Their Carts Overfloweth

So, not only have we learned that we can't take advantage of the cheap food delivery (one can get almost anything delivered here - when we take our laundry to the place around the corner we can get it returned to us for free!) because most restaurants don't open until 8pm at the earliest, which is much too late for school nights, but we've also learned not to head to Disco or Carrefour, the two grocery stores we frequent, at 5pm. If you try to shop at that hour you'll encounter long lines - seriously, does everyone in Buenos Aires have to be as poorly organized with dinner plans as we are?

Long lines aren't the worst, though. Oftentimes, at least three out of every five shoppers either have no will power and just can't restrain themselves from putting every shiny item they see into their cart, or they shop once a month and buy every single necessary food item in one trip. Using my stealthy skills I snapped this picture of a woman with two overflowing carts by pretending to be carefully studying my phone screen. At the bottom of the cart in front were two-liter bottles of Coca-cola; gaseosa (soda) is consumed in large quantities by many porteños, at least the carts I've seen in the grocery stores seem to suggest so. I guess it's not just we Americans who are addicted to corn syrup and food coloring!

Drinking Mate

Our friends Cat and Bruno had been talking about inviting us to their apartment in San Telmo for an introduction to the tradition of drinking mate. Everywhere one goes, one sees men and women sucking from metal "straws" sunk deep into small gourds, occasionally refilling the gourd with hot water from a thermos. I've become used to the sight now, but when we first visited the zoo back in July I was up on a carousel with Jack and as we slowly spun in a circle I was shocked by what I thought was an elderly couple passing what seemed to be a water pipe with a very fancy mouthpiece back and forth in broad daylight! Back then I was concentrating so hard on not stepping in dog crap that I didn't notice all the others drinking mate, but after I mentioned my surprise to Cat she set me straight.

So a few Sundays ago we cabbed it over to Cat and Bruno's place ready for our family introduction to mate. Sunday is all-day English day for Cat and Bruno, so both of them took turns explaining the whole "mate ceremony." We began in their kitchen, where they showed us a few mates (one calls the actual gourd a mate), one with a narrow mouth and the other with a wider one, as well as a tiny one that wasn't really appropriate for six drinkers. I'm actually not sure where one would use such a small one...maybe it was like one of those magazines or small books one saves for brief trips to the bathroom. Then Bruno showed us the bombillas, which are the metal straws one sips the mate through. The end that's plunged into the yerba (pronounced "SHER-ba") widens, like a canoe paddle, and is filled with sieve-like holes through which the tea enters. The shaft of the is often decorated with engravings that give each a more personal feel. I let Erin select the bombilla, and she did a fine job of inspecting each for just the right length, width and feel. Finally, Bruno showed us different kinds of yerba and some other herbs and even pieces of wood one might choose to flavor the mate with. He chose a yerba suitable for rookies, poured a healthy amount into our mate, and showed us how to shake out the powdery dust one wouldn't want to sully the tea. Then we watched the water heat up on their stove until just before it boiled, whereupon Cat poured it into a large thermos and we headed out to their terrace to drink.

It was a fairly chilly day so drinking hot mate was a great idea. We all sat around a small table on the terrace, surrounded by many potted plants they have accumulated and which give the terrace a homey, almost tropical ambiance in the middle of the city. There were also different merienda (mid-afternoon snacks) goodies: sweet & soft medialunas, crunchier cookie-like ones, the banana bread Erin baked for the visit, and other yummy munchies. When drinking mate one person is responsible for filling the mate with hot water and then passing it to the next drinker. The first hot water pour dampens the mate, getting it to a consistency that fixes the bombilla in place - it's very important one doesn't ever grab the bombilla and move it while drinking, as that will grind it into the wet mate and either clog it or force mate into the holes and muddy the sip. After the mate is wet, more hot water can be poured in and the drinking can commence. My last bit of mate wisdom: when you've finished drinking - don't say "gracias" as you pass it back to the pourer unless you are indicating that you no longer wish to be passed any more the next time it's your turn. I learned the subtle nod of affirmation and smile of contentment mate veterans use to non-verbally signal their appreciation and desire to keep their place in the rotation!

Even Quinn and Jack gamely sampled mate, Jack's having been "cut" with some milk and sugar; however, Jack was not a fan, and while Quinn at first smiled and told us he liked it, he also returned the mate to Bruno with a polite yet firm, "gracias" that revealed his more honest appraisal. I found the mate to be quite tasty, not unlike green tea but more woody in taste and with a little more bite to it. Not all the bombillas are metal, and some might prefer to sip through a bombilla that doesn't heat up as quickly. I could definitely feel the heat transmitted through the metal to my lips. I definitely preferred the pure mate rather than the one with milk and sugar, and I didn't immediately have a medialuna after sipping, preferring instead to savor the taste of the tea for a while.

