Language Lessons on the Road

Taxi drivers are often the best language teachers around. They love to talk and don't seem to mind if you don't understand what they're saying, they have plenty of time on their hands, and they're willing to share their opinions on everything. Eventually you do begin to understand, whether it's because you have practically the same conversation with each taxi driver or because they're sort of like bartenders--mobile shrinks who don't offer booze or meds, instead, their services come with a healthy load of exhaust and fear.

I'm used to crazy driving. After all, I lived in Cairo for three years. When friends visit me in Buenos Aires from the States, I watch them search for the seatbelt, pull it across their chests, and spend the next five minutes or so trying to insert it. All the while the driver is yacking away, speeding in and out of lanes, on the rear of the guy in front of him, smoking, and laughing.

Some friends were visiting a while back. I'd taken a cab out to the airport to pick them up. A nice 40-minute Spanish lesson out there. On our way back into town I was having a hard time carrying on two conversations: one with my friends whom I hadn't seen in about a year and the other with the taxi driver. I didn't want to be rude, but my friends and I had a lot of catching up to do.

"Fucking cops!" yelled the driver as we raced down the highway. We looked around; in front all seemed normal; there was nothing happening behind us. "Donde?" I asked. He was giggling so hard his shoulders were shaking.

"No, it's just that's the only thing I know how to say in English. You know, I learned it from the movies and TV," he laughed. And we joined him. "Fucking cops!"

Bikya…..robabikya

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve heard “bikya….robabikya.” I jumped out of bed this morning, threw open the curtains and realized I’m still in Buenos Aires. But for just a short moment I was back in Cairo.

“Bikya….robabikya.” What is the little guy who walks the streets telling people he’ll take the stuff that’s broken or that they don’t need anymore—robabikya, it’s called in Arabic—doing in Buenos Aires?

Or better, how come the flower guy sounds just like the robabikya guy? I know that’s not what he’s saying, but I’m going to sit here by the window and listen to his voice trail off, transported momentarily to my apartment in Zamalek and Saturday mornings on my balcony with a big ole cup of coffee and a thousand police officers below me sipping tea as they try not to fall asleep.

Nostalgic.

Italiano or Castellano?

My Spanish (or Castellano as it’s called here) is mostly Italian, but people are nice enough to let me think I'm speaking to them in Castellano. Today over lunch, Italian was not helping me much.

Lesson 1: It started when I had yet another conversation about therapists—supposedly Buenos Aires has the highest number of psychoanalysts per capita in the world, something like one therapist for every thirty-five porteños. Pretty much everyone thinks I need to get one of my own.

I explained to my friend that I would want a therapist that speaks English and preferably comes from my culture because it would be easier for me to express myself. In Italian, express is esprimere, so I said esprimir. My friend seemed to understand me, but I wasn’t sure.

“Is that how you say it in Castellano?” I asked. She assured me that it was correct but added that it was more something from the Interior and not Buenos Aires and a little different than what I said: “sacar el jugo,” she explained was the appropriate expression.

“Take the juice out? That’s odd,” I thought. Turns out esprimir in Spanish means to juice, as in to juice an orange. But it doesn’t have a thing to do with expressing oneself, or does it?

So what did she think I meant? I need a therapist who speaks English so I can take the juice out. Of what? So I can get to the good stuff? I’m still not sure, but I’ll keep using it to see what reactions I get.

Lesson 2: The second Italian/Castellano mistake was one I’ve made before. Orto in Italian means garden. In Castellano it means butt. I was talking about salad and how salad here is always fresh right from the garden or right from the butt if you make the mistake of saying orto instead of huerto.

Lesson 3: Maybe the best one yet though was about a week ago at dinner with some people I know well and others I barely know at all. They were trying to fix me up with a friend and wanted to know what kind of guy I’m interested in. I said age wasn’t much of an issue but if the guy is older than me he should still be in good shape. I had a date with an older guy that had trouble standing up.

