Oktoberfiesta

It was about that time again to take a breather from BA city life and wade out into the country. The only problem was that the entire population of Buenos Aires had the same thought. Or so it seemed. This past weekend was a holiday weekend, and Retiro Bus Station did it justice. There were more people there than at the DNC, and they all seemed to want to get on the same bus. In other words, trying to a) find my bus and b) get on it was a serious challenge. Throw in the fact that my bus showed up twenty minutes after it was supposed to leave and was operated by a different company then that who sold me my ticket, and you've got a tall American running around the bus station leaving no doubt that he's a tourist. My bus was eventually found though, and my seat in the front row on the top deck made me forget all of my issues with finding it. About 20 minutes into the trip (that began only about 45 minutes late) we stopped in front of a random warehouse and were told we needed to switch buses. This was a first. I looked at my Argentine neighbors who I'd been talking with who simply just said, bienvenidos a Argentina! We upped and left, and the people sitting on the floor in the aisle behind us found some seats on bus #2. Seriously now, this bus company has some issues. I was out as soon as our second more luxurious luxury liner took off. I was only woken up by people talking about the car that was on fire as we passed it (the thing was burning like a duraflame, but it seemed like everyone was ok) and I went back to sleep hoping that I wouldn't be woken up again by the car blowing up and making me get up from my awesome front row second deck seat.

After all of the shenanigans of the previous night, I was surprised to find ourselves pulling into Cordoba bus station ahead of schedule. In any case, after dropping my bag and meeting up with friends at the hostel, we headed back to the bus station. We caught a local bus to Villa General Belgrano, a small predominantly German village about 2 hours outside of Cordoba, to see what their highly-touted version of Oktoberfest was like. Given the above average German migration to Argentina after WWII, we wondered if we were wandering the streets of a town where ex-leaders of the Third Reich called home. Maybe a lot of people have that somewhat disturbing thought, and the village knows it (and wants to avoid it), because the place looks like it belongs next to Space Mountain in Adventureland. The signs were all wood carved with painted curly-cue letters. I think if I lived there I might find a keg and pour it all over someone after about a week, but for a day it was great. We wandered the streets looking for a mug before kicking off the festivities.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the 'Beer Park,' which consisted of several beer company stands, food stalls and a stage. The day was spent trying the wares, eating quarter-kilos of ice cream and trying to figure out what possessed us to try straw-beer (as in strawberry-beer). Pretty much everything I tried was great (except for that fruity beer stuff). The entertainment itself was decent; it began with a parade of just about everyone in the village, including the local viking. I've never been to the real deal in Germany, but something tells me Erik the Strong doesn't prowl the beer tents. But you never know. The rest of the show, from what we saw when we were paying attention, was hoppin'. They tapped a keg and let it loose to the masses, played some traditional music, and had several dancing acts. The one part of the program that made me scratch my head though was the guy playing the harp with a guitar accompaniment. Don't get me wrong, he was very good, but a harp is really the last thing I would think you want at festival of beer. I think by that point though enough people had visited enough stands to not care too much. After a day of trying different brews and just hanging out, we called it a day well spent.

Day two saw us try to find something green to walk through, so we headed out to la Parque Nacional Quebrada del Condorito. We jumped on another local bus that was to take us to the gate. I should have known it would be an interesting day from the get-go when the guy selling us the tickets said he couldn't sell us return tickets. It's not that they were full, he just doesn't sell them. So, here we were heading out into the boonies not knowing if we would be able to get back that night to catch our bus back to BA. So what did we do? We got on the bus of course. About two hours later we're driving through some very pretty terrain when the driver pulls over in a turnout and beckons one of my friends forward, who after a quick chat turns around and tells us to get off. So here we are, out in the middle of nowhere sharing a turnout with a few people with a broken down car, staring at a dirt track across the street that looked incredibly dubious at best.

