America: spreading freedom even before it was a country

 

Feliz 25 de Mayo! It’s always a holiday in Argentina. Argentina has more holidays than any other country and May has more holidays than any other month – or at least it seems that way. They’ve had lots of revolutions and wars over here, many of which are celebrated in May.

May 25 marks the last day of the May Revolution, which is considered the starting point of the Argentine War of Independence and marks the establishment of Argentina’s very first local government. Thanks to wikipedia, today I learned that Argentina can say thanks to America for its May Revolution and subsequent independence from Spain.

Much like the thirteen American colonies weren't too fond of Britain's rule, Argentina and the other South American Spanish colonies were struggling for independence from their rulers around the same time. Even before the American Revolutionary War broke out, Spain aided and actively supported the American colonies in their struggle for independence from Britain. When we declared our independence from the tea-obsessed British, the Argentines were encouraged and their hopes bolstered to believe that revolution and independence from Spain could be realistic aims. The fact that Spain aided the American colonies in their struggle against Britain weakened the argument that ending one's allegiance to the mother country could be considered a crime.

You’re welcome.

The British are known for their massive colonization around the world. The fact that another country occupied land never stopped the Brits from taking it for their own, which they did when they invaded the (former) Spanish trading ports of Havana and Manila during the Seven Years War. (Side note: Spain later recovered Havana by trading it for Florida with the Brits, and then “re-captured” it before finally selling it to USA). The Spaniards were pretty peeved about their losses and two decades later, they were ready for revenge. Maybe Americans should be thanking the Spanish. Ah, maybe we should just thank them for tapas. yum.

Truth be told, the French Revolution helped to inspire our revolution. But let’s not start thanking the French just yet. They didn’t even find our perp walk of (former) IMF chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn endearing. Can you imagine that.

Memories

 

 our first rickshaw ride in Beijing

 

As our honeymoon adventure comes to an end (not yet! but soon), it’s nice to take a look at the past 9 months in photos. We have many good memories and will carry them with us for many years to come :)

 

first shawarma in Israel, Sept. ‘10

 

beautiful beach in Israel, Sept. ‘10

 

fun trip to Maastricht, Holland Oct. ‘10

 

bike rides in Berlin, Oct. ‘10

 

my favorite fries (pommes) in Dusseldorf, Germany, Oct. ‘10

 

  our first (amazing and way too spicy) hot pot, which we washed down with the Chinese version of everclear in Beijing, China, Oct. ‘10

 

 we did our own laundry in Beijing :)

 

 Heading for our 5 am bus in Yangshuo province, China. Absolutely love China’s agrarian society. These ladies were up before the sun everyday to set up their fresh veggie ‘stands’. Nov ‘10

 

Chinese breakfast = beef stew + peanuts. Ate this a lot, especially in the airports. Took some time to get used to it, but now we miss it.

 

amazing early morning trek up the Great Wall of China

 

gettin’ my corn at a shabu shabu restaurant in Viet Nam. You pay a flat fee, receive your own little hot pot, and choose your food from a cute little conveyor belt. We had so much fun and were the only farangs (white people in Thai). Nov ‘10

 

 The garbage disposal (his snout is actually in the kitchen) at our hostel on Ko Phangan island in Thailand. This cute pig was a local who rummaged around the whole island looking (and successfully finding) food. Dec ‘10

 

early morning market in Phuket, Thailand. We stumbled across this at 7am after a 12 hour, all night bus ride from the other coast. It pays to be up early in Thailand. Dec. ‘10

 

    more of the market in Phuket, Thailand, but this time in Jan. ‘11

   

Corn in a cup? With lots of sugar and butter? I like corn a lot, but the Asians have me beat, especially the Malaysians & Thais. This is in the Kuala Lumpur airport. Jan ‘11

Oh those funny argentines

 

They get their sale prices confused (ahora = now and antes = before)

 

Their pepper grinders are a tad too large

 

 They use funny products

 

 Their politicians resemble pirates

 

Their idea of pizza is just a lot of cheese and bread (never repeat this to an Argentine or they will kill you)

 

  They are in desperate need of a self-service check-out line. This is the normal length of a grocery store check-out line. We usually walk into the store, one person stands in line with the cart, and the other person does the shopping. Still takes a long time.

