Last night, for Erev Rosh Hashana, I went with Marina and her youngest son, Tommy, who's 12, to services before enjoying a delightful family meal at the Werthein house. When they go, which is rare, they go to the other Reform-esque synagogue in Buenos Aires. Although everyone calls it Templo Libertad, after the street on which it is found, the full name of the synagogue is CIRA, or the Congrecación Israelita de la Republica Argentina. I really like the word Israelita.
This is the oldest synagogue in BA, and the inside looks more like a church than what I've come to expect from a Jewish house of worship. It's big, and stone, with a domed ceiling and wooden pews. Still, it was magnificint in its austerity. Marina mentioned that until a few years ago it was significantly more conservative, with the mechitzah only being taken down four years ago.
This congregation seemed a bit more exclusive than Emanu-El, and in front of each seat was the name of the person who had reserved it, presumably based on the amount which that person contributed. The service itself was similar in concert-ness to the one I went to on Shabbat, with cordless microphones and continuous keyboard accompianament.
Dinner was great, back at the Werthein's most of Gabriel's family had converged, and the group totaled 25 people. Wine was served, although it seemed like I was the only person drinking, and somehow my cup was never empty. I guess it's one thing when it's your own family, but this was someone else's and everyone was speaking another language. I felt great being included and having somewhere to go, and Marina insisted I was the guest of honor, but it still would have been nice being in Villanova.
This morning I set my alarm for only the 2nd time in the two weeks I've been in Argentina, planning to check out the other services at Emanu-El and to get my year's fill of hearing the shofar blast. Arriving on time was certainly not required, although the service did start, but most people (including the senior rabbi, this I really did not understand) arrived at least 45 mintues into the service. Rather than being in the actual synagogue, the service was in a rented out convention center, and the room felt pretty cold. Unlike at Shabbat, no one introduced themselves to me, and the abundance of space allowed for no one to sit right next to me. I'm pretty sure I'm going to spend Kol Nidre back at Libertad with the Wertheins, because at least then I'll have someone to sit with.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
The Delta
In officially catching this blog up to the present day, I'm now writing the last of my retroactive posts. Last weekend, my first here, Martin invited me to go fishing in Tigre, a town about thirty minutes outside the Capital City. I figured it would be a fun Saturday afternoon, and every day was still a complete adventure, so saying no was out of the question.
Martin picked me up from the hostel and we drove the hour or so out of town. We had the option of just fishing in the afternoon or spending the night at his grandfather's cabin and fishing in the morning, which was supposedly better. Not being sure what the right answer was, and not wanting to miss out on the "better" fishing, I opted for the overnight. We stopped at the supermarket to load up on 24 hours of groceries, and drove to the marina. I knew he had a boat, and I knew he had a cabin, so I didn't quite understand why we needed to bring all of the groceries onto the boat if we weren't even going fishing until the next morning.
It was partly my fault for not asking for clarification earlier, but apparently where we were going, and where his grandfather's cabin is located, is in a region known as the Delta. It's a network of estuaries that all feed the Rio del Plata, the main waterway next to Buenos Aires. The delta has about 10,000km of rivers, each defining narrow islands that are populated with tons of vacation homes.
It took us about twenty minutes in the boat to get from the marina to the cabin, but it felt extremely isolated. There were small conveniences, cell reception for one, but it was really a tranquil hideaway that can be reached fairly easily from the hustle and bustle of the city.
We cooked our frozen pizza and played some cards, eventually falling asleep on the early side so we could wake up at 8 and catch the fish while the catching was good. With the help of neighbor and year-round caretaker Carlos, we caught four little ones, and I wish I could remember what they were called. Carlos freid 'em up for us, and they made for a delicious lunch.
Martin picked me up from the hostel and we drove the hour or so out of town. We had the option of just fishing in the afternoon or spending the night at his grandfather's cabin and fishing in the morning, which was supposedly better. Not being sure what the right answer was, and not wanting to miss out on the "better" fishing, I opted for the overnight. We stopped at the supermarket to load up on 24 hours of groceries, and drove to the marina. I knew he had a boat, and I knew he had a cabin, so I didn't quite understand why we needed to bring all of the groceries onto the boat if we weren't even going fishing until the next morning.
It was partly my fault for not asking for clarification earlier, but apparently where we were going, and where his grandfather's cabin is located, is in a region known as the Delta. It's a network of estuaries that all feed the Rio del Plata, the main waterway next to Buenos Aires. The delta has about 10,000km of rivers, each defining narrow islands that are populated with tons of vacation homes.