We headed down the track, seeing the very black clouds not too far away and noticing that yes, this was the entrance to the park and yes, everyone was leaving. We found the forest ranger hut, and the ranger on duty was a great guy who gave us all sorts of recommendations. We hiked through a starkly beautiful landscape for the next few hours. We hoped to catch sight of one of the park's famous condors, but I think they were the smart ones out there and went home as the sky basically turned to night. No matter- the rain never really showed up, and the park was well worth the trip. We headed back to that turnout a few hours later, armed with the information to simply flag down the bus as it came down the highway. That same broken down car was there, with the same people camped in the turnout. We didn't know if the bus would stop if it were full, but we tended to think it wouldn't. When we showed up and saw about 20 other people waiting, we weren't too confident. Especially with a guy throwing a thumb out to anything with four wheels. We eventually did get on a bus though, and made it back to Cordoba in time to grab some dinner (at a parilla of course- all you can eat salad, french fries, and of course beef for 12$. And it's open 24hrs. Could it be any better?) before heading to the bus station.

I should have known that buses would be a theme of this trip from the very first moment at Retiro on Friday night. My bus again didn't show up until about 25 minutes after it was supposed to leave. Maybe I should let someone else book my tickets, since I seem to be striking out on buses that leave on time. Sleep came quickly, until I was woken up by silence. It was dead quiet. Which was a problem. There was no engine noise. I looked around, and eventually found out that we were about 2.5hrs outside of Cordoba, in the middle of nowhere, on the side of the highway with a broken-down bus, at 3:00 in the morning. After being angry for about 5 minutes, I just laughed knowing there was nothing I could do and wondered what else could happen. Since trying to sleep was out of the question with the top deck of the bus basically becoming a sauna without the air-conditioning, I wandered outside and sat in the grass and read a magazine. There was what seemed like a mechanic/AAA truck behind us with flashing lights, but I got the idea that our potential savior had no idea what was wrong with the bus. The bus driver, his co-pilot and some of the other passengers were standing around smoking cigarettes and telling jokes. I guess if you're stuck on the side of the road at 3:00 in the morning with nowhere to go you might as well make the best of it. Two buses from the same company stopped by to see what was up before continuing on to wherever they were headed. Two very painful sets of tail-lights. Eventually, though, after about 3 hours, another bus showed up and we were on our way. I only got back to BA about 4 hours behind schedule. As they say, in Argentina it works out eventually, just probably in a different way than you thought. No te preocupes!

I have to say though, the stars are pretty at night down here in the Southern Hemisphere. I only had three hours to stare at them.

California Dreamin'

Rosario, Argentina played host to a horde of American students this past weekend. The study-abroad program shelled out for about 70 of us to take a weekend trip to Rosario, one of the top 3 biggest cities in Argentina. Not that you would know; Rosario feels like a small town at just about every street corner. The pace is slower, buildings are shorter and people are fewer. In all honesty, it felt like Santa Barbara with bigger buildings and more streets. Although maybe it didn't help that I came to that conclusion as I was walking along a walkway with palm trees and greenery down the middle of a main avenue with the sun shining. No matter; the sentiment was universal, with many preferring Rosario over its 12-million-person counterpart 4 hours to the south.

The city doesn't really boast any major tourist attractions, aside from being neighbors to a major river and having a large monument dedicated to the National Flag. We acted the part of typical tourists though and did the bus tour our first afternoon. The river was blue, and the grass green. At one point, we were told we were passing some of the most modern, new and large buildings of Rosario on our left. Of course, as any person would, we turn to look out the left side of the bus and there is a half pile of rubble/half group of walls that looked like it only needed a breath of wind to collapse like a house of cards. A couple of us just looked at each other and burst out laughing. Ranger Jane at the front could not have picked a worse moment to mention new and modern. We did pass some buildings a block later which I assume were those she was talking about, not to worry. The end of the tour saw us walking along the river until the flag monument, which was really well-designed. It was set-up like a boat with two streets bordering it on either side, with the flagship parting the water and leading Argentina to a bright future. Pretty clever, I thought.

