Mar 25
When I first moved to Argentina I was taken aback by how much sugar porteños consume. A lot. One thing I can’t fault them on is dulce de leche. Nothing has rocked my world more than this delicacy. This afternoon I ate lunch in Nuñez and treated myself to a little dessert. At first I thought I was ordering lemon meringue but inside was, you guessed it, dulce de leche. Yum. I have to remember to take a few jars back with me to Toronto.
Oh, the blackforest cake also looked yummy.
Unfortunately stepping on the grass is prohibited so the only way to get a decent photograph of the house is to crawl under a few trees by the gate.
Villa Ocampo is the former residence of the late Victoria Ocampo, one of Latin American’s most prominent cultural figures. She was most famous as a writer and Argentine intellectual. Villa Ocampo was a meeting place for Buenos Aires’ intellectual establishment, including Jorge Luis Borges. The house was built by Victoria’s father, and became her permanent home in 1940 and remained so until her death in 1979. She is buried in La Recoleta Cemetery. Villa Ocampo is located in the posh San Isidro neighbourhood. Photographs of the exterior of the building are permitted but not inside. However if you sneak downstairs to the basement where the public washrooms are located you can snap a few pictures of the laundry room.
This is me near the kitchen. There's a tiny restaurant inside that I didn't bother to try.
Nothing says decadence more than a statue!
A fountain is also a clear indication of class
The house is surrounded by lovely gardens and pristine gravel walkways
It was a cloudy and rainy day in Buenos Aires
I love how the houses in Argentina are painted with vibrant colours. I wish we did the same thing in Canada.
The terrace is reserved for private functions, unfortunately!
Out back is this cute Gazebo that used to overlook the Rio de le Plata. The view has since been replaced with old trees and over-populated roads.
If you remember back in October I wrote about my introduction to the legendary Gauchito Gil mythology one evening while visiting my friend Cristian in Nuñez. Well the very shrine that captivated my attention has been destroyed by scoundrels! I am so upset, that I’ve decided to start a foundation to raise money to restore the shrine back to its former glory. Okay, no I’m not, but I’m outraged damn it! Who would do such a thing?
Wall Mania in Palermo. Painted by Pum Pum and Ever it's the latest artwork in a series to promote Roger Waters’ The Wall tour in Argentina.
I woke up super early this morning because I wanted to check out some street art in Palermo and Congreso.
The blog, BA Street Art is an excellent resource for me when I’m in the mood to wander the city in search of good art. I love how Buenos Aires embraces this medium, because, in Toronto, where I am from, graffiti art is frowned upon.
I woke up super early this morning because I wanted to check out some street art in Palermo and Congreso. The blog, BA Street Art is an excellent resource for me when I’m in the mood to wander the city in search of good art. I love how Buenos Aires embraces this medium, because, in Toronto, where I am from, graffiti art is frowned upon.
Wall Mania began as a campaign series to promote Roger Waters’ The Wall Tour in Argentina. He was in Buenos Aires a couple of weeks ago, I know this because I could hear the concert from my apartment in Belgrano.
I don’t think the images below are associated with Wall Mania, but then again how can they not be, considering that they depict a young man being covered by a brick wall? So I’m including them here.
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The mural below is called Book Frenzy. It’s located at Plaza del Congreso and features 12 faceless figures wearing school uniforms rummaging through a pile of books. I went all the way to Congreso this morning to take some photographs but a family selling mate had set up shop in front of it so I couldn’t. I love the scene it envisions so much that I lifted the picture below from the BA Street Art blog to show you.
Book Frenzy. Artwork by Jaz in Congreso. Photo courtesy of BA Street Art blog.
Well that’s it for now, I hope you’re all having a lovely Saturday.
Mar 23
11 p.m. St. Patty's Day. When will I learn that porteños rise after 2 a.m?
After Belgrano, Las Cañitas is my favourite Buenos Aires barrio. The best place to grab a pinta in Las Cañitas is at Van Koning Bar. Dark, drafty and illuminated by only candles, it reminds of ghostly haunts like Gordon’s Wine Bar in London, England. What joy!
Mostly candle lit, but electricity isn't far!
Mar 23
A couple of weekends ago I went to El Club de la Milanesa for, you guessed it, milanesa! All the milanesa one could possibly hope for is served at this Recoleta establishment. I took some photos, mostly of the beer tower, none of the food.
