Pops and Tots Mullets

During my many (many, many, many) hours spent working at Canadian Tire (I know, who doesn't love a little 'when I worked at Canadian Tire' story...) I noticed a strange phenonmenon. Often, when dudes have mullets, AND children, often times the little dude has a mullet to match his dad's. Generally the results border on child abuse (that will be my number one project when I return to work...), but that is a discussion for another time.

Since we have been here I have been able to confirm that this phenonmenon is not restricted to Canada (or Dartmouth, for that matter). I would also like to state that the mullets I have seen here are far more serious than those seen in Dartmouth. Theses often involve curls, or, as seen yesterday in the park, the extremely long mullet. I must say my favourite is the curly mullet.

This has nothing to with father/son hairstyles, but there is also a very strong presence of 'rat tails' in men (boys and teenagers as well). They come in different shapes and sizes (braided, covered in thread or dreadlocked, or perhaps specific to Buenos Aires, the multiple rat tail...). They are not always at the very back and bottom of the hairline either. We also saw one of the street vendors selling old dreadlocks. You know. Someone else's dead and (extremely) dirty hair. I think it is for cases of 'rat tail envy'.

Its all a bit overwhelming.

The cleanest smelly people in all the land

I have mentioned several times about various roommates we have had. Since Silent Bob and Fabio we have had many roommates, including several random Brazilian girls who only actually slept there during the daylight hours, two Chinese women for one night, a Japanese dude, and the Australian dude, and the random, rotating Brazilian dude.
For the past week we have been sharing our four bed dorm room with two of the cleanest smelly people I have ever met. They came to us after the two Spanish speaking (and we are certain English speaking, but they never let on!)girls left. We weren't sad to see them go as there was a bit of an unspoken war over the air conditioner (the crazy girls, who were sleeping on the boiling hot top bunks) would continuously turn the air off. I don't know how they didn't melt, and I mean that. They also always tried to steal the bathroom, even though they had nothing to do/nowhere to go, and we obviously had Spanish school!
We have been living with these two young Brazilian girls. They are quite sweet, or at least we thought so at first. Our first red flag came during their first night here, when after one of then had a shower and hung up her towel the room was overcome with an overwhelming stink of body odour (otherwiswe known as BO). On the first day of their seven day vacation! I would completely ubderstand if they had been traveling for weeks or months, or had been riding the bus for five straight days (that is how the Australian guy came to us, stinky as they come, straight after five days of busing from Bolivia. But we forgave him.)
Anyways, it's a stink that won't quit and we can't quite figure out particularly what it is, because the skinny one, who we are pretty sure is the number one culprit, has, on average three showers per day. It's all a bit mind boggling.
Anyways, that was overly negative, so I'll end with a positive note. I am thankful for hot showers (I had one this morning after two days of cold showers, and it was lovely. Even I though there was no shower curtain. We haven't quite figured out what has happened to our curtain (it just diapeared one day!) but we have mentioned it repeatedly, with no response. Who knows.
Welcome to Latin America!Things are good in this sweet, sweet continent. And, since I wrote that post about four days ago, we have moved rooms and have two lovely American dudes as roomies (sadly, only until tomorrow! The normal ones always leave so quickly!). Things are delightful, and we even have a shower curtain again!
So many things to be thankful for!

Soccer. South America style.

On our 'South America Bucket List' one of the most important things was to see a soccer (sorry, football!) game. We were sad to learn before leaving that there is actually no football in Buenos Aires in January, because it is summer and they don't generally play in January. We were so excited to find an opportunity to travel to Mar del Plata (a place on the coast of Argentina, approximately 400 kms south of BA), leaving on a bus at 6 am Saturday morning, spend the afternoon at the beach and then travel to the stadium for a 10 pm kick off, to watch River Plate (the Mar del Plata team) play Boca (which is the team from a neighbourhood in Buenos Aires), and the  leave from the game for almost 5 hour trip back to Buenos Aires.

Friday night we had already planned on going out for dinner and then dancing so we decided to go out anyways (like the true Porteñas we are!). We went out dancing, returned to the hostel a little after 5 am, had showers, grabbed our already packed bags and walked to the bus stop. I was able to sleep the whole way and felt somewhat rested when we arrived at the beach. It wasn't too much to look at, but it was HOT and the water was cool. We learned our lesson when we walked from our towels down to test the water and had to break into a sprint on the sand because it was so extremely hot. I am surprised we don't have blistered feet. The water was much colder than I had expected, but it was nice and refreshing. We spent the day with a group of primarily Brazilian (of course!) dudes, an Irish guy, a Colombian dude, and a lovely girl from England. We went to the beach before the Brazilians arrived, because they went to eat first. We were shocked to discover that nearly everyone of them (in all shapes and sizes and ages!) were wearing SPEEDOS!!!!!! I couldn't believe my eyes and could hardly stop myself from bursting into hysterical laughter.

After the swimming and lounging we went to eat a quick dinner and then returned to the bus. Everyone was drinking beer in the streets, and people had already began chanting the cheers of the various teams. We had traveled with two buses, one for the River side (which is where we sat), and the other for Boca. Someone had brought a whistle to add to the atmosphere. We were quite the spectacle for the people who lived on the street.

We finally loaded back onto the buses to make the trek to the stadium. On the way there our friend, James, an older Irish dude was given a polo shirt and told to put it on because he had been wearing a Brazil jersey, which would not fly in the River section, as the Boca colours are blue and yellow! We had been given a list of instructions with general directions like, don't getlost, and if you do, go back to the bus, don't flash your camera around outside of the stadium because it could be dangerous, and the most important, do not EVER cheer for the other team. THIS IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH. Seriously? I still can't really wrap my head around this.