Dinner was had in style, with about a third of the group following our smooth-talking charismatic program leader Mario out into the night to an exclusive restaurant. We were told we would be walking the farthest out of the three groups. That was all well and good, but about 30 minutes after leaving probably the classiest Holiday Inn Express in the world we were still no where near anything resembling a restaurant. The dark graffiti covered-warehouses and crowds of people dressed like elegant punk rockers sitting outside of these warehouses silently watching us walk by didn't really infuse much confidence. There was an eventual end to our trek, however, and the restaurant made the rite of passage worth it. We were treated to 3-course meal with wine all around (Mario dines in style - he famously takes students out after plays and movies in BA for great meals) with the first two courses consisting of various cuts of beef (surprise?) followed by dessert. I found out later that the beef from course one was an extreme Argentine delicacy; yours truly has now eaten cow lymph nodes. I really don't know what possessed the first person to eat cow lymph nodes way back in the day. I don't want to know. It was delicious, however, and I highly recommend it. That is, if you can fight the Argentines you're sitting with for it, since it is apparently the most sought-after cut of beef. And there isn't much of it.

After being about ready to take a sledgehammer to my alarm clock the next morning, I indulged in the Holiday Inn Express "American breakfast." It was basically continental, with some ham and cheese slices thrown in. It was a nice break from corn flakes, but if they had had eggs I would have made it my life goal to get that hotel a 5-star rating. We wandered over to what was, according to my Lonely Planet magazine, a good handicraft fair, but was actually a snack kiosk. It did have some computers and phone booths in the back for public use, so I guess it was a special snack kiosk. Lonely Planet, you might be a little lonely on my shelf if I try to go to Patagonia based on your advice and find myself staring at a cactus in the desert up north.

We did make it to the fair eventually, and spent a few hours walking the walk looking at everything for sale. My purchase of the day was some fresh-squeezed orange juice that was almost as good as the daily greatness Tina gives me with breakfast. Following the fair, our last event of the trip was a boat ride up and down the river. The river sees all manners of traffic, from kayaks to sailboats to windsurfers to full-blown tankers. Those kayakers better be able to paddle fast. Maybe after the paddle business at Iguazu fell through they found their way to Rosario. I didn't see any advertisements for thrill rides in Rosario to see how close you could get to a cargo ship however, but you never know. All in all it was a nice cruise; Rosario has a great skyline and the weather was phenomenal, so we spent the majority of the time outside on the bow.

We could have boated home, as the river does merge with Rio Uruguay which becomes Rio de la Plata, but those great Argentine long-distance buses just couldn't be turned down. The only hiccup on the way home was getting into a huge traffic jam/detour because communists had taken over part of the expressway and forced everyone to take an exit and get back on. All 7 of the people camping out, with hammers and sickles drawn on the hill and everything, were really making life rough for a lot of people. 7 people protesting doesn't seem like a lot; maybe the rest were using Lonely Planet to get there.

Charades

We’re back. More or less. UBA is still taken over by the students, but they’ve relaxed their stranglehold on my facultad. We could get into the building, and believe it or not the classrooms on the ground floor were available. Lecture was had for the first time in a month, and actually in a classroom. Don’t pop the champagne yet, though. Students leading the toma came into our class and instigated a heated 20-minute discussion on what we thought of the strike, because it is far from over. Tomorrow night is another student assembly, i.e. party congress, which will issue a new 5-day plan to lead La Facultad de Ciencias Sociales to a bright and glorious future. Viva la Revolución!

In the midst of this prolonged crisis was yet another holiday, El Día del Estudiante. This came after butcher’s day, secretary’s day, street cleaner’s day and guard-standing-at-the-front-door-of-city-hall’s day. There could be a holiday for all of these professions, as there seems to be some sort of ferria every other week. Student’s Day, however, doubles up as a holiday celebrating the arrival of Spring which I think is fantastic. We stare at groundhogs and watch it spin around in a circle, wonder why it woke up when it didn’t need to, and go back to bed. Argentines throw a huge party. Any excuse. I made my way up to the Central Park of Buenos Aires where every student in Buenos Aires seemed to have migrated. I’m sure the students leading the tomas were there – striking is a tiring business and holidays are incredibly necessary. I headed to a free outdoor concert, where I heard one good Santana-like band and one trashy pop band that had it been singing in English I would have run away and puked in a trash can. Singing in Spanish, however, eased the pain and allowed me to simply watch the spectacle of outrageous outfits running around on stage singing things which I couldn’t completely understand. Here is the lost in translation play of the day- I was told ‘Happy Spring’ at one point and I simply agreed, thinking that yes it’s a happy spring indeed. The same person then turned to Laura, who was standing right next to me, and said the same thing. Laura replied with a huge gracias. So this is like a birthday? Thank you for wishing me a happy spring? It’s only my spring? No wonder the person was looking at me funny. That Sudafed is mine, don’t you touch it.

