The Bloomsday Edition
My Dear Readers,
This “Bloomsday” edition (alternative titles such as the “Sen. Bob Graham” edition and the “Jack Bauer” edition were ultimately passed over, despite their perhaps being more apt, I couldn’t resist making reference to “the greatest book no one’s ever read”) of the update is a summary of one day for me here. It’s long, (though not as long as Leopold Bloom’s story) but I hope it’s worth the read. Enjoy.
July 3, 2004
00:00 I am at Grant’s, a touristy buffet restaurant with an excellent parilla (grill) and a bevy of succulent offerings. Earlier tonight I had my fifth three-hour class of the week, although in fairness the actual class time is more like two hours. Class is supposed to begin at 7 P.M., but we usually start at least fifteen minutes late. We have a break halfway through that can be as much as half an hour, and then we wrap up between 9:30 and 9:45. Since it is Friday, class ends closer to 9:30. After class, I hopped on a bus with Nancy and Patrick, two of the Americans in my class, and Constantin, the sole German. We regrouped at Patrick’s apartment and decided to walk to Grant’s for dinner
01:00 We’ve been invited to a birthday party, which is supposed to begin at midnight. Confident that everyone will be an hour late, we don’t even leave the restaurant until after one o’clock. We walk to the party venue, a dance hall located above a chain restaurant.
01:30 The music in the dance hall is an interesting mix of U.S. and Latin American pop, and features many forgotten favorites such as Rick James’ immortal “Super Freak.”
02:30 Constantin has been advocating tequila shots for some time and we succumb to the pressure. I have only visited the bar once at this point and will only return once as well.
03:00 Constantin and I have been chatting up a charming pair of local ladies, one of whom is there to celebrate her sister’s birthday. It turns out that the event is in honor of three people, only one of whom I know. That matters little.
04:00 Patrick decides to call it quits. I consider doing the same, as I have class in only a few hours, but am tempted back out onto the dance floor by the creativity of the DJ. With a glass of soda water in hand, I venture back out.
05:00 My work here is done. I find Constantin and bid him auf wiedersehen. I hail a cab on the street and am home in a few minutes, with a three peso ($1 USD) fare. I set my alarm clock and my cell phone alarm as a backup. Sleep comes quickly
09:30 I am awakened by the sound of my cell phone. Unfortunately, it is not the alarm I had set, but rather the “other” Sean (since he arrived here in January, I am referred to in the group as Sean two, so we’ll call him Sean1), my classmate, calling to ask why I’m not at school, since class is scheduled for 9:30. I throw on some warm-ups and a long sleeve shirt, don my Red Sox hat, and am in a cab in minutes.
9:50 I arrive at the school, a few minutes late, but hoping that with the 15 minute rule I won’t have missed much. I arrive to find Sean1, my fellow American, standing on the curb in front of the school building beside the professor. No other student is around. I learn that Sean1 and I are the only students there, and that on top of that, we are locked out of the classroom. Sean1 manages to find a key, and when we begin class at about 10 o’clock, we have three students.
10:30 In the last half hour, six more students have arrived, though we are still well short of the nearly 20 students we’ve had in previous classes. Sean1 and I are the only foreigners in the class. The professor is discussing the theories of the first director of the UN Economic Commission for Latin American (CEPAL) and the impact CEPAL had on the region’s economies. It’s technical, and requires a better knowledge of Latin American history than I possess, but I find the class very interesting. I’m glad I made it.
10:45 The 10th and final student arrives, a mere 75 minutes late.
11:30 We’ve not had a break and I am growing weary of the CEPAL discussion. I wonder why we haven’t broken yet, and am pleased when the professor wraps up and calls it a day, lamenting the decision to hold class on a Saturday morning.
11:45 As I’m a bit short on cash, Sean1 loans me a peso to take the bus back to my house. I stop at Citibank and McDonald’s on the way, two bastions of U.S. economic imperialism no doubt, but they supply me with cash and 2.5 peso (90 US cents) McDúos (double cheeseburgers). I try to restrict myself to the local cuisine, but it’s been a long morning and I am very proud that I’m the only birthday party attendee who made it to class.
12:15 I peruse the classified section of Clarín, a second-rate newspaper that nonetheless has good classifieds. My apartment search has gone slowly thus far, partly due to my desire to familiarize myself with the city before deciding where to live, but mostly because it’s a complicated, frustrating process that I just didn’t have much energy for. I spy three notable ads in the paper and decide to check them out. The viewings won’t begin until after 2 o’clock, so I have some time.
