The San Telmo Market is Totally Worth It

This Sunday, I stepped out to the San Telmo market for the third time since being here with a couple friends. The guidebooks tell tourists to make a determined effort against any obstruction to get to the San Telmo market to see the makeshift stands that line the streets peddling tons of dumb little things, the tango, and to be surrounded by 5,000 of your closest friends from back home in the States. I sound bitter in these first two sentences, but I actually do enjoy the San Telmo market. I like to take a day to lazily walk around and look at stuff. And look at stuff, we did!

Our mission this day was to hurry up and find all the gifts that we wanted to take back home (don’t get too excited, readers, I spent sparingly). The first thing you think when you arrive at the San Telmo fair is the sheer number of vendors on Defensa street and the variety in things they sell. Most vendors are artisans who sell their hand-made art, jewelry, and other crafts. Some vendors specialize in goods made from Argentine leather. Of course, the street is littered with vendors selling mate and its accoutrements. Then there are the guys who obviously rounded up some old junk from their house and scattered it out on a piece of cloth to make a few extra pesos. No, sir, nobody wants to buy your old-timey casino dealer’s green visor.

Besides all the things you can buy, you can also find some good eats. Yes it’s possible in San Telmo, but we certainly didn’t find any this Sunday. We sat down outside of a quaint, mom-and-pop parrilla (barbecue) ready to stuff our faces with tasty asado and french fries. We were all expecting a whole side of a cow because that’s what we’ve had before at places much like this one. But the waitress brought out a small plate of huge, charred cuts that had almost no meat on them. We had to scratch around the bones like dogs to get enough. Once the food was gone, we sat talking to each other trying to fill up on conversation. Suddenly, on this very sunny day, all three of us felt simultaneous drops on our arms and heads. It wasn’t raining. It was bird poop. We were absolutely disgusted. The guy at the next table laughed with us and said that he was hit, too! We were all sitting a reasonable distance from each other, and yet all four of us were victims. My question now is, “was it a planned attack by four separate birds, or did one bird just have explosive diarrhea?” Then we handed over 80 pesos for that crappy meal.

After lunch, we took back to the street for some more shopping. The guidebooks always mention the tango as an attraction at the San Telmo fair. I have to warn all readers not to expect fabulous tango at the San Telmo fair. You’ll find couples in a tango get-up that charge for pictures with them. This Sunday, I found a man that attached a life-sized doll dressed in a tango dress to his person and danced the man’s part. You have to pay for good tango in a theater. You just do.

I and my friends came away with some very cute souvenirs from the San Telmo market and I definitely recommend it to anyone visiting Buenos Aires. I just wanted to publicly edit the guidebook entries you may read about the attraction.

It's Not You, It's Me

I will admit this to readers tonight: I came to Argentina with a very small, vain hope of finding my dream man. I wanted to find a handsome, dark Argentine man that had money, culture, a world-class education, and high aspirations. I dreamed that I’d marry this man and we’d split our time between the US and Argentina. To further encourage this dream was a couple at the Pacific Athletic Club where I worked in San Diego. Jean-Claude met his wife, Mrs. Jean-Claude, while she was studying abroad in France. Almost as if we were on the same man-hungry, female wavelength, Mrs. Jean-Claude said to me the first time I told her of my trip, “Ooh, can’t wait for you to bring home a beautiful Argentine husband!” I laughed and thought, “Trust me, I can’t wait either!”

Or did I say that out loud?

I have come to a disappointing and humbling conclusion about this prototypical Argentine dream man: he and I just don’t fit. In three+ months, I’ve done my best to determine why this is. Firstly, sense of humor is a cornerstone to a good friendship/relationship, a mode of communication. And if you were to judge me by my elementary Spanish, you’d probably presume that I have no sense of humor whatsoever. If I can’t make a boy laugh and I can’t decipher anything worth a laugh in his jokes delivered in rapid-fire Spanish, there’s no way we’d ever “hit it off” immediately. Secondly, I’ve realized that any Argentine man who shows an interest in you is most likely just trying to get into your pants because he’s heard that “norteamericanas” are easy. This idea scares and offends me. It makes me assume that they are not supposed to get serious with American girls, but instead are expected to settle down with other Argentine girls. Why are American girls not worth genuine attention? This question requires a complicated answer, complicated even more by the fact that I’m not totally sure of the answer. I have noted that women here are, to be blunt, frigid. They are not terribly friendly and they are very aware of Argentine propriety. I don’t really care about propriety. I am a messy eater in most settings, my legs aren’t always shaved, and I like to drink cheap beer. Most American guys would probably smile at these qualities and think “low-maintenance, a good thing.” Most Argentine guys would probably roll their eyes at these qualities and think, “I can’t take THAT home to meet my parents.”

