Besos at the Emergency Room

Before anyone gets worried, this post is not about me and all parties are fine!

One of my roommates at my new apartment, Emily, is in culinary school. She's a fellow American and unfortunately sliced her pinkie today in class in the middle of a practicum exam. An ambulance came, wrapped up her finger, gave her a tetanus shot in her bum and sent her on her merry way. Amazingly, she still finished her exam with high marks, save a few for the attempted amputation.

So this evening, as she was cleaning her bandages, I took one look at her finger and tried to keep a calm and straight face (although totally aghast) when I saw just what exactly had happened. A 1/3 of the tip of her pinkie was sliced wide open, about 3mm deep. Using all my strength to contain my shock and horror that this hadn't been stitched up, I firmly said we needed to go to the emergency room now and have it checked out.

We walked to the small Italian hospital about 10 blocks away, only to find it was closed. The security guard reluctantly answered the door telling us to come back in the morning. So we walked 2-3 more blocks to the pharmacy hoping they could tell us where to find an open hospital. This pharmacy had just closed, and although we were 10 yards from the actual pharmacists, the security guard wouldn't let us ask them where the nearest emergency room is located. He sent us to another pharmacy. 2 blocks farther, we came to a 24 hour pharmacy (kind of like Walgreens). The pharmacists were much more helpful there and sent us to a public hospital about 15 blocks away. This time we decided to take a cab.

When we walked in, we couldn't exactly figure out where to check in. We saw a very small waiting room and wandered around a courtyard until being told to wait in the waiting room and eventually we'd be triaged. Emily asked how long the woman beside her had been waiting. She said since 5pm (That was 5 hours!) Emily decided she'd just go to the first hospital tomorrow morning. On our way out, we asked the policeman/guard if there was another hospital we could go to, he gave us a name and said is was a few blocks away. At this point I was thinking of contacting the friend of one of my coworkers that I've been meaning to get in touch with who is a surgeon here in BsAs. Not exactly how I'd intended to introduce myself. Then I considered contacting my other friend's friend who works for the US embassy thinking maybe he could help. (Yes, I was concerned about this pinkie finger!) Instead we hailed a cab and asked him if he knew of an open private emergency room. He took us to the main Hospital Italiano across town.

The difference between hospitals was night and day. At the huge triage desk, we started the sign-in process. Emily had only given her name, DOB, and phone number when a nurse or doctor called her in and tended to her finger. He cleaned it up and said that by this point, it had all coagulated and while they would have stitched it earlier, the risk of closing up an infection was too great. Within 3-5 minutes her finger was all bandaged up. And then he gave her the Argentine kiss (a besos) on the cheek.

A kiss on the cheek??? Huh? Everyone kisses here. Something I thought I was fairly used to from Europe. But here, everyone kisses, be it two men or people you barely know. Emily says if she talks with any of her teachers, they always "besos" after chatting.

UCSF is undergoing a huge hand washing campaign. Their moto is that handwashing saves lives. If we were to start cheek kissing at UCSF, we'd be washing our face between each patient, as well as our hands. Walking out of the hospital 10 minutes later, after paying the full price of $20 for this private hospital, and spending more than 45 minutes walking and cabbing around town trying to find the hospital, I chuckled to myself reveling in the cultural differences I find so amusing. Besos to everyone!

Another funny account of kissing in BsAs:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/6684727.stm

Gelato addict

Last night Gena came over to see my new apartment and bring a house warming present. She has a coffee maker she no longer uses and kindly passed it along to me. A few minutes later, she said, "I have another little gift" with a sparkle in her eye. "Hmmm, what is this?" I responded, clearly not recognizing the boutique style gift bag. I peered into it and found a small styrofoam container.
***Italian gelato !!!***

About 40% of Buenos Aires' population is ethnically Italian and when they immigrated here, they brought their yummy artisan ice cream trade. I've tasted my fair share of ice cream and desserts, but this was heavenly. I accused Gena of being like a drug dealer with the first taste free and then suddenly you are addicted. I belive that if world leaders could gather together and share some of this dulce de leche gelato, they'd be overcome with happiness and joy, forget their conflicts and world peace would ensue. (yes, the gelato was that good!....or maybe I'm still enraptured with last night's gelatto!)