12:30 I stop back at my apartment. I rent the fourth bedroom of the apartment. The other three are occupied by Ana, a physician and the owner, as well as Ana’s mother and son. Three generations all under one roof. Ana isn’t around when I arrive, and neither is Grandma nor Martín, her son.
12:45 I am long overdue for a haircut, but am a bit nervous about where to go. I decide to drop my schoolbag at the apartment and head out to look for a salon. I have seen many barbershops in my neighborhood, advertising cuts for only 5 pesos, but I cannot in good conscience entrust my appearance to a two-dollar barber. Not long into my walk I see a salon that looks appropriate. I am somewhat relieved to see that the cuts here start at 10 pesos. After my shampoo, I sit in Joel’s chair, and he goes to work. Nothing dramatic, I insist, just a bit shorter. This is one time when I really wish I were fluent in Spanish. A subtle miscommunication here could have dire consequences. Joel takes good care of me, and the bill comes to a whopping 13 pesos.
13:30 I return home to shower and map out the apartments I’ll be viewing.
14:30 I set out on foot. All three of the places are within walking distance of my current apartment, although two are about a 15 minute walk South while the other is about 15 minutes North. I decide to hit the two Southern spots first and take a bus back North.
14:50 I arrive at the first apartment and find a line at the door. This has been the status quo for all of the apartments I’ve visited. Three twentysomething Argentines are there together to have a look. The four of us stand outside for at least ten minutes. I ask them if they’ve rung, they say that someone is up there. I am wondering how it is possible that a person would need 10 minutes to view a one bedroom apartment. One of the Argentines approaches the intercom, although his friends urge him to hold off. He looks at me, and I nod approvingly. He rings, and moments later they head up to see the place.
15:05 They are not up there long, and I am now the only person waiting in line. I head up to the 7th floor and am greeted at the elevator by a seventyish man, who shows me in. The apartment is small and semi-furnished. There is a kitchen table and a bed in the living area but the bedroom is barren. The man’s wife is seated at the table, and after he gives me the ninety-second tour, she invites me to sit down. I am a bit reluctant, since I have two other places yet to see, but I feel it would be rude to refuse her invitation so I join her at the table. She asks me the basic questions and launches into an advisory on how not to get robbed, cheated or otherwise hoodwinked in this “very dangerous” city. Throughout this counsel, the husband stands off to the side looking at me as if to say to things: the first, that he supposes (correctly) that I already know nearly everything I’m being told, and secondly that the city is nowhere near as dangerous as his wife is describing it to be (right again). His wife then moves into a discussion of a previous tenant who is on the faculty of the medical school and who takes regular trips to Boston. Various other peripheral connections to the Bay State and the U.S. in general were also outlined. After 15 minutes I could now easily see why I had been forced to wait in line for so long. The couple asked what I though of the place, and language again failed me. I’ve learned that the combination of politeness, euphemizing, and saying “thanks but no thanks” is a tough trick in a foreign language. So I told them I thought it was great and while I didn’t commit to anything, I left the impression that I was very interested. There was nothing really wrong with the place, it was just small, had a tiny balcony that looked out upon a homely quadrangle, and it was barely furnished. Within the first 90 seconds, I knew it wasn’t for me, but enjoyed my time there nonetheless. Luckily, the buzzer then rang and I had my cue to leave. It was odd, I felt somehow attached to this couple, possibly because they reminded me so much of the family I lived with in Mexico. I smiled, thanked them and went on my way.
15:30 I walk to the other listing, only a few blocks away. When I initially saw the ad for this one, I read it four or five times, convinced that it was too good to be true. I even dismissed it at first, since it has four rooms, but the price was within my range, and it’s furnished. I was terribly curious. There was no line here, and after I buzzed, the realtor came down and we took the elevator up to the seventh floor. The door opened to a large living area with a bay window and small balcony. The room featured a nice dining table as well as seating and a television. As the realtor showed me the “study” and then the two bedrooms, I was puzzled. How could a place this big be in my price range? (albeit at the high end) The study and one of the bedrooms had tiny “French” balconies, and the second bedroom was windowless. There were one and a half bathrooms, although the half bath could be used for showering. The kitchen was roomy and featured all of the necessary appliances. The realtor explained that I could reserve the place today and would have to pay the first and last month’s rent as well as a two month commission. I had hoped to avoid paying a commission, but this place was clearly under priced, so even factoring that in it was still a good deal; amortizing the commission over 18 months, the rent comes out to about $335 USD per month, about half of what I paid for my room in a Capitol Hill group house. I was still not sure though, and told the realtor I’d call with my decision. Apart from the accommodations, the location was good. It’s about 10 minutes closer to school than where I live now, although still in the same nice neighborhood.
