developing world" experience nonetheless. I don't know what it is about Americans, but time is money to us... especially in New York. As a result, even the beauty salons have their processes streamlined and practiced so that the least amount of time is wasted. This place, however, was not set up for efficiency at all. In order to get my feet done, I sat in a chair with one of those foot soakers on the floor in front of me for 10 minutes or so. Then I had to move to a massage table where they did the buffing of my toes and calluses and stuff. Then I had to move again to another chair that was kind of like a dentist chair while the lady doing my toes walked around the room (about the size of a typical dining room in the States) and grabbed nail polish remover from one corner, cotton from the other, cream from another, and whatnot. The impressive thing is that she didn't just bring them all over to where my feet were, but got up constantly, every time she needed to get something new. The entire process of getting my nails done took over 2 hours. I fell asleep.

It was nice to be pretty again, though.

First Tango Lesson

2008-02-09T13:31:00.000-05:00

Although I didn't think I was going to tango in Mendoza at all, Wednesday night the entire school went out the one and only milonga in the city, Cafe Soul, and I finally got my first tango lesson. The teacher only spoke spanish, and was a little difficult to hear (let alone understand) but it was wildly fun nonetheless. Practically all the students from the school were there and we did a lot of walking around the room in a tango hold, and practicing moving our feet the proper way. Tilke, if you need a solution to all your tango dancing problems, the key is to keep your needs together at all times. Every time I screwed up, it was because my knees weren't together.

We spent the night dancing away. I liked it SO much better than the Milonga I went to in Buenos Aires because the pressure was not there at all, and it was totally acceptable to be a beginner dancer. No one got mad at you, and (I'm sure) the level of dancing was probably a lot lower than the Buenos Aires houses are.

I was struck, once again, with the sad beauty of the dance. Sometimes I feel like the dancers are crying. Because it's quite hard to follow if you see anything, many of the women dance with their eyes closed, which only contributes to the feeling of loss and melancholy the dance emotes. Later in the night, the teachers of the dance class would dance around the room and I couldn't peel my eyes away from them. They weren't doing all the flashy show moves that the dancers in the street do for the tourists, but just dancing tango like they were the only ones in the room. It was beautiful and sad, and entirely nostalgic. One day I'll dance like that too.

Return to Bs As

2008-02-09T13:29:00.000-05:00

I've finally returned to Bs As and will be posting all my blog entries from the last two weeks. I've kept each entry separate, as I wrote them. Thanks for your patience!!

Absenteeism

2008-02-04T10:34:00.000-05:00

I appologize for the extended absenteeism. I have no personal internet access here in Mendoza, so uploading my blog entries has been a little difficult. I promise that when I return to Buenos Aires this weekend I will post away like crazy, and you´ll have lots to read. SO much amazing stuff has happened here. I think I´m in love with Argentina.

Mendoza

2008-01-28T14:42:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Tamara, Marc and I flew to Mendoza. We decided to take a two-week vacation from the city to explore the wine country of Argentina - famous for it´s hiking trails, white water rafting, zip line tours and horseback riding excursions as well as its wine. Since COINED (my school) has an outpost here too, we figured we´d continue with our classes, but enjoy a change in location. For the first time since arriving in Argentina, I saw rain during the day time. I couldn´t believe it. I´d forgotten it existed.

I was pleasantly surprised to arrive at my homestay to find Linea, a girl from my class in Bs As, here as well. She managed to get a room in the same house, so we´re hanging out now. She´s from Seattle, but speaks decent spanish, so the two of us talk entirely in Spanish to each other, Andrew, you were right about setting up the relationship to be in one language or the other. We actually ask permission from one another to speak in English for the more complicated situations we find ourselves in.

The four of us spent most of Sunday just wandering around teh city trying to get our bearings. Since the bus and trolley lines here accept only exact change or pre-paid cards, we wandered the streets of the totally dead, sunday siesta city looking for a place that sold collectivo cards that was open. It took pretty much the whole afternoon, but we managed to walk the entire city. It´s such a huge change from Bs As. The air is crisp and clean, all the streets are lined with gigantic trees, and the stay dogs are neutered and actually quite pretty. The pace of the people here is even slower than in Bs As (suddenly, Bs As seems like NYC compared to here).

Today we went to class and were astounded by how different the school is here. In Bs As there are probably upwards of around 300 students. Here, the might not even be 30. I was put in a class that is WAY further along than I am, but only because there doesn´t exist a lower level class here - there aren´t enough teachers or students. In actuality, I loved it though. Finally I´m being pushed to my limits, and Linea and I are frantically studying to catch up. Additionally, since the common language of the whole group is spanish, we spend the entire time talking in whatever spanish we have. Hopefully this week will give me a big push in learning the language.