After a few mates we headed back inside because the breeze was chilling Jack and Erin. Cat got the fireplace going and Bruno kindly gave Quinn (and Jack) a kung fu lesson. Bruno is a kung fu teacher, whom we hope will find eager students in Honolulu, which will go a long way toward luring him and Cat to the islands! Cat, Erin and I relaxed around a low table set on a cozy rug and chatted, enjoying the warm mate in our bellies - a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon/evening.

The next weekend I happened to travel for seven hours on a bus with a local water polo team to referee their game in Santa Fe, 400km away. About an hour into the trip two mates began making their way around the bus, and one of the guys asked me if I'd like some, too. Thanks to Cat and Bruno I joined in like a veteran! My only regret was that this guy liked his water very, very hot, so almost immediately I had a blister on my lower lip and the tip of my tongue felt singed. No matter - for the next forty-five minutes or so I had a great conversation with the guy (I'm embarrassed that I can't remember his name - there were about eighteen new faces on the bus) and the mate going back and forth certainly helped us open up to each other. Thanks, Cat and Bruno!

Quinn Chips a Tooth

One of the drawbacks of an urban school is a lack of playgrounds - boy, are we spoiled at Punahou School! Don't get me wrong, we love Lange Ley, but when they have breaks, the boys head "outside" to cement lanais, and there are no banyan trees, basketball courts, or Mock Orange Hedge mazes. I wasn't surprised when Quinn told us that often during their breaks many of the boys sit around trading the fútbol cards he wrote about in an earlier entry. It took Quinn a little while to amass enough cards to make an impact on "the market," so some of his early break-time activities were playing tag, running away from girls trying to touch his hair (?), or playing handball or catch with a small ball one of the boys might have brought to school. We were happy when we heard some of them began playing fútbol, though it was hard to imagine what kind of room they had for a game like that.

One afternoon we got a call from school - Quinn had chipped one of his front teeth after he was inadvertently tripped by a friend in a fútbol game as they ran to the ball. He's not sure why he didn't get his hands out to protect his face, but then again I'm not sure if a broken wrist would have been any better than a chipped tooth.

Erin took off to pick him up and bring him home, and when he walked through the door I saw a teary-eyed Quinn looking like a Jack-O-Lantern.

Luckily the chip wasn't that big, and there was no exposure of the nerve, but we immediately had to figure out how to get it fixed. The pediatrician we found after Jack got his first ear infection - ah, seems like such a far-off fond memory - referred us to a dentist, who told us to come in a few days later. For two days Quinn was beside himself (not to mention his mother!) as he wondered if one of his permanent teeth would be ruined for life. He was also very careful when eating ice cream - not that it stopped him from doing so or anything - and ripping meat. But we were glad not to see any discoloring of the tooth or any other sign that there had been more serious damage, as his dentist back home warned us about when we contacted her.

So later that week Quinn took the afternoon off from school, and he and Erin headed to the dentist. The appointment was brief, and when they walked through the door it was difficult to tell which tooth had been fixed, the repair was so good. Only by looking closely can one tell which it is, and while we don't know whether he'll have to have it redone when we return, Quinn's smiling happily again and back to eating steak and gnawing through baguettes.

Apparently fútbol during break has been banned, but Quinn's not that bummed; he's feverishly pursuing a trade for a coveted David Villa card.

Club de Amigos

We've joined a sports club here called Club de Amigos, which is a twenty minute walk from the apartment, through a quiet neighborhood of small clothing boutiques, cafes and restaurants, across the large boulevard Av. Libertador (13 lanes!) and past Jardin Japones. There Quinn has a three-day-a-week fútbol practice and Jack has a three-hour multi-sport class on Saturdays.

The club is mostly aimed at children, with all kinds of activities for them: swimming, volleyball, basketball, tennis, field hockey and aerobics, in addition to fútbol and the multi-sport classes. In one corner of the large complex is the Adventure Playground, an area filled with wooden play structures and kid-fitness type structures all strung with cargo nets and ropes; it's a young kid's dream (and also seems to offer the older teenagers a place to hang out on the cargo nets to talk story and get in the younger kids' way). Quinn and Jack especially love the rope swings.

