I have a job! The interview was today and I completed it almost entirely in Spanish, despite the fact that Augusto, my new boss, speaks much better English than I do Spanish, and I could have reverted to English any time - endeictic of my determination. Still looking for additional work since this isn't very regular nor terribly time consuming, and I'd still love to encounter something more political, but this should be fun. It's with a small company called Once in Motion that, to put it simply, both operates as a liaison between the international student community in the city and many of the bars and nightclubs, and hosts free events for international students . It also coordinates group trips all over Argentina at prices college students could be expected to afford. Really, though, what I like best about the company - and Augusto - is the receptiveness to new event ideas and an understanding that the best way to come to know what these students want to do and see is to ask them.
But anyway, that was this afternoon. Earlier today was the security presentation, once more performed by our friends at GermanBoris. Not much else of any interest to report, except that I had my first café con leche since December of 2010 this afternoon, and it was, as expected, very Argentine and very good. No phone yet. They're pretty expensive and it turns out I can't make my little Spanish prepaid phone work here with a new SIM card, as I had hoped. Working up the strength to bite the bullet on that one.
Below is list I'm starting. It's amazing how many things have surprised me the past few days. Surprised isn't even exactly the right word. Mostly, I'm intrigued by the things that stand out to me this time around, things I had forgotten about or possibly never even noticed. Here I have one of each of those, and I'm sure more will be coming.
Things I had completely forgotten about my beloved Buenos Aires:
The streets. I remembered the sidewalks, which are "tiled" with these too-refined, medium-sized, rectangular pieces of what I assume is still some form of concrete. They're dangerous. About as slick as a bathroom floor when wet. They're pretty uneven wherever one tile meets another - think back to those Earth Science lessons on plate tectonics - so you find yourself skidding or slipping and then coming to abrupt and often painful halt as one of your feet catches the edge of the next tile. I did NOT remember just how laid-back these porteños - the residents of Buenos Aires - are when it comes to any kind of rule, law, traffic sign, uncomfortably close proximity of moving vehicles to one another. That personal bubble? If it doesn't extend even a full six inches out around your own person, why would you think the car's bubble would be any different? But, what I really forgot, were the streets - the wide, somewhat French-European streets - that have absolutely no lines painted on them. Well, to be fair, there are lines - at traffic lights, to remind drivers to actually stop, because the flashing, changing light device is obviously not enough to grab a true porteño's attention. But there are no lane markers. On pretty much all of the streets of Buenos Aires. Because, really, what porteño would go to the effort to stay between two silly painted lines for entire minutes at a time. Though, gracias a Díos, there are exceptions. One of these is Avenida 9 de Julio, which is good, since, you know, it is the widest avenue in the world, and those driving on it are scary enough WITH white lines to keep them driving - very, very generally - on a single vector... from which they will merge out, and then back in, and then out again, and then back in - but only halfway this time - at least once per block. I definitely remembered the scary driving. But I did forgot that in most of the city, no one even bothered to try to designate this strange concept known as a "lane." I respect that. It's good paint conservation.
The smell. Somehow, despite the garbage collectors' frequent strikes, the fact that few residents of the city would ever deign to actually stop and pick up their dogs' messes, this insane heat, and Buenos Aires's known reputation for exactly the kind of pervasive odors you'd expect to result from that combination of circumstances, the city, for the moment, is lovely - and smells lovely, too. There's an extremely faint sweetness to the humid air, possible a result of all the trees lining the streets and the balcony flower gardens maintained by pretty much every porteño, and it's mixed with something else, too, something very distinctively Buenos Aires. I imagine it's partially all those smells we associate with any big city - a touch of car exhaust, the faintest hint of contamination in any rain that falls over the area and, therefore, an almost indiscernible but certainly chemical odor to the puddles left behind after a thunderstorm. I also "picture" - if that's the right word when describing something that cannot actually be seen - some olfactible bit of Río de la Plata and el Riachuelo, Buenos Aires's border rivers, in the air, and maybe some speck of those long yellow grasses growing in the Reserva Ecología, too. There's also the scent of people - men's sweat, women's perfume. And coffee - café con leche. Pastries - medialunes and vigilantes. And mixed in with the pastries, as filling for things like las bolas de fraile and, of course, los cañoncitos de dulce de leche - el dulce de leche itself. Finally, there's that very subtle aroma drifting from heladerías all over the city, brief puffs of cool, sweet and smooth ice cream-scented air escaping briefly opened doors. Of course, that's really just what the city's smell brings to the forefront of my overly nostalgic head. I didn't really notice it had such a particular odor last time I was here, but I recognized it immediately this time, coming back, and I loved it - I love it.
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