Living the Vida Porteña

Living the Vida Porteña

Buenos Aires isn’t called Paris of South America for nothing. The old Victorian buildings, the Italian lilts in the local Spanish, and the larger than life art scene throws that title right into the lap of Buenos Aires. If Argentina were to have a heart, BA would be the heartbeat.

 

img_7408An elegant little street lamp in the center of town at Plaza de Mayo.

 

There is something for everyone here. Want to eat till you explode? Done. Want to

consume enough coffee till you pass out? Easy. Want to find enough landmarks till your legs crumble under your weight through pure exhaustion? Um, that’s actually possible.

And I’ve completed all of these in practically two days *let’s just say the coffee helped with the walking and the walking helped with the eating*.

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My first three weeks here had been difficult, exciting, fulfilling, and enlightening. Living with a host mother has given me an in depth experience into the porteña life. Milanesas and ensaladas and tartas and tortillas (it’s a complicated omelet thing not the Mexican flatbread), and everything berenjena (eggplant) has become my everyday diet. I’ve learned so much about their politics and their friendships from living with Paula – a 36 year old woman with a passionate personality. With her I’ve handed food and clothing to the homeless and shared my cultures and likings. She’s helped me navigate through the rough big city waters and taught me how to deal with certain types of people. Without having these experiences with her, I doubt I would be having the proper Argentinian experience.

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Paula and I, right before I switched homestays (not because I didn’t love her, she was a darling). And that tortilla I was talking about – I wasn’t kidding. It’s a real life omelette pie.

With this is mind, here are four things that I have learned living as a Porteña:

 

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Yo is ‘sho’ and yoga is ‘shoga’

This little dialectical surprise caught me off guard when I first arrived. “ Hola, me SHamo SHani” was a little mind-bending at first, because what’s the problem with just pronouncing your y’s like the rest of the world? Why change? WHY? But after getting used to it, and now doing it myself, I’ve realized that it makes you feel fancy it makes the language so more unique. Who wouldn’t want to learn a unique dialect? So now I’m okay with it. Or maybe I’m just finding an excuse to be okay with it. “SHo soy Gauri” is now the norm.

Side note: Speaking Spanish as an Indian is so much easier since the accents are really similar. Roll those R’s.

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Me drinking mate and eating dulce de leche at 9 am because why not.

 

Merienda is Life

No experience in Buenos Aires is complete without enjoying the medialunas (a little sweet croissant) at a café. The merienda culture, aka coffee and a sweet treat around 4-6 pm, goes hand in hand with the long lasting and strong standing café culture. There are 72 notable cafes in BA, 72! Before coming here I didn’t even know that a ‘notable cafe’ was a real thing. The oldest and boldest is Café Tortoni, a large café with multiple rooms including a mini theater. Revolutions have been planned and writers have written from the very seat that I am sitting in right now. How cool is that?

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The famous and delicious, Café Tortoni

 

Everything is ……lindo.

“REI LINDO” (super beautiful/awesome/amazing/cool/cute/anything you can think of) is the motto of the day, everyday. I’ve heard the word lindo/a enough to last me the rest of my life. And it’s only been 3 weeks. If someone says something to you and you have no clue what they say, you have three options, and lindo is definitely one of them.

Teatro Colon – so lindo

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Pickpockets galore

“AY! Don’t let anyone see your iPhone! People will (not can, will.) snatch it out of your hands!” I’ve heard these lines from literally every person I’ve talked to. Due to their ridiculous prices here and lack of availability, it seems like Apple products are considered tech for the elite (and Americans). Can’t take pictures and can’t make a phone call. If anything happens and I get my phone stolen, the blame would be all on me. Which is really sad, because I really like taking pictures, and actually being in them. I’ve heard stories of phones being snatched from the hands of a girl who was trying to use maps, INSIDE a cab! Or from backpacks, or from a sleeping person’s hand. In any case, don’t expect too many pictures from me! I should have just brought a giant camera with a neck strap like a proper tourist.

 

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Wear your mochila like a kangaroo with pride.

 

 

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