It took us about twenty minutes in the boat to get from the marina to the cabin, but it felt extremely isolated. There were small conveniences, cell reception for one, but it was really a tranquil hideaway that can be reached fairly easily from the hustle and bustle of the city.
We cooked our frozen pizza and played some cards, eventually falling asleep on the early side so we could wake up at 8 and catch the fish while the catching was good. With the help of neighbor and year-round caretaker Carlos, we caught four little ones, and I wish I could remember what they were called. Carlos freid 'em up for us, and they made for a delicious lunch.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Jews!
With the High Holidays right around the corner, I started looking for a synagogue. The Wertheins, who are Jewish, graciously invited me to their house for a Rosh Hashana dinner, although they aren't very observant, and being that I'm in a foreign place I figured it would make sense for me to find a synagogue.
Since I was hoping to find a somewhat liberal synague, I started at the URJ website and quickly navigated to the World Union for Progressive Judaism, and from there found the only member synagogue in Buenos Aires. It's in Belgrano, about 3 subway stops from my apartment, and from their website it seemed nice.
On Wednesday afternoon I tried just walking in. It was almost as bad as Bologna before Passover 2007, when Jess and I were not only shown the door but then followed around the block by the security guard. This guard made it very clear that I was not allowed to come in, but at least didn't follow me when I left. I was pissed off, but determined, and so I went straight to an internet cafe to find an email address and send someone an email about who I was.
The email was replied to by Thursday morning, along with instructions to return to the synagogue at 6pm to buy tickets for High Holiday services. Now I had a name of a human being, and when I returned to the synagogue and met with similar hostility, I stood my ground, and was eventually allowed in. I spoke to the woman who had emailed me about high holidays, and she advised me to come back on Friday for Shabbat services to get a feel for the community before Rosh Hashana. On the way out I advised the security guards of my impending return, and they took my name to make sure I wouldn't get hassled anymore.
So, that brings us to Friday. I had no idea what to expect for services last night, but now that I went I know I picked the right temple to jump into while I'm here in BA. The rabbi, who reminded me of Greg Eskin from WVMS Jazz Band, was not a day older than 35 and had hair well past his shoulders. Rabbi Ale welcomed me warmly, and since I was about a half an hour early, we chatted for a few minutes as people slowly trickled in. He was really excited to have me, and wanted to make sure I had a family to eat with on Rosh Hashana and promised to introduce me to a few of the people my age.
I also chatted with the father of one of the Bat Mitzvah girls, who was clearly not used to being in synagogue, but convinced me that of all the synagogues this is the one he prefers. His family all looked remarkably familiar, as if they had been picked up out of the Main Line and dropped into this synagogue. I sat in front of a lady and her 12-year old daughter who chatted me up for a while before the service, and invited me to their house for holiday meals.
Dress code among the congregation (which was packed; I was told on behalf of the fact that there were 3 b'nei mitzvot today and it's the last Shabbat of the Jewish year) was casual at best, most men wore open necked button-down shirts and some of the kids wore jeans and sneakers.
The service itself was wonderful, if not a bit concert-y, and was 100% musically accompanied. I knew I was in the right place when in the front of the sanctuary I saw no less than 3 bongo drums, along with wireless microphones and an electric keyboard. These are no shomershabboses. They began with about a half an hour's worth of Kabbalat shabbat, the singing of 6 different melodies culminating with L'cha Dodi, a tradition I understand and am accostomed to thanks to the hard work of Max Chaiken, and even recognized a few of the melodies. The rest of the liturgy, barchu, sh'ma, etc, went by fairly quickly, and the whole thing was probably about an hour and 15 minutes. One thing I really thought was cool was that they all get up and dance during L'cha Dodi, the prayer to welcome the Sabbath. It was as if they really felt that Shabbat was a full day, something to be excited to be welcoming, instead of considering the service itself to be the full extent of Shabbat as is often the case in our home synagogues. They also included the kiddush and the birkat hamishpachah (family blessings) in the service, at which point everyone stood up and got into little family huddles while they prayed. Fortunately for me, the mother and daughter behind me forced me into their circle.
I left shortly after the service ended, but I'll be back. With the schedule as it is here, dinner not before 10 on a Friday, I might just make a habit out of going to services. And I'm glad to have a real synagogue to pray in for the High Holidays, even if saying so is going to give my mom uncontrollable nachus.
Since I was hoping to find a somewhat liberal synague, I started at the URJ website and quickly navigated to the World Union for Progressive Judaism, and from there found the only member synagogue in Buenos Aires. It's in Belgrano, about 3 subway stops from my apartment, and from their website it seemed nice.