Speaking of parties, it was Tina’s husband’s (Niko) birthday on Friday, so of course we had another asado. Sorry to all of you out there who have to pay $40 for a Brazilian BBQ – I had one ten times better in our kitchen. It was a family affair, which was fine by me because that meant more beef for everyone. Dinner conversation was as animated as always, with at one point Ramiro revealing that he wanted to buy a motorcycle. His girlfriend then jokingly shot back that if he bought one, she was gone. I think though she might have been serious to some degree. Stories about everything under the sun were told. Niko got out of his chair several times to physically act out a conversation he had with whoever about whatever. With all of the Spanish yelling going on at mach 10, watching Niko give Tom Hanks a run for his money helped me keep up a little better. Sign 'im up - he was pretty good!

Niagara What?

Check out the Iguazú album under 'Photos' for more pics

I've never been to Niagara Falls, but from the pictures I've seen of that North American wannabe Iguazú blows away just about anything that includes water moving from up to down. The trip up to Puerto Iguazú was another epic 16 hour ride on one of these Argentine luxury liners, complete with pirated movies, champagne and white bread in as many shapes and forms as you can think of. Life could be worse. We made friends with our bus attendant - we were the only ones that actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. I guess spending 16 hours in a metal box on wheels doesn't excite a lot of people. After our glass of champagne (in special plastic champagne glasses, of course) with the final pirated movie of the night, we called it quits for the evening.

I woke up staring at the seatback in front of me, and dozed off an on as we made various stops at small towns along the way until finally reaching the town of Iguazú. We successfully got on the correct local bus on our first try, and were on our way to the hostel. If we didn't tell our bus driver where we were going, I might still be on that bus. We were dropped off on the side of the highway (bus stop? What bus stop? I think the bus driver picks out certain bushes along the way that he wants to stop at to get a closer look), and made the short walk to our hostel. We passed the swimming pool on the way in, dropped our stuff and headed down the highway to a sort of animal hospital. We were driven through the forest in a tractor-trailer by a guy having way too much fun with his job until we jumped off to see the animals. It was basically a zoo, but still pretty cool nonetheless.

We got up at the crack of dawn the next morning to try and get a full day in at the park. We wandered back over to that bush we were let off at the preceding afternoon, and caught the local bus to the falls. I can't even begin to describe what these waterfalls are like. It's almost one continuous waterfall for a solid 3 kilometers, with La Garganta del Diablo (the second photo from the top) as the centerpiece (Argentina has a thing for using the same names for everything - there's the Garganta del Diablo right outside of Salta. Street names are the same in every city - come on guys, maybe a little creativity?) in the distance. We started our day on the upper circuit, which took us literally to the edge of some of the falls. By itself, any one of these waterfalls would be a superb tourist attraction anywhere in the world. But here seeing one by itself was a bit of a letdown. Line up maybe 50 of these falls together, though, and you've got Iguazú. That's just a lot of water. Following the Upper Circuit we naturally headed to the Lower Circuit, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, took us to the base of several of the falls. It was so loud I could barely hear myself think. Halfway through the lower circuit we took a boat ride that zoomed us into the spray of the falls (there are some photos in the album with the boats in them. These boats are not small - the falls are just huge). Every one of those 12 minutes was worth it. There used to be boat options at the top of the falls, where you could hire a local and he would take you to the edge where you could spit or do whatever and then he would row as hard as he could back against the current and get you back safely. That was until one boat didn't quite make it back. That option is now no longer available, sir. Can I tempt you with the scenic helicopter ride or the Grand Adventure through the forest?