To stand up in Italian is alzarse. Alzarse in Castellano is "to get it up." You can imagine the confusion and the laughs. In the end, it would be good if the guy could do both.

Fools and Fanatics

"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts."
- Bertrand Russell


When I first read this I thought, "absolutely, Russell is so right." Guess I'm a fool, or a fanatic.

Through the Eyes of Another

I just got back from a trip back home--a mix of business, family, and the beach. I took a friend with me. It's always interesting to see your country through the eyes of a foreigner. The first time I did this, I was way too defensive and proud to accept any criticism. I still am.

Don't get me wrong, I'm the first to criticize my country, my city, my people, my family, my friends, myself, you name it. But just because I do doesn't mean you can. Or better, you're welcome to do so, but don't leave out the positive. Luckily my travel buddy was enamored with Louisiana even if she didn't love the rest of the country. That's enough for me.

But it's like when you go to a girlfriend to bitch about your husband. She's not supposed to agree with you. She's supposed to listen and understand, but in the end, until you decide to dump the idiot, she is supposed to just mimic whatever you say. So that the conversation isn't a bunch of "uh-huhs" and "I-know-what-you-means" and "really-I-can't-believes", she might add that her husband is also an idiot and tell you a story to show that you are not alone. That's a good friend. One that tells you, "yep, your guy is a total loser and you need to dump him" might also be a good friend, but she hasn't understood yet the fine art of listening to a friend bitch about her guy.

Well, the same rules for criticizing husbands and boyfriends apply to criticizing countries and families. Say for instance your significant other has a family of nuts. He'll complain about them to you and you'll want to agree. Don't! If they are all nuts, he is probably nuts too.

Since I am typically the first to criticize my country, I thought I'd point out the positive things just like a good friend should do. Here's what I miss about home:

1. Hot dogs-I happened to be traveling with a hot dog freak. Good thing too, because while many people go to New Orleans for creamy sauces and oysters, for me if I have to go to Bourbon Street I want a Lucky Dog. I'm not objective enough to tell you if Lucky Dogs are better than regular hot dogs, but here's the difference between the Argentinean version (choripan) and a Lucky Dog. Lucky Dogs are smaller and less greasy, so you won't bite into it and ruin your evening wear. And, they don't fill you up so you can still eat some gumbo later.

2. LIVE MUSIC-I had to yell this one because it's not that there isn't live music in Argentina, there is. But it's not the kind of music that makes you want to sign a petition to impeach Bush. I miss get-up-and-yell music that has nothing to do with seduction. No polite applause at the end. The music might be good, it might be crap. That's not the point.

3. Extremes-Sometimes when I go home I try to imagine I'm a visitor from another land. Being with a friend from another land helps. So, if I were "visiting" the US, wouldn't I think it's sort of charming that people get dressed up on Sunday and speak in tongues in the local freakoid church? In one family you might have tattoos and debauchery mixed with conservatism and piety. Ain't that cool? I mean, I'd much rather spend my life with people who feel passionately about the wrong thing than people who feel nothing at all.

Or for example, the latest craze filling up the bookshelves and supermarket aisles. And everyone buying into it. How naive and sort of charming if you imagine it's not your people and your country.

4. Diversity-Diversity in everything. Yes, I am ashamed to admit it. I love the fact that you can get anything you want at anytime. But more specifically, I love the cultural diversity. It's true that you have to look hard for it. But, by god it exists. I moved to Argentina from Egypt because I wanted to fit in. I was tired of people staring and taking pictures of me (mind you I was taking pictures of them too). I fit in, just like the rest of the 14 million people in this city.

5. Shared humor and cultural references-I miss being able to say Denny's without having to explain that it's a place you go late-night for some breakfast food before going to bed because you either aren't ready to go home or you need some food to absorb the alcohol. Or how about being able to tell a joke and having people get it, really get it. I don't much miss going to Denny's though.

