It has recently been brought to my attention that this tumblr has gone un-updated for close to two months. In the words of the venerable Colin White: “This isn’t the end is it?”
No. No it is not.
What many of you don’t know is that over the years I have been quietly amassing a collection of screenshots of all the silly things you people do on social media, with plans to eventually post them here, when I decided the time was right.
Christian: If you ever want to insult a man, just tell him he’s a pito corto. Me: What does that mean? Christian: Just tell Mati he’s a pito corto, and you’ll see. Me: Absolutely not. What does it mean? Christian: Watch… Oi, Mati! Sos un pito corto! Mati: Yeah? You want me to whip out my pito corto and show you, motherfucker? Me: Ohhhh, okay, I get it.
I will quote myself from a post on this blog, September 1, 2012:
For some reason, Argentines … do not believe that my name has an ‘h’ at the end. Even after I explicitly I tell them that it does. There’s this strange cognitive dissonance where I’ll send emails signed “Saludos, Hannah” and I’ll get replies that start with “Hola Hanna!” … I don’t know, it’s just sort of interesting. I know how to spell my own name!
Here is an email I got today regarding my upcoming trip to Argentina:
See?!? Guys, I know that this is the lamest update after such a long hiatus, but I just don’t care. This is more for me than it is for you. I still know how to spell my own name!!
And I promise there will be exciting things here soon.
This is the part of the story where I have a mini-freakout and really, really don’t want to break the news that yes, we do have a five-page paper due in fourteen hours and if you haven’t started it then I’m really sorry but I just don’t know how you’re planning on
These two lovely people made it their personal mission to teach me all the Buenos Aires slang they could think of. If you want to know how the porteños say “kiss-ass,” “cougar,” or “blowjob,” let me know. For my top five favorites, though, click below.
I’m sipping a beer in a sweaty corner of Temple Bar, practicing my Spanish while Paula and Ezequiel practice their English. Paula takes off her jacket, fans herself with her hand, and says, “Uff, I am in heat! I need a beer.” Then she turns around and makes for the bar.
I turn to Ezequiel. ”Do you know what that means in English?” I ask.
"No. Qué significa?"
How do I explain this in broken Spanish… ”It’s like… a dog… who wants to have sex with all the other dogs.”
"Ohhhh. Hey - Paula!" He calls after her. "Are you in heat?!”
Fabian: Paulo, que hiciste anoche? (Paulo, what did you do last night?) Paulo: *silence* Fabian: *questioning look* Paulo and Fabian: *begin speaking rapidly in Portuguese* Hannah: Porqué están hablando en Portugués? (Why are you guys speaking Portuguese?) Paulo and Fabian: *more silence* Hannah: De qué están hablando?! (What are you talking about?!) Paulo: ….Man things. I could tell you. But you would not understand.
The Spanish word for “chaos” is spelled “caos,” but the two are not pronounced similarly at all; the Spanish word “caos” sounds a lot like somebody saying “cows” in a very exaggerated way. (For an audio comparison, click here and then click on the English and Spanish audio buttons.) Today in class, my professor of Argentine Poetry was in the middle of a very profound and impassioned rant about destiny that I was only half listening to and all of a sudden he said, “La vida… no es COWS.” It was shocking. I had to work very hard not to laugh and then all class I kept remembering it and laughing more. Oh god, it was terrible. Thats all for this entry, I have nothing else to say on this topic.
Tonight my host parents’ son Carlitos came over for dinner to celebrate his 43rd birthday. Here’s a conversation that happened at the dinner table (translated into inglés):
Hannah: So, are we going to sing for you? Carlitos: …No. Hannah: Pleeeease? Carlitos: (Sigh) If it makes you happy to sing, then go ahead and sing. Hannah: Well, I don’t want to sing alone. Carlos (my 85-year-old host dad): I’ll accompany you! Hannah: Great! Carlos: Alright! (Pause) Carlos: Wait… what are we singing?
Many laughs were had. Other cool thing: This past Tuesday, Argentina celebrated Dia del Inmigrante. As anyone who has ever lived in Buenos Aires will tell you, this is a city of immigrants. You can see it in the wide variety of architectural styles/restaurants/skin complexions all over the city. There is a (sort of) joke about Argentinians’ foreign ancestry that goes like this:
Q: The Mexicans descend from the Aztecs, the Peruvians descend from the Incas, and the Chileans from the Araucanos. But what about the Argentinians? A: The Argentinians descend from the boats!
