I like Big Asados and I Cannot Lie

Last week I went to my first asado, which is essentially what in the U.S. we would call a barbecue. After speaking with the Argentinian students present, apparently this wasn’t a “real asado” because it was more of a meet and greet (or meat and greet if you catch my drift) for the international students than the extensive sit-down affair that asados normally are. Still, I’m counting it as an asado because it had all the makings of one (chorripan, which is sausage on a toasted bun, a parilla, which is the big open-fire grill, and lots of sides and ensaladas, thank goodness.)

I feel it is important to note that my first asado was followed immediately by my second, in sort of an asado double-header. The morning after my first asado, my housemates (all international students at various universities in Buenos Aires) decided over breakfast that we should probably have one at our place, and who was I to turn down such an opportunity? So not only have I been a guest at an asado, I have also half-heartedly co-hosted one.

At the first asado, all the international students were invited along with our anfitriones who are local students at the university there to show us the ins and outs of the school and how to live life to the fullest in Buenos Aires. I was paired with two of these hosts, one of whom, Micaela, has a life plan eerily similar to my own. (Stay tuned for if we take the LSAT together in Buenos Aires in June- wouldn’t that be a hoot?)  I’m very excited to get to know her better and even more so to have an automatic slightly-obligated friend. We’re hanging out after our classes tomorrow and she just informed me she has a car, so look out world, your girl doesn’t have a 90-minute public transit voyage home!

The asado was full of good people and good food and that’s a tradition I can get behind in any country, even though as a vegetarian, it’s probably odd that I enjoyed myself as much as I did at what is essentially a meat-themed gathering.

(pictured above: Katy, a fellow Trojan, was not shy about bringing home some leftovers of the chorripan)

The second asado, the one I co-hosted with 6 others, had a bit of a rocky start. Though I pulled my own weight by buying the carbón (coal) and showing our guests where the functioning bathroom is, a miscommunication (probably due to language barriers) left us with significantly more guests than food. The ratio was shocking and it brought out the worst in some people, as “hanger” often does. People hovered over the grill like moths to a light and that can be pretty dangerous, in either situation, because one could get seriously burnt.

I was still finishing my homework when the guests, mainly French and Belgian students, started pouring in, and who could blame me- I’ve lived my whole life reserving Sunday nights for procrastination compensation and little else. So when everything started to go awry I was, thankfully, far from the commotion listening to “Stress Relief”, my Spotify go-to and writing a short story using Lunfardo or Argentine slang, for my Spanish class. Essentially what I missed is that we forgot to buy food, specifically meat, and our guests did not know we had assumed it was a bring your own carne (BYOC) sort of deal because apparently when one hosts an asado, there’s an assumption that said host will provide both the home and the sustenance. Lesson learned!

My roommates, Katy and Lisa, ran to the nearest grocery store and bought copious amounts of meat, as well as berenjenas and patatas for the token vegetarians (of which our household boasts two). They also bought more carbón although multiple people at the grocery store insisted the quantity I bought was sufficient. It’s possible I miscalculated the kilograms of food we were preparing because unlike the rest of the world, I’ve never learned the metric system and I don’t know that I can now at this late stage in life, even if I wanted to.

Once people started being fed, the mood lightened and overall I thought the night went really well. My perspective may be somewhat lacking, of course, because I left the terrace every twenty minutes or so to work on my assignment and also to get away from the smoke. I love Buenos Aires and my housemates but it seems like everyone and their brother has a lit cigarillo on them at all times and your girl’s asthmatic and looking to live well into the triple-digits so I don’t actively seek out carcinogens.

Originally posted by bricesander

To summarize, if you ever find yourself as a guest at an asado, or really a guest anywhere, it is polite to bring a little something to share. And if you ever find yourself hosting an asado, you should probably have an adequate supply of a hearty main course (meat or otherwise) because your guests did not just come for the ambience, however pleasant it may be. Also have salads available because the vegetarian lifestyle is international now and even your Argentinian guests may be practicing it.

I eagerly await my next asado invitation, and always have a pimiento or berenjena(bell pepper or eggplant) handy in my fridge on the off chance I’m invited to (or God-forbid hosting) another spontaneous asado.