On Friday afternoons we walk down after school for Quinn's fútbol session from 5:30-7:00. While Quinn kicks it on the cancha Erin and I take turns shooting and playing one-on-one with Jack at an empty goal - there's always one to be found either on the astroturf canchas or at the goals set up on the track's infield. Usually Jack and I head out together for the first 45 minutes and then Erin and I switch so she can warm up after sitting still in the bleachers watching Quinn. Saturdays we head over for Jack's 2:00-5:00 class, which overlaps conveniently with Quinn's 3:30-5:00 fútbol. Erin has found a spinning class at 3:30 that she attends while I find something productive to do with myself. Two Saturdays ago found me huddled in the main administrative area with my laptop taking advantage of the wifi to watch the men's gold medal match of the European Championships, while last Saturday I endured a stint on one of the treadmills, which is slightly better than running around the neighborhood inhaling car & bus exhaust. On Sundays we head over for Quinn's 11:30-1:00 session and usually have lunch outside at the snack bar - hamburgers and fries for the boys (and me) to balance such a fitness-filled weekend. Of course, I usually manage to sneak in a cortado doble or two when I can.


Erin and I have even begun heading over a couple times a week when the boys are at school to use the weight room and the running/biking machines. Thankfully it's void of floor-to-ceiling mirrors and posturing, and when I take out my earbuds (it's a great place for me to catch up on my podcasts) I have noticed the music comes from an era I recognize, though working out to REM is kinda strange, if you ask me. Nevertheless, we are very happy to have a place for the boys to meet more friends, hear more Castellano and get exercise, and we happily spend each week anticipating our family walks to the club.

All of us are extremely happy we are four of the club's new amigos. Here's Quinn meeting some of the other boys at his first fútbol practice (gotta love the aprons that say, "yo juego limpio"/I play clean).

And a couple others...

Jack & Quinn Speak Castellano

Before we got here the boys' Castellano vocabulary consisted of leche and adios, so even though I know that children pick up new languages quite readily, I was still a little skeptical and even apprehensive about how they'd survive in school. As it turns out most of Quinn's classmates speak to him in English, except for Agustín, the boy we met in the kiosko next to the school, who put his arm around Quinn and exclaimed "Quinn is my friend," and whom Erin instructed not to speak English to Quinn (much to Quinn's dismay). Most of them have been learning English for a couple years so they're eager to practice. And most of Quinn's teachers speak English to him, too, so while he is learning Castellano he's certainly not having to rely on it. While he doesn't have to speak it to survive, though, he is writing a ton of it in school and learning to read; even this morning I was surprised at how much he's gained as he read a sentence off some toy packaging out loud to all of us.

Jack, on the other hand, hears almost no English during the school day when he's not with one of us. He has come home singing made-up songs, with lyrics such as, "por ejemplo! por ejemplo!" and surprising us with new expressions, like the day he yelled, "que frio!" when I opened the door downstairs on the way to school. He's known as "señor barbaro" to the porteros in our neighboring buildings because the first time they greeted him and asked, "que tal?" his answer was, "barbaro!" (awesome!). Being younger than Quinn and less reserved, Jack busts out the Castellano wherever he goes.

But since both are learning they play around with their new language at home. One of their first creations was a short dialogue that must have been inspired by one of mom's lesson plans.

Futbol Frenzy

After having seen the scene in El Secreto de sus Ojos that takes place in Avellaneda at a Racing Club fútbol game, Erin and I (and the boys) were excited when Hanno called to invite us to join his family at a game between Racing and San Lorenzo. We were a little concerned about bringing the boys, but Hanno had purchased seats in the platea area and not the popular one so we would actually be sitting among the fanatics and not standing in a crush of crazed club partisans. Also, we would be joined by their friend, Damian, and his son. Naturally, we jumped at the invitation.

I had to referee a game beforehand, so Erin, the boys, and Paula and her kids picked me up outside the pool in her mother's car. Soon we were crawling along the highway toward the Avellaneda and the game. About halfway there we heard police sirens behind us and a few seconds later two police motorcycles drove passed us escorting one of the many buses bringing San Lorenzo fans to the game. It reminded me of the buses that used to take co-eds from Westwood to Pasadena on fall Saturdays, but I didn't see any kegs through the window nor any sorority girls and frat guys holding red plastic cups and chanting 8-clap claptrap; nevertheless, it was clear the bus riders were primed for the game, wearing their maroon and navy blue flying San Lorenzo flags in the windows.

Once we had parked the car a few blocks from the stadium and met up with Hanno, Damian, and his son, John Luca, we began to walk quickly through the streets to the game, which was about to start. Almost immediately we were running into obvious signs that the barrio had nothing else on its mind. There were vendors everywhere offering all kinds of Racing stuff laid out on the sidewalk: flags, horns, shirts/jerseys, balls, etc. We managed to turn away the first fifty-seven or so before breaking down and buying one for Jack.