On Wednesday afternoon I tried just walking in. It was almost as bad as Bologna before Passover 2007, when Jess and I were not only shown the door but then followed around the block by the security guard. This guard made it very clear that I was not allowed to come in, but at least didn't follow me when I left. I was pissed off, but determined, and so I went straight to an internet cafe to find an email address and send someone an email about who I was.
The email was replied to by Thursday morning, along with instructions to return to the synagogue at 6pm to buy tickets for High Holiday services. Now I had a name of a human being, and when I returned to the synagogue and met with similar hostility, I stood my ground, and was eventually allowed in. I spoke to the woman who had emailed me about high holidays, and she advised me to come back on Friday for Shabbat services to get a feel for the community before Rosh Hashana. On the way out I advised the security guards of my impending return, and they took my name to make sure I wouldn't get hassled anymore.
So, that brings us to Friday. I had no idea what to expect for services last night, but now that I went I know I picked the right temple to jump into while I'm here in BA. The rabbi, who reminded me of Greg Eskin from WVMS Jazz Band, was not a day older than 35 and had hair well past his shoulders. Rabbi Ale welcomed me warmly, and since I was about a half an hour early, we chatted for a few minutes as people slowly trickled in. He was really excited to have me, and wanted to make sure I had a family to eat with on Rosh Hashana and promised to introduce me to a few of the people my age.
I also chatted with the father of one of the Bat Mitzvah girls, who was clearly not used to being in synagogue, but convinced me that of all the synagogues this is the one he prefers. His family all looked remarkably familiar, as if they had been picked up out of the Main Line and dropped into this synagogue. I sat in front of a lady and her 12-year old daughter who chatted me up for a while before the service, and invited me to their house for holiday meals.
Dress code among the congregation (which was packed; I was told on behalf of the fact that there were 3 b'nei mitzvot today and it's the last Shabbat of the Jewish year) was casual at best, most men wore open necked button-down shirts and some of the kids wore jeans and sneakers.
The service itself was wonderful, if not a bit concert-y, and was 100% musically accompanied. I knew I was in the right place when in the front of the sanctuary I saw no less than 3 bongo drums, along with wireless microphones and an electric keyboard. These are no shomershabboses. They began with about a half an hour's worth of Kabbalat shabbat, the singing of 6 different melodies culminating with L'cha Dodi, a tradition I understand and am accostomed to thanks to the hard work of Max Chaiken, and even recognized a few of the melodies. The rest of the liturgy, barchu, sh'ma, etc, went by fairly quickly, and the whole thing was probably about an hour and 15 minutes. One thing I really thought was cool was that they all get up and dance during L'cha Dodi, the prayer to welcome the Sabbath. It was as if they really felt that Shabbat was a full day, something to be excited to be welcoming, instead of considering the service itself to be the full extent of Shabbat as is often the case in our home synagogues. They also included the kiddush and the birkat hamishpachah (family blessings) in the service, at which point everyone stood up and got into little family huddles while they prayed. Fortunately for me, the mother and daughter behind me forced me into their circle.
I left shortly after the service ended, but I'll be back. With the schedule as it is here, dinner not before 10 on a Friday, I might just make a habit out of going to services. And I'm glad to have a real synagogue to pray in for the High Holidays, even if saying so is going to give my mom uncontrollable nachus.
How am I filling the days?
Now that it's been a week, I'm sure many of you are wondering what it is that I do all day. Well, the truth is, daytime doesn't bring too much excitement. Usually I wake up around noon, and by the time I've showered and eaten some eggs it's usually 1pm, and I'm off to the internet cafe. I embarassingly spend the best weather hours of the day in a dark room paying 60 cents an hour for high speed internet so that I can keep up this blog and make an attempt at knowing about world events. Then I eat lunch around 3, and the afternoon hours mean time to explore. I usually pick a new area I haven't been to and walk around, sometimes I stop at a coffee shop and read for a bit, but generally not doing anything of note.
This would all sound like I'm bored here, but the truth is, I'm not. I like doing very little during the day, and I've made it a goal, a goal that I've achieved, to do something interesting, sometimes even adventurous, ever night. Here's a list of the adventures I've managed to have in the past week:
This would all sound like I'm bored here, but the truth is, I'm not. I like doing very little during the day, and I've made it a goal, a goal that I've achieved, to do something interesting, sometimes even adventurous, ever night. Here's a list of the adventures I've managed to have in the past week:
- Sunday. First time in Belgrano, dinner and hookah with Alexis and Brennan in their studio
- Monday. Took bus for the first time (that was an adventure in itself) so I could try to meet up with some Dutch friends of mine from the Hostel who were going to a drum concert. After waiting in line for half an hour (not knowing if I would find them once inside), I went into La Bomba del Tiempo, a hipster concert in the courtyard of a cultural center. It was awesome, and I quickly found the Dutch guys, and we sipped $3 beers (a full liter each) and danced to the beat. Afterwards we went to another bar where I conversed with some people they were staying with, including some interesting internationals.