You would think differences in land, lifestyle, and language would be interesting and exciting in a romantic relationship. But something just doesn’t click between Argentine boys and me. When it comes down to it, there seems to be a cultural gap that I just can’t bridge.

So I will most likely leave here with no love notes or promises. Sorry, Mrs. Jean-Claude. I guess I’m just too damned American.


Disclaimer: I speak for myself here. I think there can be exceptions. Melissa, I wish you the best.

Absentee Voting

I voted on Wednesday, October 8, at the US Embassy here in Buenos Aires. The Embassy offered a three hour window of one day to come and vote like a normal citizen, not a person living abroad who usually has to mail in his/her absentee ballot. I was astonished at the mass of people there! It was a decently organized event with snacks and red, white, and blue bunting, but I don’t think the organizers were expecting THIS many people to show up. I smiled looking around the long line that formed outside the heavily guarded gates: old folks, young students just like me, and other good ol’ Americans waiting to cast their votes.

I will make no political statements in this post, but the conversations I overheard revealed a clear favorite: Barack Obama. I wonder if this choice is characteristic of the college students that made up the majority of attendees that day or of the type of person that would willingly choose to move outside the US for a time. It is natural for a young college student to agree whole-heartedly with the tenets of the Democratic party: helping the middle and lower classes, redistribution of income, social liberalism, etc. But I’m also inclined to believe that anyone who would want to move outside the US can learn to assimilate into and empathize with the culture of another country. Having done so, this person might base his/her vote for president on a sort of “bird’s eye view” of the country, an outsider looking in. And what would an outsider want come January? I’m not sure, but after talking to Argentines, I gather that an outsider would want a fresh start after George W. Bush. Foreigners I’ve spoken to all say that they are tired of Bush for the mess he appears to have made in the Middle East, and his lack of intellectual poise as a head of state. A fresh start means a complete change in office; change the man and his party altogether. Obama seems like a breath of fresh air to many non-Americans. Could it be that American citizens living abroad have aligned themselves with this same sentiment?

Sexism: Is It Cultural?

Just like propriety is built into a society, can sexism be built in as well? In the US, it’s generally considered silly or low-class when a man calls out to a woman from his car or from a construction site. He whistles, makes kissing noises, and sometimes expresses a grotesque interest in sleeping with her. Men here in Argentina do the exact same thing, but multiplied by 10. I’ve heard it from men pushing strollers, men walking children home from school, old men, trashmen. I’ve heard it while wearing no make-up and baggy pants, or while wearing a nice dress. “Que linda sos,” “que hermosa.” No woman can get away from it in this city. Some buses even have a built-in whistling sound besides the sound of the horn that a bus driver can use when he so chooses. One bus I was on was driven by a man that did not stop blowing this stupid whistle until the women in the street he aimed for turned around and looked at him. And then he would smile like he just got her number or something. Sexism is essentially built into the infrastructure of Buenos Aires.

I once asked Alex, my wise brother-in-law, why men do this. He quickly answered that he thought it a matter of respect. Alex and men like him have been taught to consider women in the same way they consider men: thoughtful, feeling, and unique. Is it safe to assume, then, that men who behave like this don’t respect women as individuals? I’m finding this easier and easier to believe.

What do they hope to accomplish with their calls? Do they want us to act on their advances? Do they want to pester us? Or do they simply want to congratulate us on our appearance that day? I don’t care to find out. But it is infuriatingly prevalent here. I’m afraid to walk outside in a skirt or shorts because of how I know these men will react to simply seeing bare legs. It makes me feel so indignant and, dare I say, victimized. This may sound like a strong word. But repeated objectifying treatment like this can get to a person.

If it is indeed a cultural lack of respect for women, why are other Argentine men so ready to let women board the bus first, sit down first, and open doors for them? Men here are either chivalrous or pigs. Now I don’t mean to sound like Gloria Steinem, but chivalry, too, could be an indication of an understood inequality between men and women.

Little Girl in the Plaza de Mayo