The afternoon was especially interesting because the entire city (and when I say entire, I mean entire) has a siesta from 3-5pm. We couldn´t eat anywhere, get a drink or an icecream, or even catch a bus. It was unbelievable. Even more surprising is that most of the businesses here actually have a siesta from 1:30-5pm. Only the restaurants stayed open until 3. So we spentwandering around the various parks and looking up excrusions we want to go on around here. I´ve already signed myself up for a wine tour for Wednesday. It includes several bodegas, a tour of an olive oil factory, a whole bunch of tastings, and a 1st class air conditioned bus all for the very expensive price of $15. Yup yup, this is Argentina!!

Parrillas y Porteños

2008-01-26T14:07:00.000-05:00

Monday night Pablo invited the whole crew out to his place to swim in his pool. There's something entirely godly about having a pool when the weather gets as hot as it does here. When I mentioned the possibility of swimming to the other students in my house, the reactions were immediately unanimously in favor of it. Pablo has suddenly become a very popular guy. Anyway, we spent the night hanging out, chatting with his brother and friend, drinking cervesa and talking about how we were going to go swimming soon. When we finally did get down to the pool, however, it was somewhere around midnight and it suddenly wasn't as hot as it had been earlier that day. Only Marc, Laurence and I had the balls to swim around for a while. The water was actually unbelievably cold considering it's size and the eternal heat here.

Tuesday night turned out to be a total blast. One of Tamara's professors planned a parilla

(otherwise known as a bar-b-que) at his house, and invited a bunch of people. By some stroke of luck, I was included and we all went out to a house party bbq. The art of the parrilla is especially practiced here in BsAs, and we all appreciated the choripans.

A choripan is basically the Argentine interpretation of the hamburger. There's bread (the only kind of bread I've seen for the last 3 weeks - I'm starting to think they only have one kind), tomatoes, lettuce, some kind of sauce (either mayo or bbq sauce) and a chorizo (which is essentially a really fatty sausage cut open and dripping with sweet yumminess). The word pan means "bread", choripan basically means "chorizo on bread". They were infinitely yummy, and watching the porteños at work grilling them was hilarious.

We met a couple new people that were quite interesting too. I was pleasantly surprised to meet Adan, an American from Buffalo, NY, who has been living and working in BsAs now for over a year. Danny, Andrew, Leslie... those of you interested in the possibility of one day living in BsAs, with a non-black-market job, Adam is living proof that it can be done. On top of that, he was obviously ridiculously fluent in spanish (ugh, I'm jealous). And don't worry, Andrew, the only time he said anything to me in English was when he was trying to explain the name for the dust that a tango dancer kicks up when she does dance flairs. I've managed to forget what it's called, but apparently there's a boliche here with the same name.

The rest of the week was pretty tame. Wednesday and Thursday night I spent in, studying like a total dork. I even did a few extra translations for my teachers (who got a huge kick out of them) and downloaded and watched a mexican mini-series. Yeah... let's just say, even though I couldn't understand it all, I understand why the reputation of spanish soap operas is what it is.

Last night we went out to a boliche in Recolleta. Since last night was pretty much the last night a lot of us had together, we wanted to make it a good one. Today Leslie is leaving for NYC, a bunch of the Brazileros are going back home, and Tamara, Marc, and I are getting ready to go to Mendoza for 2 weeks. Ugh - I'm going to have to figure out how to fit my stuff into my backpack... I doubt it'll be possible considering the ungodly amount of stuff I have purchased in the last three weeks.

My Address

2008-01-20T16:18:00.000-05:00

I've received a bunch of requests from you for my mailing address here in Buenos Aires. I don't know how reliable the mail system is here, but you're more than welcome to try to send me whatever you want.

Avenida Independencia 2370

San Cristobal - 1225

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Zoologico Lujan

2008-01-20T04:48:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we went on a 1-day excursion out of the city to a zoo outside of the city Lujan. We'd heard so much about this giant zoo we decided to make a day of it, and check it out. As it turned out, the hugeness of the zoo was very much debatable, but the experience was still great. We got to ride an elephant (see left) that was the cutest thing ever. Every time the elephant did a lap with random strangers on his back, he got a treat. It was so adorable to watch him handle it with his trunk. There were also a bunch of different kinds of monkeys (which are entirely way too much fun to watch), and you could pet just about any animal you wanted... they were apparently all drugged into cooperating with annoying humans all day.

Right before lunch we rode horses as well. Tamara is a big horse rider herself - she owns a horse and even has horse-accident stories to tell. She was so excited to go riding again she went three times. Since I had never been on a horse before in my life (how I managed to do that for 24 years, I have no idea) I was really surprised with how much vertical movement a horse has when it's apparently moving forward. By kicking your feet and clicking your tongue, you could make the horse go as fast as you wanted, but the thing bounced so much it was hilarious. I guess it takes practice, because Tamara looked a lot more comfortable on the horse than the rest of us managed to.

The highlight of the day, however, was the delectable meal from the parrilla - a restaurant that specializes in cooking various meats on a grill. We ordered Carne Asado and were not disappointed at ALL. Yummmm.