This morning while walking to the subte (the subway), I was reminiscing about last night's ecstasy when I suddenly stepped on one of the many loose sidewalk pavers. The sidewalks here are not poured concrete but instead consist of 18" X 24" pavers which are frequently loose. After shop owners hose down their section of the sidewalk, water accumulates under these loose pavers and when stepped on, they send a dirty splash of water on your feet if you step on them in such a way. There I was dreaming of gelato when YUCK, street juice covered my feet and drenched the leg of my pants. My feet were sticky all the way to class! I suppose I should be more careful where I dream about gelato!

PS. Happy Halloween to everyone!

The Argentine Election

Today Argentina elected their first woman president, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner. Since I've been here, I've seen plenty of posters and billboards for candidates, but didn't see the typical "tv" ads that I would usually see in the States. But then again, maybe I just wasn't watching enough TV. Fernandez de Kirchner is a senator, former lawer, and wife to the current Argentine president, thus drawing many comparisons to US Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton. She is beautiful and fashionable too, and so also draws comparisons to "Evita", the darling of Argentina.

Argentina takes voting very seriously. I suppose having a dictatorship in your recent past and thus not being able to vote is the impetus of not taking that freedom for granted. In fact, it's mandatory that all citizen from age 19-70 vote. If they don't, they can be fined (a very small fine and I'm not sure how well it's inforced.) On Saturday, the day before the election, grocery stores stopped selling alcohol at 8pm. (This gives you enough time to sober up when the poles open.) All bars, restaurants, cinemas....etc closed at midnight Saturday. Perhaps voting is like test taking, you do better when you've had a good night sleep! I wonder who voting would change in American if voting was mandatory?


In other news, Saturday I left my host family and moved into an apartment one neighborhood over. It's a decent place, fairly spartan, quiet and very cheap. I have two roommates, one is Flemish and he's in business school, the other is American and she's in cooking school. (Although she moves out on Thursday.) Today I explored the parks nearby, scouting out potential running routes. To my surprise, I came across a mini statue of liberty. How's that for election day! I also met up with some friends of Mark (Stephanie's fiance) who were in Buenos Aires for about 30 hours. That's definitely not enough time for this city, but I was very glad they made time for me!

"ah BONNE" (How to pronounce Avon in BsAs)

On Saturday, I went for a run in the park and came across the Avon Mammogram Van. "Wow, this is perfect," I thought. I have been unsuccessful in finding the equivalent of genetic counselors or physicians here who work in hereditary cancer. Maybe the Avon mammovan would have some answers. The Cancer Risk Program at San Francisco General is supported by Avon, so maybe that will help facilitate some sort of collaboration. The only person there was a man who seemed to be more of a security guy. He told me to come back tomorrow, anytime between 8AM to 6PM....I think that's what he said. On Sunday, I dressed up and returned around 2PM....no one in sight. I started to feel that I was getting a glimpse of the Argentine bureaucracy. I returned Tuesday, although at 8PM, but that's early in Argentina, still no one. Today (Wednesday), I returned for a 3rd time, and yes, the van was IN service. The people working the van game me the address of the screening clinic and physician managing the van. I then went to the clinic, tried to explain to the receptionist that I am looking for "doctors who work in hereditary cancer....Are there doctors here who see women who get cancer at young ages?" She asked me to sit in the waiting room and she'd find someone for me to speak with. (hmmmm, I wondered how long I'd have to sit here. If I were to do this at UCSF, I'd be waiting several weeks!) About 10 minutes later, she gave me the name of the head of gyn department, and the name of the president of this center, The foundation of the investigation and prevention of cancer. http://www.FUCA.org.ar Not bad, but what do I do with these names? She showed me to the door where I could then speak to a receptionist of the president. OK, I'm getting warmer. Someone saw me waiting who took me up to the president right away. She was great. I would have been so weary of someone just coming up to my office.

I think they thought I was a student looking for volunteer. They have a 6 month training course before you can volunteer, or work there, or something. I hope I explained to them that I'm a practicing provider looking to offer my expertise through a collaboration/volunteer opportunity.

Tomorrow there is an awards/acknowledgement dinner for a few University medical faculty. They gave me an invitation so they could introduce me to someone who will be there. I'm not sure if she or he is the person receiving the award, or is just expected to be there.

So I walked home laughing to myself at how I managed to speak with the president and get this ticket, still not quite sure who I'm trying to meet tomorrow night nor what exactly is going to happen.

While on my run, I also found the most wonderful smelling rose garden in the park! It's rare to find roses that have such a great purfume since they are mostly bred for looks these days. I definitely stopped to smell the roses on this run.

Chinese? French? Castellano?