6. Your basic understanding of what's supposed to happen-When things don't go right, you know it and do something about it. There's no trying to figure out if this is a cultural difference or if you just didn't explain yourself well. Sometimes life in the States is too organized for my taste. It's stifling. But then when you live in places with hardly any rules, you sort of come to appreciate that dull, organized sanity that is home.

7. The BEACH-I miss being outside and swimming.

8. Change, change, change- And the belief that you can pretty much have whatever you want. Who knows if it's true, it's just nice to think it might be.

Vegans in Argentina

It's not easy being a vegetarian in Argentina so imagine how difficult it is if you're a vegan. When my vegan friends planned to visit me here, I warned them in advance.

After two weeks in Buenos Aires with a couple of vegans from North Florida, here's what I learned.

1. Vegetarian here means no beef. It does not mean no meat. And vegan is a totally foreign concept.

For the first couple of days I'd ask if there were any vegetarian dishes. "Sure, we have chicken dishes or ham and cheese empanadas, for example." Then I'd explain I meant dishes with no meat. But the word for meat is carne, which means beef. "They don't eat any land or water animals," I would explain, "or any products of animals like eggs, cheese, milk, etc." This explanation usually worked.

2. Salad, french fries, pizza and pasta (although most are made with eggs) are your best bet.

Salads here are fresh and cheap and virtually every restaurant has them. Argentines, though carnivores at heart, are very creative with their salads and you can pretty much guarantee there will be no land or water animals of any kind.

I've had the best fries I've ever eaten here in Argentina. When I asked what they did to make them so scrumptious, the waitress said they were fried in lard. It's probably worth asking if you're going to order fries.

The Italian influence here is everywhere. The way they drive, the way the men flirt, the way they speak Spanish. And yes, the way they cook or at least what they cook. For good pizzas try Piola or Romario. But your best bet for creative vegetarian-style pizza (and some pasta dishes) is Flor de Lino in San Telmo.

I'm a bit picky when it comes to pasta. There's a place everyone says is wonderful on the corner of Cordoba and Esmeralda. It's called Broccolino and it has the feel of an authentic Italian restaurant. My pasta was drowning in sauce though and the cheese they piled on top of it became a melted layer of rubber. Ask them to bring the cheese to the table and put it on yourself. If you're used to eating pasta in the States, you'll probably like the pasta here. If you're Italian, order something else.

3. Thai and Indian restaurants are plentiful.

There's a great Thai restaurant in Las Cañitas called Lotus Neo Thai. It's beautifully decorated and the food was wonderful.

For Indian food, try La Reina Kunti in Almagro or Krishna in Palermo.

4. Read the menu before you enter. Even some of the best parillas (steak places) offer fantastic vegetable dishes.

One of my favorite restaurants in Las Cañitas is a typical parilla called Las Cholas. They serve some traditional dishes from the North of Argentina along with the standard parilla fare. Try the vegetables from the oven (al horno): squash, potatoes, corn, and pumpkin cooked with honey. They also have some delicious rice and vegetable dishes but these usually come with a creamy cheese.

5. Four restaurants that offer creative all-vegetarian dishes.

Argentines are proud of their city and love to offer advice. Friends came running to my aid with a few amazing suggestions. The picture above is of Bio, a fantastic place that serves macrobiotic cuisine and delicious fresh juices.

A bit more upscale is Verdellama which claims to specialize in "life food." The chef is well-known Diego Castro who used to run a one-night-a-week all vegan restaurant from his home.

And finally there's Artemisia. Another upscale vegetarian restaurant in trendy Palermo that offers homemade natural cuisine and a nice wine list. Artemisia's menu also includes some fish dishes in case you're going with friends who aren't veggie lovers.

To find restuarants by type of food, location, or rating go to the Oleo Guide of restaurant in Buenos Aires.

Also interesting is this article in Spanish Recorrido vegetariano: verde en todos los tonos on vegetarian options in the capital.

Tango at Ideal

Yes, I have become a tango junkie. Here's a video of the latest outing with Chuck and Kathe. I danced this time. The first partner was 94 years old. They got younger as the night got older.