After a lunch battling the coatíes (basically an ant-eater crossed with a raccoon) trying to get at our food, which only ran away after making loud gorilla noises at them, we walked the 2km up to La Garganta. This was probably one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen. It's a giant 'U' shaped waterfall with an obscene amount of water falling making simply what was a deafening roar. I could have spent hours there just mesmerized by the sheer power, scale and beauty of what I was looking at. We could see the mist from a long way off, and even when we were right at the top of La Garganta the mist obscured our view of the bottom like fog hides the Golden Gate. We finished the day by getting back to the hostel and finding some long-chairs, putting our toes in the clay and having an Argentine PBR on the way. Life was good.

Day two found ourselves finding little things to do to fill the time until our various bus departure times, as the main reason for going back to the park (San Martín Island, right in the middle of everything at the falls) was closed due to high river levels. We discovered a house made entirely out of PET bottles, and decided to check it out. The walls, stairs and roof were made of plastic 2-liter bottles (the roof had some help from milk cartons), with the doors constructed from CD cases. It was pretty amazing to see how resourceful these people were - the most impressive gadget (aside from the house itself) was a solar water heater. That could be the future right there, my friends. Our last stop of the day was a spot where we thought we could be in three different countries at once (Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina), but was actually a spot where we could see three different countries at once. And I was ready to one-up 4 Corners.

To cap off the trip I spent the 16 hours going home figuring out the different pitches of engine noises on these long distance buses, as my seat was in the last row right above the engine. I'm now your resident expert. You know where to find me.

Welcome to the Jungle, Spain

(There are more pictures in the Spain v. Argentina album under 'Photos')

Call in the cavalry. The school has been taken over, and there is no end in sight. Originally the students were going to hold their lockout for only last Thursday, but it's successfully gone on for over a week now. Call Roger Goodell - he could get some negotiation practice in. From what I understand, they're protesting the conditions of the facilities, and the fact that a good portion of government money is going to private institutions when UBA building projects have been left unfinished due to lack of funds. I can't understand why they would be protesting the state of the facilities with all of the peeling paint, broken desks, and missing window panes. However, the students running the September Revolution did not want class to stop, so they thoughtfully provided desks and chairs for us to use outside. In the street. So after waiting around for several minutes listening to some guys standing on tables trying to connect profs with students, we finally found ours and set up shop in a crosswalk. As I was walking over, I was sure that a different professor was handing out midterms to his students as they took their seats in the street. If that profesor wanted to win popularity points, that's definitely not how the Xs and Os tell you to do it. Needless to say, my profesora was far from happy about being kicked out of the building and wound up cutting class short just because she couldn't deal with it.

That evening saw me don a knock-off Argentine jersey and travel with the masses to the River Plate stadium in the northern reaches of the city to watch la selección nacional (literally translated as 'national selection,' which I think is a great term, but really means national soccer team) take on Spain. Security might not be the stadium's strong point, since I completely bypassed stage 1 without even knowing it. I walked along some quiet residential streets before turning onto the main street leading to the stadium and finding myself already beyond the first pat-down and bag check which had a line a couple blocks long. Alright then, here we go!

We found our seats, but not after having to ask someone where they were. Not that we would be sitting much anyway. The section letters were chalked onto the ground, and there were no row numbers. So after counting the rows and checking the seat numbers, we found ourselves twelve rows back from one of the corners. Not bad for $35 US. You couldn't even walk into Fenway for that. We were also luckily right over the visiting players tunnel, so we got some close up views of all of the Spanish stars that were there- Casillas, Torres, Xavi, Fabregas, Iniesta, Villa, Alonso, and more.

After coming to grips with the fact that yes, I was actually seeing who I thought I was seeing, I noticed the barbed wire fencing around our section. The people seemed nice enough in my section so far, but I think that if Argentina found itself down 2-0 with a hostile ref Dr. Jekyll would disappear and the Argentine extended family of Mr. Hyde would make an appearance. I looked up to the second deck, and there was fencing around another section which I was told was the visiting team's fan section for River Plate's games. Apparently for River games, you have to wait 45min before you can leave the stadium so the opposing team's fans can get a head start. Run, Forrest, run.