- Tuesday. I met up with Cristian and explored San Telmo, a bit of a touristy area but with good food and drink. This is where most of the tango milongas are, but we didn't see any.
- Wednesday. Dinner and conversation with the Wertheins, my surrogate family in BA.
- Thursday. The Dutch guys came over in the morning and spent the night couch-surfing in my apartment. We explored Palermo, and the Zoo (which was creepy), and then returned to the apartment to make dinner and drink some wine with Nicolas, my roommate.
- Friday. Went to Kabbalat Shabbat services at NCI Emanu-El, the only reform synagogue in the area. That warrants its own post. Then I went to the apartment of one of Cristian's friends for a small gathering, and fruitlessly tried to follow the conversation of ten Argentinian twenty-somethings while we drank beer and strawberry flavored wine.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Moving right along
Two things:
First, I take back what I said about BA being a racist city. The more I look around the more I realize how diverse this place really is, and furthermore, I get asked for directions in Argentinian Spanish almost every single day. That took me a month to happen in Barcelona.
Second, I just booked a flight for next week, October 1st, to Santiago, Chile. It was somewhat impuslive, but I'm excited to explore a new city alone now that everything in BA is starting to become routine. I'm considering adding Valparaiso (on the Chilean Pacific coast) or Mendoza, Argentina (the wine region) to the trip. Feel free to comment/email with suggestions.
First, I take back what I said about BA being a racist city. The more I look around the more I realize how diverse this place really is, and furthermore, I get asked for directions in Argentinian Spanish almost every single day. That took me a month to happen in Barcelona.
Second, I just booked a flight for next week, October 1st, to Santiago, Chile. It was somewhat impuslive, but I'm excited to explore a new city alone now that everything in BA is starting to become routine. I'm considering adding Valparaiso (on the Chilean Pacific coast) or Mendoza, Argentina (the wine region) to the trip. Feel free to comment/email with suggestions.
Clubbing!
The onset of my first weekend (for those of you keeping score, yes, I'm still a week behind) meant my first ventures out into Buenos Aires's nightlife. The sleeping/partying schedule in Buenos Aires is fairly backwards, in my opinion, since they party like Spaniards until 6am and then go to work like Americans at 9. There's no mid-afternoon siesta, no 35-hour workweek (many people work 6 day weeks), and all in all, no sleep. That's not really a problem for me, though, since so far I've yet to start doing anything productive or meaningful with my time besides wandering around the city, so I go out late and sleep until noon.
Last Thursday night, my third in the city, I decided it was time to go out and thus called Sarah and Carly, who had plans to go to some club or another. We hung out at their apartment for a few hours--they live in the busier neighborhood closer to the center, along with two of their roommates. They live in a 5-bedroom apartment, and their roommates are an eclectic bunch of twenty-somethings, and it seems like a pretty fun situation. The two we hung out with were a girl from France and a guy from BA who spent much of his childhood in Miami. I called Martin, my local family friend and he came over as well, and soon we were in the taxi on the way to Puerto Madero.
Although I barely saw it from the window of the taxi (we were squished 4 in the back seat), Puerto Madero seems to me to be similar to Puerto Olimpico in Barcelona, that is, a modern development of fancy clubs and bars that overcharge tourists who come seeking a feeling of stylish entitlement. The club we had picked, Acqua, let the girls in for free but charged the guys 40 pesos a piece, which although only costs US$13, is an obscene cover charge for this city. We stayed and danced for a few hours to music that was too loud, and the place was too crowded, but at least I was out and exploring something besides the hostel. The one up-side--drinks were free with the cover. If you can manage to get to the bar twice (once to get your ticket, and a 2nd time to actually get your drink) through the crowd, they make fairly generous drinks.
Friday night I was looking for something a bit more authentic, and hopefully more fun. I had been in facebook contact with a guy from Buenos Aires whom I had messaged out of bold outgoingness, and he mentioned to me that there was a great gay club just outside the center that he would be going to with his friends. I asked to meet up with him and his friends before the club, thinking how nice it would be to sneak into a gay friend group while I'm here. He politely declined, ostensibly because they already had advance passes into the club and wouldn't have to wait in line, but probably because I was just some dude from the internet.