Priorities. Check it out if you’re in Buenos Aires.
The beer contraption thingy. It was a lot of beer.
This is what Argentina uses for air conditioning. They are rarely enough to beat the formidable heat and water often leaks from them.
I’m new, I wanna say I’m just a little stuck on you…
Imagine, some people come to Buenos Aires for a better life. Hmmm…..
At the cottage in 2010 with my cylon pumpkin. It brings up nice memories, because, on this day, I was surrounded by good people. Sometimes when I'm confronted with bad news, I like to look at it, and remember how lucky I have been.
I grew up in the 80s and 90s when HIV was considered a death sentence, rather than a chronic condition, as it is today. One night my mother made us watch an informative television program about safe sex, an uncharacteristically progressive thing for her to do. My parents, unlike countless others, treated the topic of sex as something dirty, impure and distasteful. Naturally I wanted to know more about it. When will parents learn that censorship only flames a child’s curiosity? Possibly never.
When I reached adolescence I assumed that because I was gay I would contract HIV. As a result I was fearful and abstained from sex. Regardless it’s always been my belief that modesty is sexier, though I’m in the minority on that one.
Since moving to Argentina I’ve experienced many firsts. I was robbed. I was almost mugged. My pay-cheque is always late. Many many firsts. This week I added one more to that list: My friend revealed to me that he was HIV+. His boyfriend is also positive. They have an open relationship and continue to have sex with other men, together and separately. I sat and listened to him for a long time. After four beers it was time for bed and I wished him all the best and walked home.
A few things were going through my mind but I couldn’t properly articulate them. I woke up the next morning still feeling the heaviness of his revelation and I took the subte to work in a bit of a stupor. All day I tried to grapple with the information, to make sense of it. I spoke to one of my colleagues and I confessed that I felt guilty, mostly because despite the compassion I feel for him, I also judge him.
Let me preface that I have worked in health care my entire life, and I have met people with HIV before. However, none have been my friends. But I’ve never had a lot of gay friends. When I moved to Argentina I befriended a few gay people, and I have learned how common HIV is in the community here. Most of my gay friends have dated people who are HIV+. And many of them passionately defend their right to engage in high risk sexual behaviour.
Last night I was thinking about all of this. I have never been a promiscuous person. That does not make me better than someone who has made the opposite choice, but I am perplexed by a man’s need to have so much sex. I’ve always assumed that I am not immune to bad news. When I get on a plane I’m convinced it’s going to crash. When I start the engine of a car, I’m mindful that while on the road my life could change in an instant. If I were to engage in a one night stand, I would be willing to consider that I have contracted an STI. Sadly this is how my mind works. I have noticed though, that many of my peers believe that bad news is something that happens to other people.
What I have always known is that men are visual. Straight men have to put in more work to achieve their goal, while gay men easily fall into bed with one another. That is if I am to believe the stories they tell me.
During our conversation, I interjected for a moment to ask my friend why sex was so important to him. I wasn’t trying to be cheeky, I genuinely wanted to understand why he was willing to engage in risky sexual behaviour for a mere, uninspiring orgasm. He looked at me, thought for a long time, and said, “I don’t know.”
Unprotected sex can change one’s life in ways they should imagine.
I have to admit, I was depressed for a couple of days. This planet can offer wondrous experiences, but in one moment, something can happen that alters our course and leaves us numb. I couldn’t imagine not feeling or expressing love, but sex isn’t always love. That’s okay too, if we’re responsible.
There is a community of gay men who proudly participate in bareback sex, meaning they refuse to wear condoms and have multiple sexual partners. It’s turned into a movement of sorts, and their numbers are growing. I’ve read that the reason is twofold. One, gay men who, like me, grew up with the message that sex was bad, spent their formative years in fear of having it. To these men, having sex without a condom is a freedom statement. Second, some gay men are too young to remember when AIDS was a crisis. Just last week I met a colleague who was born in 1990. Insane. To the Y Generation, it’s a manageable disease, and if treated correctly, they can live healthy, normal lives.
But that isn’t true. The medications that people take to treat HIV are toxic to the body, and the possible side-effects are more harmful than the disease. In many countries, insurance companies don’t cover the expense, and in places like the U.S. medication can cost up to $30,000 a year. What individuals will convince themselves of, the misinformation that they are willing to spread, just for a few minutes of passion, is disappointing.