The game was everything that I could have asked for, with Messi striking first in the 12th minute with a little chip that floated right over the keeper (not Casillas, unfortunately) into the goal. Higuain doubled the score with a goal three minutes later that saw him come celebrate with a massive fist pump in our corner. Do I need to say that the stadium was absolutely rocking by that point? Tevez closed the half with a third goal for Argentina, making it 3-0, which basically ended the game. Argentina wound up winning 4-1, with a spectacular show put on by Messi during the second half. He made the World Champion Spanish defense look like 3rd grade soccer players as he dribbled straight through about 5 or 6 defenders and set up a beautiful strike into the upper right hand corner from a forward making a run. And the line ref had the audacity to call him offside. It was still probably some of the most beautiful play I've ever seen, though. I mean, the defense knows what Messi can do, they know he can run, they stick 5 guys on him when he gets the ball, but he still destroys them anyway. And this is Spain we're talking about here.

For my first international soccer game, it couldn't have been better. I need to go see a club game now - I hear they're more intense (it was actually pretty quiet for stretches - no continuous chanting or singing like Japan) than when the national team plays. That seems a little counterintuitive, but then again a lot of things don't make sense here. But no matter - Vamos Argentina!

Viva la Revolución!

(L-R around the table: Niko, Tina, Laura, Matias, Ramiro's novia, novia of Tina's cousin, Tina's cousin, brother and fam of Matias' novia, Matias' novia, Ramiro, y yo)

So when Argentines decide to throw a fiesta, there's no holding back. Last Thursday was Ramiro my host-brother's bday, and it was a fiesta fit for the ages. No, no piñatas or anything, but I don't think I've ever seen that much beef on the grill at once. I got to the party late, as I had my UCA public econ lecture. It was another great session - I shared a mate during lecture with all of the other guys sitting near me, and successfully could not understand the extremely important idea brought up at the end of lecture. That part wasn't so great. But Thursday nights definitely are something to look forward to, even if we have to break out the popcorn and marshmellows since it ends so late.

I walked into the dining room to see a good fifteen people sitting around the table eating beef and, surprisingly, salad. No one was eating too much of it, but it was encouraging to see some green stuff around the table. Maybe there is hope to knock Argentina from it's 2nd place spot on the number of heart-problems list. As far as I know, the topic of conversation was yours truly just as I was walking in. They told me that it was somewhat ironic that I was absent due to studies when they thought that I don't study too much. I mean, I only have class four days a week and three of those days include 3 hours or less... I guess when you line that up next to Laura's full 5-day course load that doesn't look too good. I promise, we international relations people do get things done. It just takes time, many handshakes for the cameras and lots of superfluous talking.

Now imagine 15 outspoken Argentines in the same room with several bottles of wine, and you're starting to get the feel of my Thursday night. There was much laughing and arguing as always, with insults flying in between bites of beef. I spent a lot of time just trying to keep up. Eventually there was a great debate on how to pronounce my name. The 'j' sound doesn't translate too well, so really my name is Chake. Me llamo Chake! Me llamo Chake! I poked some fun at Ramiro's english until he pointed out my less-than-world-class spanish skills. Alright fine, you got me. The wine was flowing into the early hours until the fiesta started to wind down around 2am. Or so I thought. I guess in this country bringing a party to a close means 'let's open another bottle!' So about 5 of us pressed on until about 3:30am, and then decided to call it quits. All in all it was a great night- Feliz cumpleaños, Ramiro!

I would say that I have class tomorrow as usual at UBA, but students have successfully taken over my facultad and put some riot fencing in the door so absolutely no one can get in (http://bit.ly/8X9WiS - it's in spanish, but I'm sure google will lend a hand). They're protesting some sort of money issue, which seems kind of redundant since the school is free for everyone. My TA sent out an email saying that lecture would take the place of recitation on Tuesday, as if this were incredibly normal. I think, to be honest, it is. If students took over Penn though, I think Penn parents would put an end to it before the school does - 'I'm paying how much money for you to do what?!' So class is now indefinitely postponed. I've got my fingers crossed that they don't start a 21st century Red Terror; maybe they should hire us International Security students to defuse the situation. I'll get the talks about the possibility of multilateral talks started, after the photoshoot of course.