My options were thus twofold: I could have stayed with the pack (of dudes) from the hostel going to some club that someone read about in Fodor's, or I could go alone in a taxi to this club, and hope that I might meet up with my new friend. I chose 2, and after a 15-minute cab ride (which only cost US$8) and a 20-minute wait outside, I was in the Fiesta Plop, hosted at the Teatro de Flores. The club was great, it's a converted theater that has a stage, pit, and balcony cleared of all the seats, and plenty of bar space meaning lines were short. After the 20 peso cover (more typical, about $7) drinks were only 8 pesos apiece, including some vodka in the glass and a whole can of RedBull.
Fortunately, through text messages, I was able to meet up with Cristian (the facebook friend) almost immediately and then somewhat forcefully joined his group of friends. After a little while of dancing and chatting/screaming to one another over the music, I seemed to have earned my right to hang out with them, and ultimately I had a fantastic time. So much so, that I have plans to meet up with them tonight for dinner and round two of Fiesta Plop.
Last Thursday night, my third in the city, I decided it was time to go out and thus called Sarah and Carly, who had plans to go to some club or another. We hung out at their apartment for a few hours--they live in the busier neighborhood closer to the center, along with two of their roommates. They live in a 5-bedroom apartment, and their roommates are an eclectic bunch of twenty-somethings, and it seems like a pretty fun situation. The two we hung out with were a girl from France and a guy from BA who spent much of his childhood in Miami. I called Martin, my local family friend and he came over as well, and soon we were in the taxi on the way to Puerto Madero.
Although I barely saw it from the window of the taxi (we were squished 4 in the back seat), Puerto Madero seems to me to be similar to Puerto Olimpico in Barcelona, that is, a modern development of fancy clubs and bars that overcharge tourists who come seeking a feeling of stylish entitlement. The club we had picked, Acqua, let the girls in for free but charged the guys 40 pesos a piece, which although only costs US$13, is an obscene cover charge for this city. We stayed and danced for a few hours to music that was too loud, and the place was too crowded, but at least I was out and exploring something besides the hostel. The one up-side--drinks were free with the cover. If you can manage to get to the bar twice (once to get your ticket, and a 2nd time to actually get your drink) through the crowd, they make fairly generous drinks.
Friday night I was looking for something a bit more authentic, and hopefully more fun. I had been in facebook contact with a guy from Buenos Aires whom I had messaged out of bold outgoingness, and he mentioned to me that there was a great gay club just outside the center that he would be going to with his friends. I asked to meet up with him and his friends before the club, thinking how nice it would be to sneak into a gay friend group while I'm here. He politely declined, ostensibly because they already had advance passes into the club and wouldn't have to wait in line, but probably because I was just some dude from the internet.
My options were thus twofold: I could have stayed with the pack (of dudes) from the hostel going to some club that someone read about in Fodor's, or I could go alone in a taxi to this club, and hope that I might meet up with my new friend. I chose 2, and after a 15-minute cab ride (which only cost US$8) and a 20-minute wait outside, I was in the Fiesta Plop, hosted at the Teatro de Flores. The club was great, it's a converted theater that has a stage, pit, and balcony cleared of all the seats, and plenty of bar space meaning lines were short. After the 20 peso cover (more typical, about $7) drinks were only 8 pesos apiece, including some vodka in the glass and a whole can of RedBull.
Fortunately, through text messages, I was able to meet up with Cristian (the facebook friend) almost immediately and then somewhat forcefully joined his group of friends. After a little while of dancing and chatting/screaming to one another over the music, I seemed to have earned my right to hang out with them, and ultimately I had a fantastic time. So much so, that I have plans to meet up with them tonight for dinner and round two of Fiesta Plop.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
More on Diversity: Tourist Now, Tourist Always
An Argentine friend of mine (I know, right?) said that I look just like a typical American. No, it's not how I dress, it's not my hair or my shoes, it's my face.
That pissed me off, since I'm trying to blend in, but furthermore because it made me realize that Buenos Aires isn't different from Barcelona, or the rest of the world for that matter, where nationality and race are so closely linked. It seems to me that only in some American cities, along with maybe London, are there vast numbers of people of different races who have all been living there for generations.
That pissed me off, since I'm trying to blend in, but furthermore because it made me realize that Buenos Aires isn't different from Barcelona, or the rest of the world for that matter, where nationality and race are so closely linked. It seems to me that only in some American cities, along with maybe London, are there vast numbers of people of different races who have all been living there for generations.
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