I wish sex didn’t come at such a cost. I do. I wish that my friends could engage in copious amounts of sex, without the fear that it will end their lives. But it’s not the reality of the world we live in. When my friend told me that he was still sleeping with other people I asked if he reveals his diagnosis to each sex partner. He said that he does. I had to believe him. Yet I still questioned why sex with his boyfriend isn’t enough. I am also concerned about the many people he is exposing to a life-altering virus. But I guess what happens between two consensual adults should be none of my concern.
I’ve had this discussion with countless gay men, and believe me, I know it’s not a problem that is exclusive to the gay community, but I expect more of them. It upsets me that to obtain sex, we can be so cavalier about the emotional and physical well-being of not only ourselves, but our casual sex partners. For the sake of sex, we treat people as disposable items, available for our hedonistic pleasures and nothing more.
My struggle to find an explanation for all of this often leads to simplified justifications for a complex issue. “He must be lonely,” I’ll say to myself, or conversely, “Maybe he’s just an asshole.” I do believe that each one of us wants to make a connection with another human being no matter how desperate it might be. We all want to feel loved, wanted and desired by someone.
What I don’t know about this planet could fill a thousand of them. I wish my mind wasn’t clouded with so many conflicting thoughts and I could live worry free.
Through all of these firsts I keep thinking that the universe has placed me in this position for a reason, there is something that she wants me to know, some lesson she wants me to take away from these experiences. There must be. I suppose the lesson I have learned is that I made some pretty smart decisions early in my life, and I’ve had the right attitude, most of the time. I’ve surrounded myself with love, and it has soothed me my whole life through. The mere thought of all this light, all this yellow, makes me cry tears of humility. But I’m mindful that it may all be taken from me tomorrow. I know that to be true enough.
What I feel today, right now, is joyous gratitude for the life I have been blessed with.
Mar 15
I tried to avoid it for as long as I could but yesterday I caved and joined Pinterest. I had to. There was a gun to my head, I promise. I am not lying or exaggerating. Alisha and Raquel threatened my life.
Of course, like all new things on the Internet, I’m addicted and have been obsessing over items to “pin” to my account. I have found a lot of baby photographs, which are annoying, but I’m guessing Pinterest is marketed primarily to the 27 + female demographic.
A few things about my blog. At the bottom of each post you will see social networking tags. I added them recently and if you want to share something I wrote on Twitter or facebook you now can. I have also added three new pages on the top navigation, one is my CV for those who are interested, the other is a photography page that links readers to my flickr account and the last is my published articles. I am slowly populating all three pages and making slight adjustments as I go along.
As for an update on me, for the most part things have been going well. I started my new full-time writing job last week and I like it. I’m allowed to work from home most days because of limited office space and I’m learning a lot about infertility, which is what I’ve been hired to write about funnily enough. Who knew it was such a diverse and fascinating topic?
The sad news is that I had to quit my teaching job, and said goodbye to my students, but it was going to happen eventually. Although teaching English was a nice change of pace from the office environment it’s impossible to make a living off it in Buenos Aires. At 32-years-old I have never been so poor in my life; it reminded me of university days when Christine and I counted our pennies to buy a pack of cigarettes. Not food mind you, cigarettes. Classy.
I think today I will work from Belgrano. The office is noisy and I’m constantly being interrupted which makes it impossible to get anything accomplished. Takes me back…
Mar 3
“And my new grandma Bea Arthur…” I wish!
The last two weeks have been very hard for me. Upon moving to Buenos Aires I missed the memo that it’s a ghost town from December to February. That can be nice, but when my students took their three-week holidays at the same time, it wasn’t so nice for my finances. I recently got a job as a medical writer for a company in Palermo that should help repair my plummeting bank balance. I start on Monday but I’m also going home in April; luckily my new employer allows for the possibility to work remotely, so I’m happy about that. I’m just bored, and it’s not from a lack of activity.
I’ve seen every major landmark in Argentina with the exception of Patagonia. I have walked every cobbled street in Buenos Aires and checked out almost every pub/bar recommended on travel blogs and every lackluster vegetarian restaurant. But that nagging feeling of returning home is plaguing me, and I think when you reach that point, there is no turning back. First off, I am a proud Canadian. I love my country, and I love Toronto. I miss my routine, and walking my dog and staring at her. Literally, I miss staring at her cuteness.
