Rolling down the river

We didn’t realize that we needed to get out of the city… until we got out of the city.
Last Saturday, we took a 50 minute train ride (1 peso each way) to a small town called Tigre. We spent the day sitting next to the river on a little island of grass, eating cheese and crackers, swatting away mosquitoes, watching our friend juggle and coming to realize that in a cruel twist of fate, Jill has suddenly become lactose intolerant- a very unfortunate development since the only Argentine specialties she can really enjoy are ice cream and cheese.
On a lighter note, we took a boat ride down and around the river and drifted by lots of cutsey and colorful river side houses and a surprising number of dogs on docks. A lot of Tigre, including the quaint summer houses on the river and markets full of wicker and wood reminded us of Cape Cod.

It was a very nice little escape from the city. Having to depend on the subway to get us to classes during rush hour (8:30) each morning was/is quickly beginning to take a toll on our fondness for the big city life (not saying we don’t like living in the city, BUT we are more than happy to be in a more neighborhoody area…)
Every morning, each subway car is literally bursting with people. Business men and women, students, children, babies, subway car vendors force their way into a car more than packed with people trying not to get their ribs poked or their pockets picked. If you are lucky enough( lucky is debatable) to squeeze your way in between someone’s rear end, a stroller and the sliding doors, you will spend the rest of the ride far too intimately pressed up against sweaty people you do not and do not want to know. The bright side of the lack of space is that if you can’t manage to find an empty spot on the railing to hold onto, there is NO chance of loosing your balance or even swaying back and forth because you can’t move.
BUT that’s enough complaining.
The moral of that was that it was nice to get away for an afternoon.


Side note: We just ate an Alfajor: a famous Argentine postre (dessert) which are commonly eaten for lunch…or breakfast…or as a snack. It has the basic structure of an oreo but is about the size of a ringding. The two cookies that make up the bulk of this deliciousness are the lovechild of cake, a biscuit and a cookie (sometimes there are 3 of them) and in between each cakeiscutookie is a thick layer of silky smooth dulce de leche.Sometimes the entire Alfajor is smothered in white or dark chocolate, other times it is dipped in a glaze and other times just rolled in sugar.MMMM


The other night while walking home from a mercado (which Jill learned today are frequently called “chinos” because they are all owned by Chinese immigrants who apparently get a sweet deal with the government if they open up their own mercado, the reason behind why they are on every corner) when we stopped in front of a bright yellow and purple painted building. We had seen the building before, but like most store fronts in the morning up until mid day, it is impossible to tell if it actually ever opens and if it does open what it could possibly be.

This particular building, at around 8 pm was blasting Middle Eastern music and dimly light with red and blue lights. We crossed the street to peek in and saw a group of women shaking their thangs dressed like Esmeralda.
BELLY DANCING CLASSES! (known as clases de Arabe ) We immediately walked in and picked up the class schedules and went back home to email the teacher for more information; the first class would be free!

So tonight, we went to our first clase de Arabe. After we walked into the studio, we were immediately handed our very own Esmeralda dance waist scarf jingly sarong type thing ( we will figure out the real name for this later) The class was all women, one or two looked our age but the majority was made up of middle aged women or older, all Argentinans who kissed us on the cheeks as they came in, as is the custom with every where you go and everyone you meet. The instructor’s name was Marcelo and he had Patrick Swayze hips, goddess like fluidity and could pop his chest like Ciara. The class was completely in Spanish (duh) but it was never a problem ( even for Jill), we just copied Marcelo's suave moves and watched ourselves shake it in the giant mirrors. We did excellently (or something along those lines, says Marcelo) for our first class and will most certainly be going back.
Only a few more months until we’ll be back in the states and auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance. Suck it, Shakira.

Also helping us on our path to dance SUPER stardom, we went to our first milonga the other night. A milonga is a tango dance lesson followed by the floor opening up for everyone, no matter your level or experience with tango, to dance until 2 am, on a weekday. There are milongas just about every night in every barrio (neighborhood) in the city. The one we went to was in one of the oldest and most historic neighborhoods in BA, San Telmo on a Tuesday night at 8:30. There were a surprising number of people considering it was weeknight and it only got more crowded by the time we were leaving at 1130 ish (we are clearly still not used to Buenos Aires timing)

Because we've never been to a milonga nor have we ever danced tango before, we didn't know it would be a mistake to wear flip flops. They say that high heels (tacones) are the easiest shoes to dance tango in and after our failed attempts at sliding backwards and keeping our balance in flip flops,we will have to invest in some heels if we want to go back, which we do.

We will have more to write tomorrow, but Jill has to study for her final exam en espanol!

Besitos