16:00 I use my Guia “T” bus guide, a tricky but useful little book, to find a bus that will save me the half hour walk back North. I end up overshooting the address though, thanks to the inconsistent block numbering of virtually parallel streets. I went to the 1800 block of the street the bus route takes, only to find that when I walked one street over, I was on the 2200 block. Due to the overshoot, I end up walking by the apartment where Frances, yet another American in the program, lives. I buzz her apartment and hear a gargled voice on the other end. I assume she’s coming down to let me in, though, to my surprise, Nancy comes down. It turns out that Frances is out about town and Nancy, dreading the 15 minute walk back to her place after having met Patrick for coffee chose instead to crash at Frances’s. I tell Nancy about the old couple and then about the big apartment, and as I’m describing the apartment it occurs to me that I should take it. I resolve to go for it.
17:00 Patrick has now joined us, and the three of us walk over to see the third and final spot on my list. Again there is a line at the door, and we get chatting with a man from Los Angeles who’s in line with us. We end up going up together, the three of us and Mr. L.A., to see the apartment. It is unfurnished and not particularly noteworthy. The price is not much less than the second place I’d seen, and it was certainly smaller, with only 3 rooms. After that, I called the realtor and asked to reserve the second apartment.
17:30 I arrive at the realtor’s office, answer all sorts of questions about my income (or lack thereof) and my guarantee. The guarantee is a legal document used to collateralize an apartment lease. The guarantor pledges his property in case there is any default on the lease. A guarantor is generally a family member or friend, but I managed to find a place where I could buy a guarantee on the secondary market. The woman who sold it to me (last week) said that realtors and landlords are suspicious of this practice and so I should pretend that my guarantor was actually a friend of mine. She gave me a sheet with his name, profession, income, home assessment, etc. but I neglected to study it closely and so had to wing it with the realtor. She bought my story about my friend the engineer who has his own apartment (somewhere) in the city. She explained that another person had applied to the apartment before me, but that his guarantee is from one of the provinces, and that the landlord might prefer my guarantee. I signed the reservation agreement, gave a (refundable) 200 peso deposit and crossed my fingers. I’ll bring her a copy of my guarantee on Monday and hopefully have a decision this week. If I get it, I’ll move in on the first of August.
18:15 I was supposed to meet Nancy and Patrick to go to the movies later on, so I made my way toward the cinema. I call (and I think awaken) Constantin, who after a late night and a very sleepy day was eager to get out of the house and agreed to meet me at the shopping center near the cinema. I get some dinner at the food court and then popped into an internet café to pass the time while I waited to hear from Nancy, Patrick or Constantin. I read the Drudge Report, The Note, a few news stories and chat a bit on AOL Instant Messenger (Screen Name: HCAlly).
19:15 Constantin meets me at the café and Nancy calls to tell me they had decided to rent a movie instead of going to the cinema. Constantin and I head over to Patrick’s to watch “City of God” a Brazilian film about the slums outside of Rio.
21:00 The film is a bit heavy, and so when Frances calls to invite us over for pizza halfway through the movie, we stop the movie and pack up.
23:00 In two hours at Frances’s we had added about five new people and had ourselves a regular soiree. I get to tell my two favorite jokes in Spanish, but am pretty tired and decide to call it an early night. We have a Fourth of July party planned for tomorrow, so I want to be well rested.
23:58 Walking home from Frances’s, I decide that I will (a) get some chorizo sausages for dinner from the parrilla on my street and (b) I will write a summary of my day to give the folks back home a feel for how life is for me here.
Today was my busiest and most productive day yet here, and I am happy to report that I’m defending myself (literal Spanish translation) pretty well. Anywho, it’s long past midnight; I’ve eaten my chorizos and am ready to retire.
Happy Birthday Uncle Sam!
Ciao