The Frisbee Won

As hard as it is to picture myself doing work in such a busy and exciting place, class has been pretty good so far. From talking about the end of the world to the rise of Fascism and Nazism in the early 20th century to major social economic inequalities, I'd have to say it's been pretty uplifting. All in all though, I've been extremely happy with my classes. My favorite class content-wise is my international security (post-1990) seminar at UBA, as soon as I can find it through the maze of Trotsky posters and leftist political slogans. Just to prove the point, my class on Tuesday was interrupted four times by students advertising their various political groups. Profe, it'll just be a minute - can I talk to your class? Want to come write for a political humor magazine? Or how about march to protest the alleged censure problems?

In terms of classroom environment, my UCA Public Sector Econ class is by far and away the best. It doesn't really feel like a lecture; rather, it seems more like a conversation with the professor about anything to do with supply and demand and uncle Sam. I've already met some of the other argentine students in the class other than on the basis of hi-what's-your-name-where-are-you-from. Many students also drink mate during class, and it eventually gets passed around the lecture with it even making a stop with the professor. Germaphobes would cringe at mate, but I think it is one of the best social inventions. It is essentially a tea, based on the yerba mate leaf. Check out Whole Foods - they'll be all over it. You put it into a mate (yes, I was confused as well when I first heard - the cup/bowl is also called a mate) and then simply add hot water. The 'straw' is called a bombilla, which is a silver metal straw-looking tube. People walk around with thermoses and their mate on the street. I like it, but it definitely is an acquired taste - it's quite bitter. The key to mate though, from what I've heard, is the water. If it's too hot you'll burn the leaves and lose the flavor, and if you pour it into the mate in the wrong spot you'll be missing out. But hey, as long as I don't drop my tostada into it I think I should be OK. Oh, and don't move the bombilla once it's in. I did that, and was almost kicked out onto the street.

As for streets, I got my fill of them the other day. I was searching for a frisbee, but it seems as if no one in this city has any idea what a frisbee is. For three hours I wandered the streets of my barrio going back and forth from sports stores to jugueterias (kids' toy stores) in search of a disc. Eventually I found myself in yet another sports store (I honestly don't know how shops survive here - if they're in the same category, i.e. sports stores, they're all next to each other, sell exactly the same thing and present it in exactly the same way) asking for a frisbee or where I could find one. I got some blank stares when I asked for a frisbee. But when I said it was like a disco, with the relevant hand motions of course, that lit a lightbulb - ah, un disco! Tenés que ir a Musimundo, en Abasto (You need to go to Musimundo, in the Abasto shopping mall). I knew the store name sounded familiar, but it didn't quite click so I thought awesome, I finally found it. I walked the thirty minutes to Abasto and realized that they had sent me to a music store. Un disco - of course. They thought I wanted to buy a CD. Great. Talk about letdown. Lost in translation, anyone?

My solution to the problem, as it is with pretty much any problem these days, was to google it. Up popped the webpage for an ultimate frisbee team here in BsAs. I emailed the captain, Maxi, and found not only a spot to buy a frisbee but also to play a little Ultimate. So last weekend I travelled out to UBA's main campus, La Ciudad Universitaria (yes, it's fittingly called a city), with a few friends to check it out. We got in on the USA-Argentina game and some pick-up after that. During the pickup game, I was going up in the endzone to catch a throw and, well, some of me was left behind. My defender stepped on my foot, and the picture above is what happened to my shoe. Completely ripped from one side to the other. Combine that with hurting my knee and getting smacked full-on in the side of the head by a pull, as well as the fact that my friend Dan basically ran into a pole, I can safely say Day 1 was a success. But it's 80/20 Argentines/Foreigners, and ultimate is a pretty intense sport for all of you doubters out there. I know barely anything about it, but I can run and find the open space. It seems like really a great group, and yours truly is now a proud member of the Discosur ultimate team.

Week 1 of the league is this weekend - I'll pretend I know the terms and I will definitely avoid all the soccer goal poles in the endzone.