So to torture myself further here are the top five things I miss about home.
1. Maude and Beenie. I own a three-year-old English Bulldog named Maude and a 5-year-old orange tabby cat named Beenie. I’m an animal lover so not having them with me to sleep with at the end of the day has been very hard. Maude has had an especially difficult couple of months. She had to have knee replacement surgery and developed epilepsy after her operation. The seizures are not easy to watch. When I was home I witnessed three and my heart literally broke. The fear is that any seizure that lasts more than five minutes could result in cardiac arrest and eventual death. I can’t even think about it. The good news is that the medication has lessened the severity of her condition and her knee has healed perfectly. Thanks to Keith, Scott, Victoria and the entire McCallum family for seeing her through this. Beeine, on the other hand, is still a bitch. I’ve heard and seen photographic evidence that she has claimed Maude’s crate as her own and sleeps in it at night. She weights 5 pounds, and Maude weighs 50. A smart woman she does not make.
2. My friends. I miss Lisa. I miss Alisha. I miss Raquel. I miss Christine. I miss Larissa, and Lori and Allyson and Heather, and Amy and everyone, just everyone. I miss our evening chats in a pub drinking way too much beer and then falling asleep and doing it all over again the next day. I miss all their partners. I miss dancing in my living room and drinking wine, vodka, or whatever concoction Keith comes up with. Most importantly I just miss their pure awesomeness. I have possibly the greatest friends in the world. I think it’s compounded by co-dependency. I’ve known Lisa since I was 6-years-old and I consider her my sister. I’ve known Alisha, Raquel and Christine for fifteen years and consider them my best friends. I miss their wisdom and their presence in my life. I hope I’m the first to die because I can’t fathom living without them.
3. Toronto. Yes, the greatest city in the world. I really miss my hometown. Toronto gets a lot of flack from the rest of Canada but I’ve travelled extensively and can say it is the best place to live. Don’t get me wrong, it can be pretentious, but it’s easy to avoid those parts and embrace the down-to-earth local charm many of its unique neighbourhoods, bars and restaurants offer. My favourite part about living in Toronto is weekend afternoon beers. I haven’t found anyone in Buenos Aires to replicate that experience with, although I’ve adopted alternatives that have proved just as interesting. I like the conversation obtained after a few pints of Canadian lager; there’s something about sitting in a pub while the snow gently falls outside that’s so comforting. Porteños are over obsessed with image and it gets tiring when all you want to do is get smashed and dance on the table.
4. Alcohol. I miss vodka. None of the porteños I know enjoy alcohol and call me an alcoholic if I have two pints of beer. A porteños idea of a good time is far different than mine. I’ve gone to some gay bars with some of the gay friends I met here and it’s a very odd affair. First, none of my friends make it a priority to order drinks at the bar. Second, they just stand and stare at the men, nursing their water the entire evening. And third, no one speaks. Conversation is definitely lacking, but I guess when you’re trying to cruise it’s better to gawk than pay attention to your friends. After all, a gay man has to get laid! They all go home alone.
5. Quiet! Buenos Aires is loud. That can be alluring on days when your blood is pulsing with energy and you just can’t wait to get out and hit the pavement, but when the drivers start honking their horns and screaming at each other for not running a red light, I get tired. I miss the quiet streets of Toronto. Now it’s hard to compare both cities. Buenos Aires is a city of 13 million people while Toronto, excluding the greater area, has a population of 2.5 million. I love nothing more than waking early on Saturday and Sunday morning, taking Maude out and walking to Starbucks or Second Cup for that specially brewed coffee. After we’re cozy and warm we head to buy local produce and/or antiques at the St. Lawrence Market’s north building. And parks — I miss High Park! There are no large green spaces in Buenos Aires, and if they did exist, they would be breeding grounds for crime.
In addition to this list I also miss my iPod which was pick-pocketed from me last month, and running, which I can’t do because I need music to motivate me. I can’t buy a replacement in Buenos Aires because the prices are absurd and if I have one shipped from Canada, Cristina’s import restrictions assure that I won’t ever receive it. It’ll just land in some Argentine’s needy pocket.
So yes, I am homesick and I’ve written this blog post to prove it!
Now I’m going to try and see if I can buy beer with a 100 bank note. This always gets annoying.
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