As we drove up to the stadium we passed hordes of peple, many selling various wares on the street, loads of other buses, some filled with Argentines, others with tourists. One of the most prominent things we saw were the police, everywhere! On horses, with riot gear, complete with large sheilds and huge weapons.

The stands were packed, and the whole time there was chanting and jumping. Lots of jumping. The sections behind the nets were reserved for the 'hooligans' (though I am not certain that is actually what that means in English), there were many, many flags and banners, and the River team had their own percussion band that played drums throughout the match. There was fire works and confetti. River lost 2-0, but the last twenty minutes of the match were possibly the most intense I have ever experienced at any sporting event. The energy in that stadium was fabulous. South Americans totally know how to do football justice!

After the game we left (in a giant, giant crowd, moving as one being), and returned to bus, driving back to the city. We got home at about 6:30, had showers and went back to bed. It was a fabulous, fabulous day!

I love this place.

Spanish School Week 2: Complete. Or: My Brain Hurts

Today we finished week two of Spanish school, and I must admit, I feel a little bewildered. Learning another language is the most difficult thing I have ever tried to do. I cannot believe the sheer volume of information necesary to converse and understand how to communicate with others. There is no feeling more frustrating than not being able to accurately express how you are feeling, because you do not have the words (I sometimes wonder if I feel this more intensely than others, based entirely on my tendency to speak constantly and express how I am feeling in English?). We have been meeting people from all over the world, many of whom speak English, in addition to their home language, and often times additional languages (ie Spanish or Portugese). This experience has made me feel ashamed on more than one occasion to be a Canadian who does not (even remotely) speak French, when we live in a bilingual country (people ask all the time if we speak French). I don't know if the difference is in the school system in Canada versus other countries, or a sense that because we speak English, we don't need to speak additional languages. Regardless, this week I have a new appreciation for those who makethe effort to learn additional languages. Because it is hard. Really hard.

My brain hurts.

Is recycling fake?

We are staying at a very lovely hostel, with an enormous common room, couches, free internet (wireless even! I can access it from my ipod!), and a kitchen. In an attempt to save some money, eat a little healthier, and to prevent me from dying of starvation (in most Latin American countries vegetarianism is not really practiced very often, let alone understood. In Argentina things are even more extreme, as beef is so very central to their culture. Each Sunday families gather to have a very large bbq ('asado') with all kinds of beef. Cows are no joke here. My only option in most restaurants is salad, which is much less exciting here than in Canada.) we have been eating at the hostel and cooking for ourselves. I was so pleased and impressed that there is an entire recylcing station here, with separate sections for cardboard, organics and glass and cans. I couldn't stop thinking about how forward thinking this was, as my previous experience with sanitation systems and garbage collection in Latin America has not been pretty. In many places it is still acceptable to throw your garbage over your shoulder and out the window on the bus.

Imagine my disappointment last night when I was finishing chopping veggies when one of the woman who cleans here asked if I was done with the choppings and was ready to get rid of it, as she was emptying the garbage can. I politely declined and told her that I would put it in the organics bin. She told me not to worry, and that they all go to the same place!!!!! Aggghh! The nerve! I was brought back to my Dal days when I realized that they too had the 'recycling station', involving three sections, there were only two garbage bags to catch everything. It makes me wonder, does recycling actually exist anywhere, or is it just something devised to make us feel like we are doing something good?

Thank You, Avril Lavigne....

for putting Canada on the map. Seriously. As I have already mentioned, Buenos Aires is currently full of Brazilians. Mostly young ones. On one of our first nights here one poor soul who speaks Spanish (and English, and Portugese), got told to go in our cab for an event held by our hostel. We could not be trusted to give the cab driver proper directions on our own. We began talking to him, and when we told him we are from Canada, he was immediately so excited, asking us if we like Avril Lavigne. Apparently, he was quite the fan as a teenager. He didn't know much else about Canada, except that it is cold and that Celine Dion is also from there. He was a bit shocked when I told him that lots of people don't like Celine Dion and that no, I do not listen to her music. He kept saying, but she is the best singer, why you don't like her?
 We tried to talk about many other things Canda has to offer, but he wasn't nearly as interested in that as he was in Avril Lavigne.

So, let's take a minute, and thank Ms. Lavigne, for putting Canada on the map.

Thank you.

Just a regular Porteña....

I took the subte (subway) yesterday for the first time by myself. I, know, big deal. The problem is, I seem to have forgotten my sense of direction in Canada. After two weeks I am only now confident (generally) that I know where we are and what direction we need to go in. All the streets look the same! So, J has basically been designated (by unanimous vote) as our guide and map handler. But, I needed to go to my volunteer orientation, and J is not involved with that, so I was on my own.

Equipped with my (thus far unused...) map, the address, and very specific directions, off I go on the subte. I did it! I hardly got lost at all, and only once someone stopped to ask me if I needed help (in Spanish!) and that was when I was at the street I needed to turn up, but it had no sign. When he realized that I am not from here (I don't know what gave me away...my bewildered face or extremely broken Spanish). When he found out I speak English, he told me that my face did not look very 'American'. Whatever that means.

On the way back from my successful trip, I sat on the subway with all the other Porteños (people from Buenos Aires) and felt for the first time like I am part of the city, just going about my business. And I liked it.

That's right.

Just a regular porteña.