Speaking too much or not enough Spanish in Argentina

So, here’s a post with the intention of being a break from the mundane tales of my travels in South America – demonstrating what can happen when you speak either too much or too little Spanish in Argentina.

Let’s imagine for a minute that you are a gringo who doesn’t speak much Spanish, and has come to Argentina (or some other Spanish-speaking place, perhaps a mythical one called “Remolacha” – my favorite Spanish word! It means “beet”) for a finite amount of time to live. You may want to interact with the locals. Sure, you “know” Spanish. As in, you can get by in the first minute of conversation without any awkward, long pauses or a lot of “can you repeat that please?”.  There are some dangers, however, in speaking only Spanish with a cab driver you just met when you don’t really know the language, after getting a few key phrases perfectly correct. Here they are, in no particular order:

1) People will think you actually speak Spanish, and will answer you enthusiastically, and probably really quickly and in more detail than your limited vocabulary can grasp. You’ll get unnecessary news updates about what’s happening in Remolacha and launch into a conversation about their cheating wife, when all you wanted was to sit in the cab peacefully on the way to meet your friends somewhere.

2) In said responses, you will pick up every other word. You may understand what they are saying, but you probably won’t. Here, you have two choices on how to react and continue: 1) nod and smile like an idiot, changing your facial expression slightly every time you think they begin a new sentence, or 2) ask them to repeat themselves “más despacio, por favor” until they give up and stop talking to you.

3) You are absolutely shocked when they answer your “Cómo estás?” with anything else than “Bien, y tu?” You freeze up. Turn red. Stop talking. And pray that the cab ride is short and they don’t try again with asking you something that you don’t know how to answer.

4) He realizes that you’re a gringo and you get a grand tour of the city instead of being brought straight home – complete with the extra fare. Jackass.

Then there’s the opposite scenario: When you know too much Spanish after a few months and you use it often. In this case, you have impressed the cab driver with your extensive verbal skills. There are several problems that can come from this situation. In no particular order, they are:

1) The cab driver will ask you out on a date, or if you have a boyfriend. Then they will ask you out on a date after they find out you have a boyfriend.

2) You will be grilled about American politics and are asked if you know “Miguel in Houston” or “Facu in Dallas”, because you say you are from Texas. You also get to hear about they “went to Idaho once” and so they are an expert on American things. Also, do you like the Simpsons?

3) You get an extended interview about how you like Remolacha. Do you like it here? It’s very much like Texas! How long have you lived here? What are you doing here for so long? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you like asado?

Of course, there are worse things in life. You have to practice your language skills so that you get better, and you don’t lose it once you’ve got it. Practice with cab drivers and waiters/waitresses in restaurants, and anyone you know. But be prepared for the scenarios above. It’s not just me. But it’s pretty funny 🙂

Copa America Semifinals

Oh My God – I never would have believed you if you told me a soccer game in one of the most important tournaments would be boring as sh*t. But, alas, it happened.

I paid $250 pesos for a ticket to go see the Copa America semi-final game here in Mendoza at the stadium in the Parque General San Martin. If all went the way it should have gone, it was going to be between Brazil & Chile. Awesome. I’d love to see Brazil play. But, somehow everyone in the whole tournament choked except Uruguay, so Brazil & Chile were knocked out and sent home before the semifinal round. I’m not even gonna go into Argentina’s heartbreaking loss against Uruguay.

What did this mean?
That I got to go see Paraguay and Venezuela play each other. Wow..the excitement was palpable even to Helen Keller.

Look at all those fans!

It. Was. BORING.

The highlights of the game were the ref getting pegged by the ball (hilarious, actually), the Chileans who were still in Mendoza singing Chile chants and the Argentines singing back anti-Chilean chants, and the stray dog that just came up the stairs and into the stands, like it was just normal for a stray dog to be at a soccer game here, crawling underneath the seats and scrounging around for food.

I still can’t wait for the World Cup in Brazil, though. Even if it’s crappy teams, I’m sure at least the crowd will be good and the atmosphere will be great.

Te Amo, Mendoza

It’s about time where I quit my bitching and write a post about what I love about Mendoza. Because it’s seriously a great place. Homesickness seems to tweak my reality at times, and I’m not always as appreciative as I should be that I live in a wine-lover’s paradise and I’m surrounded by the great outdoors.