 

BUT,

we love Buenos Aires because it delivers where it really counts:

 

They have the best bakeries, pastelerias, “sweets” stores, etc. on every corner and just the thought of leaving Buenos Aires induces withdrawals

 

        

I have a serious thing for their coffee. And have you heard of dulce de leche or alfajores? They are my two favorite foods and I eat them everyday.

 

       

The husband has a thing for their empanadas (those are some yummy homemade ones by Chef Abs) and medialunas + submarino (dark chocolate dipped in hot milk)

 

 

We like wine. We like cheese. The Argentines really like wine and cheese. We are in heaven.

 

    

Have you heard of gelatto? Have you heard of 2 flavors of gelatto for $2? We have.

 

 

I guess we really like the food here.

 

 

             

ok, so that’s Arab food, but you get the point

Moving Day

There comes a time in your life when you must pack up all of your belongings and move; and we've become experts at those times in life. By now, we can give a small family of gypsies a run for their money with the moving thing.

The time of our scheduled check-out was Saturday at 11am -- an unfortunate timing for both the Argentine landlord Gizelle (who was partying in the apartment next to us until 7am) and us (who were trying to get some sleep all night long). Gizelle arrived in the morning with the inventory list and every intention to be back in bed by 11:10, which made the process a breeze. I tried to go over the inventory with Gizelle a bit as a formality, while Shova was quietly and with a purpose eating our last sugar-coated grapefruit in the kitchen corner. Around her were our belongings: a wooden cutting board peaking out of a large paper bag, a computer cord showing from a green Chinese messenger bag, a can of beans in a plastic supermarket bag, and so on. We were not leaving anything behind. We were carrying about 6 bags each, muling out of the building gate and into a cab.


Most of the opinions we hold about the Argentine people come from our conversations with cab drivers. They're the country's ambassadors, as far as we are concerned. And on the way to the new apartment, our cab driver of course brought up the assassination of Osama Bin Laden. I could not help but smile. He said that 9/11 was upsetting to the whole world, and not just to the US, and that the death of Osama is good news for all. We told him he's welcome.

After a cordial conversation about all things Al Qaeda we arrived at our new building in the ritziest part of Buenos Aires. However, our arrival was about an hour early, leaving us on a ritzy street with 14 bags with crackers and beans sticking out, looking like we were there to find and feed the homeless. We decided to wait it out in a fancy corner coffee shop. As we measuredly made our mule-like entrance with bags hanging everywhere, Shova still nearly disabled an older Argentine gentleman with an unscrupulous step forward. We settled in the far corner onto two tables and four chairs to sip coffee and wait, holding back from eating the rotisserie chicken we packed in one of the bags.

Coming from a brand new apartment building, we had to adjust to the dated building and apartment into which we were moving. The building has one of those tiny elevators back from when elevators were invented, with folding doors that you have to open and close yourself, and a view of the walls when taking a ride. We took that thing up one at a time. Once inside the apartment, we began exploring our new appliances.
The kitchen runs entirely on gas. By the stove there is a metal tub with flame in it – a mechanism that I recalled from my Soviet Russia childhood, used for heating up water. As soon as we turn the water on, the flame in the tub violently lights up. Alright. For me it was just a relapse into childhood, but Shova was more concerned. She was especially weary of the stove and oven, both gas-operated as well. The fact that the stove and oven needed to be lit up with matches has proven the most threatening. It was with utter trepidation, comprehensible only through the eyes of an American who has been educated about the perils of carbon monoxide since diaper years, that Shova first brought herself to light up a match and bring it within a foot of the burners. The newly available oven is burner-based also. There is a little hole to stick a lit match into; and as soon as that match is in – the burner beneath lights up like the pits of hell. As of this writing, I have been the sole operator of the oven.

As we continued to explore the new apartment, we noticed another oddity – a metal tank in the closet. It looked as if someone just ripped it out of a Pinto. We inspected further and found industrial grade metal pipes around it. Finally, we figured it out. It was a vacuum cleaner left in this apartment from the Great War. I guess we’ll have to go without vacuuming for a little while.

All jokes aside, we slowly came to appreciate the comforts of our new abode. The place is small but comfortable. And the neighborhood reminds us of the upper east side in Manhattan: small bakeries and butcheries all around, and supermarkets tucked into multi-story buildings. The architecture is impressive, and the streets are clean. A large chestnut tree gently strokes our third-floor windows throughout the night; and groomed old upper-class ladies are walking groomed miniature dogs outside our building.  We like it.