…Get it?! Anyways, this weekend Buenos Aires celebrated with the Fiesta de las Colectividades, a street fair with different tents selling food/handicrafts from about 50 different countries. Including yerba mate cups with Irish shamrocks painted on them. And something called ‘empanadas japonés’ which I can only assume were some type of Asian dumpling. And a shockingly inaptly-named food called Sopa Paraguaya, which is not Paraguayan soup at all, but cornbread stuffed with cheese, and is delicious. Anyways! It was interesting to see the different ways that immigrant communities have retained their cultures so far from home, as well as the ways that they’ve adapted their traditions and customs here in Buenos Aires. It was also just amusing to see a bunch of dudes standing around wearing kilts speaking to each other in Castellano. As per usual, I completely forgot to bring my camera, so I’m just going to steal some photos from my friend’s facebook and hope she doesn’t mind:
More on my name. For some reason, Argentines who aren’t likening me to a certain American country-pop singer-actress do not believe that my name has an ‘h’ at the end.* Even after I explicitly I tell them that it does. There’s this strange cognitive dissonance where I’ll send emails signed “Saludos, Hannah” and I’ll get replies that start with “Hola Hanna!” When people (new friends, baristas, teachers, various list-makers) have to copy down my name, they simply stop after “Hanna” and refuse to go on, and when I say “Con una ‘h’ al final,” they look at me like I’m lying or they ignore me and say “Apellido?” I don’t know, it’s just sort of interesting. I know how to spell my own name!
Until yesterday, the only place I’d eaten pizza in Buenos Aires was at home with my host parents, so I assumed that eating pizza with a fork and knife was just an adorable old person thing to do. Not so! A couple of days ago I went to El Cuartito, and forks and knives abounded. With every age group!
Seriously, this pizza does not fuck around. None of this New York thin-crust nonsense. I like it. And yes, I used a fork and knife. There’s really no way around it.
Seriously, MS Word? Come on. What does that even mean? Get your shit together.
Is this going to happen for the next 3 months? Srsly.
(Re: my previous post)
Last night I accidentally went on a pub crawl. I don’t know how to explain it other than that. But that’s a story for another time. Here is a picture of me with some drunk Porteños I met on said pub crawl:
Here are the comments on that picture:
GOD DAMMIT BUENOS AIRES will I ever understand you?
The first thing I want to say is that if you ever find yourself in Argentina and you want to be somewhere very far away but still in Argentina, you should definitely take a long-distance bus. They are awesome. The seats recline 160 degrees (basically a bed). There is unlimited free scotch and wine. Sometimes the bus attendant will be super nice and will help you practice your spanish and then he’ll give you and your friends a bottle of champagne at the end of the trip. Sometimes.
(This is Joanna, Julia, and Cece, happy as clams on the bus to Iguazu.)
This weekend I also had my first-ever hostel experience, which was fun and in many ways exactly as I imagined it would be. Cece and I stayed in a room with four other travelers, who were: an American girl also studying in Argentina; a French girl on holiday whose Spanish was far better than my French; a man from Buenos Aires who wasn’t around much; and a man whom I never officially met but assume was European because he slept in nothing but a pair of very small briefs. It was great (the hostel experience, not the very small briefs).
The falls were beautiful. Here is a picture of me looking like a tool with a waterfall in the background:
There is a story that apparently Eleanor Roosevelt visited Iguazu and upon seeing the falls she exclaimed, “Poor Niagara!” I believe it.
Anyways, I’m back in Buenos Aires now, and really happy about it. Spending a weekend out of town definitely made BA feel like home. I have a full day of class tomorrow, which I don’t really want to think about. And… I think that’s all I have to report for now. I’ll check back in next time I have an awkward/awesome/bizarre cultural experience.
So this is awkward… remember when I left Amherst and a bunch of people told me, “You should totally blog!” and I confidently told them, “Oh, yeah, I’ll totally blog!!” and then I just… didn’t at all? Sorry about that. Anyways, here is my (hastily written, poorly organized, not very funny, and rather long) Argentina update:
Recently I was at my friend’s house having a beer, and he pulled out a deck of cards. This is the conversation that immediately followed:
Jon: Hey, Hannah, do you want to play a drinking game I learned at Cornell? It’s called “Fuck Steve.” Hannah: Okay, how do you play? Jon: It’s easy. (He looks at the top card.) What do you think this card is? Hannah: Uh… I don’t know, the two of diamonds? Jon: Nope. Drink! Hannah: …Is that the whole game? Jon: Yep. Hannah: Oh, do you have a friend named Steve at school or something? Jon: Nope!
I probably shouldn’t even ask, but… can this be a thing?