My Environment

2008-01-18T18:30:00.000-05:00

I got a few requests from some of you for pictures of my environment here in Buenos Aires. I therefore went through a typical day at school and snapped shots of some of the things I do as part of my usual routine.

	This is what my classroom looks like. Every week the particular people in my class change, but it usually looks something like this - a smallish table, with a white board on a wall, and everyone sitting around trying to absorb what they can. From left to right, around the table, it's Seana from Curacao, Robert from London, my teacher Cecilia, Dennis from Holland, Me, Linea from the Pacific Islands, and Jon from Quebec.
	Our typical lunch spot in a park right next to the school. We've discovered a little buffet in a supermarket that is quick and easy for lunch time when we have to rush around and accomplish things rather than deal with the notoriously slow table service here in Buenos Aires.
	My favorite part of the day is dinner time when the whole group of students living in the house sits down and communicates in a weird language that is a mash up of all the ones we collectively know. It takes a while to get used to how we talk, and any new person that joins the table has to listen for a while before they can understand us. From left to right around the table is Lawrence (England), Eda (Turkey), Camila (Brazil), Marc (Austria), Tamara (Italy), Gonzalo (Buenos Aires), Leslie (Texas), and Tais (Brazil).

An update

2008-01-18T04:58:00.000-05:00

Just a heads up... I posted some belated pictures in the "Sabato y Domingo" entry.

Week 2 Commencement

2008-01-16T16:22:00.000-05:00

Now week 2 of classes is in full swing. It's actually quite awesome to be here less than 10 days and find it possible to order food, ask questions about shoe sizes, tell a taxi driver which direction to go, or comment on the dress I'm trying on. Granted, it's in terribly broken spanish that has no prepositions, pronouns, or tenses, but hey, it's a start. At least the people here are patient and nice enough to slow down their words.

In my private class today, I learned about three different aspects of the language; the continuing present tense, the direct object pronoun, and the reflexive verb. Suddenly I feel so much more flexible with my sentences. I've noticed, however, that nothing is officially "learned" until I've managed to use it in my conversations with people. I suddenly notice other people using a grammatical concept I just learned, but implementing it myself is a much higher hurdle to clear. I guess it works the same way with learning vocab words for the GRE or something; after learning it, you suddenly see it everywhere you look, but actually plucking it out of your brain for your own personal use signals the final storing stage has been completed. I guess we'll just have to wait and see...

Tonight I'm going Salsa dancing. Yes, I know - it's not Tango, but Salsa is big here too. Most of the people coming along are Brazilians, so it'll be a challenge, but it should be fun.

Sabado y Domingo

2008-01-14T16:04:00.000-05:00

It felt so good to sleep in a little on Saturday. I spent most of the morning passed out, or trying to formulate enough sentences in spanish to ask where the breakfast food was. In the afternoon, a bunch of us went to Plaza Serrano which is a big marketplace where all these artists have set up little booths, and you can walk around and buy stuff for really cheap. It's like a craft fair, and they have it every single weekend. Some of the art was absolutely amazing, and I couldn't believe the prices. A totally original pair of earrings was selling for the equivalent of $3. Too bad I have to limit the amount of stuff I own these days, because I was like a kid in a candy store.

They also had lots of stores that housed various clothing designers who didn't have enough stuff to own an entire store. There were the most adorable dresses for $10. Again, I was going crazy.

At night, I went out with a whole bunch of Brazillians from my school who were going to a Brazillian night club. We were all geared up to so salsa and samba dancing, and were quite disappointed when it turned out to be Brazillian 80s music. We had fun anyway, though, and it was great to hang out with a bunch of people that I was forced to speak spanish with seeing as that was our only common language. I was most surprised by how young they all were, though. Several were less than 18 years old, here on summer holiday before going off to college.

Seeing as I was hanging out with Brazillian's who, I discovered, have no idea what sleep is, we didn't get home until almost 6am. I spent Sunday morning catching up on my much-needed Z's. In the afternoon I went with Eda and Lawrence to San Telmo which is a quaint little shopping district with lots and lots of cute little restaurants and cobble stone streets. It reminded me a lot of Soho in New York, only it was 1/10 the price. We ate at a little french place for lunch, and spent time sipping coffee in the plaza.

Afterwards we went to Recoletta to watch a movie (Juego Macabro) and return to that bar from Wednesday night for a pre-dinner cervesa. Dinner was at this adorable little Vietnamese place that Eda and Lawrence had been trying to get a reservation to for over a month. We were so lucky to get a table because the food was absolutely amazing. I had some pork/pineapple number that has redefined both pork and pineapple for me. Another couple beers and a highly annoying conversation with really loud, obnoxious American's later, we came home. Sunday was a great day.

Classes started again today, and now that I'm in week 2, I feel all knowledgeable. I know where the classrooms are, and when things stop and start. Most of the people from my class from last week were gone and we got two new girls. Unfortunately, they're American too, but at least they're not annoying. They're both way smarter in Spanish than I am, though, so that's nice... I can learn from them as well.