So here goes:

The wine. Period. I could write essay upon essay about how much I love it, and it still wouldn’t do it justice. Some of my favorite bodegas from right here in Mendoza are O’Fournier (see previous blog post), Pulenta Estate, Doña Silvina, Gimenez-Riili, Sangre de los Andes, Vistalba, Enrique Foster, Mil Vientos, Atamisque, Mauricio Lorca, Azul, Qaramy, Renacer, and Las Perdices.

The Andes. Walking around centro, you don’t see them all too often, but they’re right there, looming to the west of the city. It’s an amazing sight, and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it. When I’m feeling homesick, going to the park or plaza to see the mountains in the distance is one of the best cures.

The piétonal and Plaza Independencia – there are always street performers and artisans selling hand-made goods lining the plaza and the pedestrianized shopping street known as the piétonal.

Just now, the little man on a bicycle who goes around sharpening people’s knives rode by. How do I know that, without even looking out the window? Because he plays this signature tune on his pan flute as he rides. It’s pretty freakin’ cute.

Did I mention that I live in wine country? And any given weekend, I can go winetasting in any one of the three valleys here (Maipú, Lujan de Cuyo, Tunuyán).

Sometimes I hate her because I can hear it in the early morning and I get grumpy, but there’s a sweet little old lady who lives in my building that sweeps in front of the building every single day, getting all the leaves and dirt off the sidewalk. Every morning. Without fail. And she’s a sweetheart. I just wish I could understand more of what she says.

The little mom and pop vegetable stores (verdulerias) and kioscos, where the ladies on my street know me. Also if you don’t have a peso or five, and they don’t have change, they’ll let you pay them the next time you see them. I’m not sure this would ever happen at home.

Did I mention how cheap the wine is? You can buy an amazing bottle of wine for about $25. A great mid-level bottle can run between 30-70 pesos, which is less than you probably have paid for a crappy Chilean wine in the past month.

Oh, Mendoza. I’m glad we’ll get to hang out a little longer.

What’s in a name?

As Shakespeare said “That which we call a rose; by any other name would smell as sweet…”. Except when your name is ridiculous and the Argentine government wants to protect children from lifelong ridicule because of stupid parents.

That’s right. There’s a baby name registry here in Argentina, and if your chosen baby name is not on there – too bad. Little Guava Queso Inspección better be born somewhere else.

This list is published by province. To consult the list for BA to see if your name is too ridiculous for the porteños, click here.

Personally, I don’t think this is such a bad thing. The government makes exceptions for names that are passed down through families, and you can appeal to the authorities if your name is rejected. But, the general rules are: it can’t be ridiculous, it can’t be sexually ambiguous, the same name as a living sibling, something too foreign, or have more than three first names. So, George Foreman would be totally screwed.

An interesting anecdote told to me by a friend: Frustrated parents who couldn’t name their daughter an unapproved name finally got their way years later, when they named their vineyard that name instead. And the wine is pretty great, too. Well done.

Being followed like thieves.

So, shopping in Mendoza is kind of like being a teenager in a record store again. The second you go in, the staff follows you around, making sure you’re not going to steal something and run out of the store on a moment’s notice. Because, goddammit, you need those fake snakeskin leggings, and you’re not going to pay for them!

At first it’s kind of funny or amusing. And then you realize that they really think you might steal something. I don’t understand how this is the case when they hear me or my friends speaking English and see that our style isn’t exactly like the 1990’s floral prints are our “thing”. Or that maybe we don’t want a cropped t-shirt with a random chick printed on it.  Or pants that I couldn’t even fit my arm into.

We’re dressed nicely and are barely even touching the clothes as we browse the racks.  But somehow, we’re there to steal. Either that, or we’re there for them to stare at and give dirty looks to, because we’re the only people in the store, and how dare we interrupt them from loafing around doing nothing and they MAY have to work?

Needless to say, on principle I refused to buy anything at any shop where I was treated this way. I’m not a criminal. I’m actually a lawyer in my late twenties with fashion sense (as in I know that the 90’s belong in the 90’s, not 2011) and no criminal history. I’m not a Mendocino teen with a mullet and a drug habit. So thanks, I’ll go buy a studded pleather vest someplace else.

Jerks.  Ah, the perks of living someplace where petty crime is all the rage.

Walkie-talkie phones

Dear Argentina,

I just thought you should know that we were actually quite comfortable in 2002, and would like to be left there. We’re really not cool anymore. And nobody else wants to hear your conversation. Thanks.

Regards,
Nextel direct-connect phones.