Besos para todos (although I still cringe a little every time someone kisses my cheek),

Grace Carballo

Guess Who's Back Back Back

After a beautiful retirement from all responsibilities except for caring for my sweet and loyal dog (IG @itsbaileybish) and myself, I am once again in the real world as a student with homework, expectations, and rent.  I have nothing but good things to say about retirement, if you have the means I highly recommend you give it a try and if you don't, just know it is well worth the wait. And just to be clear, I'm not secretly 70+ years old Benjamin Button type of figure, what I mean by "retirement" is the 2 month gap I had between my semester in Managua, Nicaragua and my current semester in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I spent a good chunk of these days making a documentary series about getting a parking ticket, called Making An Illegal Parker, coming soon to Netflix probably and also going to "Noon Club" which is a group of mostly middle-aged men who come together Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to lift weights at North Central. 

But alas, all good things must come to an end, and here I am once more in unfamiliar territory. My father, every the reliable guy, left me with the same parting advice as always. So just know, dear reader, that all that has happened and all that will happen has been done with the intent to avoid all acts gullible or foolish.

Last week was my first day of school in Buenos Aires at la Universidad de San Andrés, where 29 other international students and I will be taking our classes until our finals end in mid-July. It was a beautiful start and I have high hopes for what is yet to come. The night life here is the exact opposite of what my utopia would look like but I think pretty much any other 21-year old who didn't have such an elderly soul within would really get a kick out of it.

My ideal schedule, let the records show, involves an 8 AM wakeup/breakfast, 12 PM lunch, 5 PM dinner, 7 PM go to bars, 9 PM go to clubs, 11 PM go home, everyone is in bed by 12 to get their 8 hours and do it all again should they choose to. 

The Buenos Aires "boliche" schedule is as follows. 8 AM wakeup because class, maybe 2 PM lunch, 10-11 PM dinner, 12-1 AM meet up with people, arrive at "boliche" around 3:30-4:00 PM, stay until about 6:30-7:00, maybe eat a little something, go to bed.

I've only done it once so far and I'm still recovering, a week and a half later. This schedule is not conducive to productivity in any sense of the word. Last weekend I had my friend Katy just wake me up when it was time to go out which was pretty innovative, although disorienting. There's really nothing like waking up from a nap to go directly to a club and then returning to your slumber immediately after and I don't have the vocabulary in Spanish or English to describe it to you so you'll have to just try it for yourself.

La Casa Rosada, the executive mansion and office of the President of Argentina, Mauricio Macri. It’s the White House but pink so perhaps a little more fun?

Listening attentively to our guide in La Boca, a colorful neighborhood in Buenos Aires. The houses are painted all the colors of the rainbow which I have on multiple occasions suggested we do to my family’s house in Illinois to spice up the neighborhood and each time was ignored.

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Regarding my choice to study abroad in Buenos Aires...

You might be wondering to yourself, “But, Grace, aren’t you gluten-intolerant and vegetarian? Why on earth have you chosen to study for a whole semester in a city revered for its steak and pastries?”

You could say this semester in general has a bit of a foolish undertone to it, doesn't it and that's a question I probably should’ve asked myself months ago but here I am and here I’ll stay. There are a lot of local vegetable and fruit stores near where I live (and just about everywhere it seems) and when I went to my first “asado” (big barbecues where they grill slabs of beef or "choripan" on outdoor grills), I just drank a lot of water and ate a lot of salads and olives and no one even noticed because my hands were always full of something.

I’ve been trying to do something out of my comfort zone each day and today’s was attending a Kropp 3-D (basically like CrossFit) class at a gym a few block’s away. There were some cringe-worthy moments, of course, one being when the trainer asked me to get down into a plank and I didn’t quite hear what he said/know the word, so I just flipped over my yoga mat until he demonstrated his request. Also, I didn’t bring a water bottle so during the water break I just tried to keep busy even though I guess Argentines are less germaphobic than I was raised to be because everyone was offering me sips. I think most of my peers in the class were just concerned about me replacing the fluids I was profusely sweating.

Finally, the trainer just came right up to me and handed me a bottle. Now if you followed my last semester in Nicaragua, you may know that due to some unfortunate intestinal issues I am a little hesitant to consume tap water that has been treated differently than what my body is used to. I bought a high-tech filtering bottle specifically for this purpose and to evade a lot of plastic bottle waste. But, here I was with this beautiful, patient trainer offering me his bottle despite my red, beady face. I had no choice but to pretend to drink it. Much like I watched my fellow classmates to figure out what exercise to do, I watched the way their throats moved as they drank and mimicked the motion. This happened twice throughout the class. I feared he would notice that the bottle was still full and heavy, but thanks to its opaque exterior and his unrivaled strength, my stealth paid off this time.