There were also many offers to eat choripanes and wash them down with soda, which we resisted. The air was full of sausage-flavored smoke, music and yelling filled our ears, and all around us people were streaming toward the stadium. Since we were almost running to get there before the beginning of the game, I was holding Quinn's hand (and Erin had slipped Jack's into hers) and at one point I felt him squeeze my palm; I noticed a short line of riot-gear-clad policemen guarding a barricade blocking a short lane that led into the stadium. It was obvious Quinn was thrilled at the sight of bulletproof vests and helmets, and freaked out by what the need to be so protected portended. But that was nothing; the next strange sight he saw was three or four men urinating on the tires of the buses that lined the road leading to the gate everyone was streaming toward. I figured it wasn't the time to tell him about when I held my bladder all the way down to Jack Murphy Stadium because Rob wouldn't stop along I-5 (because The Who doesn't wait for anyone) forcing me to explode against the first tire I saw in the parking lot...

With the stadium looming up in front of us we walked through lines of more riot police, some astride horses and others just staring through us with their black boots planted on the ground. Somehow we found the tunnel we were supposed to enter through - by this time it seemed as if no one knew where to go, so everyone (mostly men) was either running around yelling or sprint-walking after the heels ahead - and we began climbing the dark stairways Isidoro Gómez ran through (sorry if you haven't seen the movie) to escape E(s)posito and Morales. Once we had ascended to the level our seats were on we exited the dark tunnel and caught our first sight of the field and the inside of the stadium.

What you can't see in the picture is what we heard immediately: songs sung by the fans, especially when the teams entered the field and were going through the line shaking hands. With my still meager (but growing) understanding of Castellano, I wasn't fortunate enough to enjoy the beauty and poetry of the lyrics, but I think Sofía's facial expression (she's the one in pink) gives enough of a sense of their power to move hearts...

The game was exciting but San Lorenzo scored the first goal, putting pressure on Racing and sending them into the halftime break down by one; nevertheless, the fans were still singing and screaming at the San Lorenzo section non-stop. The enemy fans were sequestered at one end of the stadium in a section of their own, separated from the rest of us by an empty section on each side, and guarded (or kept captive, depending on your point of view) by a small line of riot police on each side.

Finally, in the second half, Racing scored the equalizer (I learned that phrase from one of those British announcers ESPN hired during the World Cup to make their broadcast sounds really authentic). The crowd went wild.

None of us could believe the energy with which the fans kept up the singing, screaming, pointing and waving. And it wasn't just those in the popular section, filled with the ones who stood all game and became one rabid, raging body of blue and white. Up in the platea area the songs were just as passionate, if not always angry and confrontational.



Generally though, as Paula put it, everyone there was taking out all the anger of the week - at demanding bosses at work, at never-satisfied wives at home, at misbehaving sons and daughters... - and hurling it at San Lorenzo with stinging venom. One twelve-year-old boy to our right filled the air with so many obscenities that I have to believe that life in Argentina for preteens must be like forced twenty-four hour (minutes? seconds?) exposure to Fox News Network programming or some other enhanced interrornation techniques.

I guess I should mention, though, that not everyone watched the game. With the crowd separated from the field by a narrow moat that actually didn't appear filled with much water, and a five-foot-high cement wall, there was an open area left in front of the stands, where some of the kids began to play their own game...

Unfortunately, sometime in what must have been around the seventy-fifth minute or so San Lorenzo scored the final goal of the match and went on to win. Although everyone was disappointed, I was surprised that no one appeared to be making plans to attack the San Lorenzo fans, who were literally shooting fireworks from their section into the air, or to shower them with the flares that people kept igniting in the Racing popular section. Once the game ended, though, we had to remain in our seats for almost thirty minutes, until after the San Lorenzo fans exited not only the stadium but the entire neighborhood. We actually left our seats too soon, following others into the tunnel, only to be met by a lowered gate that prevented us from getting to the ground level (one wonders what the local fire marshal thinks of this practice, though I know the choripan vendor at the top of the tunnel's stairs had no argument).

Once the gate rose we flowed out of the stadium with the subdued fans, and back into the streets of Avellaneda to return to our car. The last highlight of the night was sitting in traffic and once again hearing police sirens, this time coming from patrol cars escorting the San Lorenzo team in their double-decker bus. The players were slouched below the tinted windows, either exhausted from the game or staying below the sight of stone-throwers. And although we had to wait for them to break into our line of cars and drive away, we were still far too ecstatic from our great night to care about a few more minutes of stand-still.

soccer cards

In school some of the boys have soccer cards called fútbol champ and so the boys (including me) trade cards. Actually, at first I thought it was crazy that the boys just sat there and played with cards but now I can't say that : ) here are my favorite soccer cards:

If you can't see the names here they are.... 1.Carlos Tevez 2.Gabriel Heinze 3. Sergio Romero 4. Serdar Tasci 5. Landon Donovan 6. Rene Alder 7. Bastian Schweinsteiger now the best and one of the rarest cards (drum roll please) 8. LIONEL MESSI!!

--Q