As I finally left the class, exhausted physically but more-so mentally from constantly having to think about how not to embarrass myself, I beamed at the sweet trainer, triumphant, and went in for a well-deserved high-five. He, however, was going for the beso (kiss), as literally any Argentine person will do to greet another. There was no time to explain physical touch was not my love language, no time to even wipe my sweaty cheek- where his lips were heading directly-needless to say, it resulted in a short embrace as uncomfortable as you may be imagining.  

I’m probably going back tomorrow night after class. It can only get better from here, right?

A beautiful statue in El Jardín Botánico. This place has everything- flowers, naked sculptures, benches, public restrooms, WI-FI, multiple species of butterflies- I never wanted to leave it, though I did as soon as I got hungry. 

First day of Fall Semester [cuz Southern Hemisphere] at Universidad de San Andrés. I've now had two fall semesters in a row. I feel like I'm Puxatawney Phil and have just decided that spring will never come. 

The sun in shining, the grass is green, and much like at the activities fair freshman year at USC, I’ve signed up for many an e-mail list whenever given the opportunity

Used book fair on the way home from the gardens. Buenos Aires lives up to its “City of Books” nickname so far, can neither confirm nor deny it’s other nickname “The Paris of South America” because I have not seen Paris. I bought a used novel (set in Cuba) for 40 Arg. pesos (less than 3 dollars), a total steal. I wrote the relatively complicated directions to get to campus (a journey of about 80-90 minutes when I do it right) on the inside flap of the book so it looks like I am just extremely literate rather than hopelessly lost when I gaze at it in wonder.

My current route to school passes right next to Barrio Chino or Chinatown and I may just be the luckiest gal in the world because this place is full of good stuff. I’d checked about 8 stores around town for “crema de maní” or peanut butter (I gave it up for Lent but Lent won’t last forever and your girl needs her PB) all to no avail. This supermercado in Chinatown did right by me, however, and now I have a hearty supply to indulge in come “Pascua”/Easter.

Originally posted by recovery-beast

Buenos Aires is as enchanting as Google Images led me to believe. My classes so far are interesting enough to hold my attention in a language not my own, which is probably the highest form of praise I can give. My housemates (from France, Germany, and Belgium) are as friendly as can be despite language barriers that prevent some of my jokes from landing (it’s gotta be the language barriers right?). And perhaps most importantly, the dogs here are just divine, though the “clean up after your dog” trend may not have necessarily caught on just yet.

Of course there are things that are difficult and frustrating and one of these days I’m going to get mad enough to fall out of the honeymoon phase, I’m sure of it. For example- The local grocery store couldn’t read my credit card today so I had to leave all my groceries and run home for cash and mumble an explanation to cashier and potential friends in line. 

And another- Our first day of Orientation, the public transit voyage home from campus took us three hours despite diligent map-following. And another-  Our first night out on the town, we paid too much money to attend what I’m fairly certain was a club/"boliche"for high-schoolers, where the lights turned on every few minutes to break up another fight between the guys and where the cigarette smoke was as thick as it was carcinogenic. 

Originally posted by teendotcom

The little things can be frustrating.  I got lost and couldn’t get clear help home because people couldn’t understand me when I said “calle” (cai-yay is how I learned it, Argentines say cai-shjay). And my roommates and I waited 40 minutes for a bus to come only to take it too far and miss our stop and have to pay for a taxi anyway. And last but not least, I tried to exchange money at the bank today and they’re only open from 10 AM to 3 PM. I’m not even that mad about the last one though because now I finally know what I want to be after graduation- an Argentine bank teller. You can’t beat those hours!

It remains to be seen how Argentines feel about me, but if it’s half of what I feel for them...

Originally posted by musicaltheatrenerdsheaven

(^that's Evita. Madonna played her in the hit movie/musical so you can bet your bottom ARG peso that she's pretty important)

A thought I will leave you with, well really more of a confession. Today a French classmate put me on the spot and asked me who the President of France was and I know I know this and what's more, I know I should know this but in that split second when it really mattered, I was at a loss for words. 

To which he responded, "Como todos los estadounidenses". So not only have I embarrassed myself, I've embarrassed my country, and worst of all, I did it in front of a condescending French male, an unfortunate combination.

The answer, just so we all know next time we're in a high-stakes trivia situation is François Hollande.

Remember, as my girl Eleanor Roosevelt said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." 

And as an addendum to this, I will quote myself, "But if you set out to make people feel inferior, cut it out, that's scummy and there are so many better uses of your time, (like blogging, lifting weights with your mom's colleagues, or perhaps even making a short documentary about the institutional injustices of the parking ticket police system)."

Chau (that’s how they spell it here. I’m not wrong, I promise) *kisses your cheek very hesitantly*,

Graciela