I love film festivals. One of my favorite festivals is the Southeast Asian film festival in San Francisco because they always have at least one Bollywood film with great *cheesy* songs and dances. My friend Dieter's sister's best friend from high school (got that?) named Gena, has been living in Buenos Aires for a couple of years. We were put in touch with each other and so when Gena suggested we check out a documentary film festival, I jumped on the idea. The movie we saw was the life story of a woman during the Chinese revolution.

It turns out that the movie was in Chinese (naturally) with French subtitles (due to it's French film producer) and additional subtitles in Spanish underneath the first subtitles. Good Grief, I thought to myself! I ended up reading the French subtitles, and when possible, also the Spanish. Of course, sometimes, I couldn't even finish the French ones. I was hoping to recognize a few Chinese words, since I've been learning a few from listening to Julie talk to her children. They must not have talked about nai-nai (milk) or gong-gong (grandfather).... the only words I know.

Overall, the movie was about a very important experience which we should all know about. However 3 hours of watching a woman tell her story from her living room chair, while straining to read French wasn't quite what I had in mind. I think it would have been better as a book. For now, I'll stick to the Bollywood films.

Running out of gas

After a night in a shared apartment, it was time to move in with my new family. It´s good that I´m moving as the apartment was very noisy. A person from the school staying in the same apartment complex helped me with my bags and hailed a cab. She made sure the taxi driver knew where I was going. After my taxi experience in Belfast, this shouldn´t have been a problem, after all, I had a personally escorted assistant to hail the cab and give directions in proper Spanish for me.

There are laws of the roads, but for the most part, they are perceived as suggestions only. Drivers fly down the road stopping for no one and weaving through traffic leaving inches between cars. Argentine taxi drivers make New York City cabbies appear to by super patient and very slow drivers. After 10 minutes, my driver started slowing down. He had problems getting the car in gear and seemed to be no longer be racing other drivers. A couple of times, the car seemed to sputter along. Hmm, is his car breaking down? He turned down a side street and his car just wouldn´t move. He restated it a few times, but no luck.

What in the world was I going to do? I had no idea where I was, or where I going. ¿Hay un problema con la carro? He answered back something...I´m not sure what. He said I wasn´t far, just two blocks away, turn left, then it´s about 40 meters. Well, that´s not far when you don´t have 100lbs of luggage! He offered to call another cab, but I felt ridiculous hailing a cab for such a short distance. My stubborn nature wouldn´t let me take the cab. I think he actually ran out of gas as the needle was flailing 1/4 below empty.

My host family is very nice. It's actually a woman my age who's a film producer, so not exactly a typical "host mother", and more of a roommate. Mom, you'd love the apartment as it has an access wall in your favorite color - LIME GREEN!!! After settling in, I explored the neighborhood and found the botanical gardens. There are so many beautiful statues and ponds. I wandered into a conservatory which had a display of wood carvings. It was nice, until I started getting mosquito bites. I have also noticed a ton of cats in the gardens. They were also everywhere in the Recoleta cemetery. As I headed home, a couple asked me where was the entrance to the Botanical gardens. I said, "aquí" meaning "here", but pointed to "there" feeling like a local already, even if I said the wrong thing. Good thing classes start tomorrow to straighten me out.

Here are a few photos from the botanical gardens:

In the Conservatory

Not quite buried

While waiting for the housing situation to sort itself out, I spent the afternoon exploring the neighborhood and visiting the famous Recoleta cemetery. It's where Argentina's rich and famous, and important political figures are buried. Walking through there is like reading a "who's who" of Argentina's history. Except, they are not exactly "buried".

Having just explored the Milltown Cemetery in Ireland where I have family buried, it was interesting to compare with this location. Each crypt is like a small church, some with large statues and stained glass windows. Much to my surprise, when I peaked through some of the windows, the coffins were there in plain sight! In a few, the doors have broken glass, or the door was slightly open. Maybe the residents need a bit of fresh air! Some have stairs leading into the basement of the crypts and you can see shelves of coffins. Others are covered by a grate. In any case, it was a bit eerie, but a great intro to the history of Argentina.






Fortunately I wouldn't need to stay the night here. The school found an apartment downtown for me to stay in for the night and I'd join my host family on Sunday. So this evening, I threw a sweater around my shoulders and strolled around the city at night as if I owned the place. Home sweet home!

Homeless in Buenos Aires

After a 10.5 hr flight from Dallas after previously visiting New York,
Chicago, Ireland and Spain.....I have finally made it.
Well, sort of.......

When I signed up for the program, I put down Oct 8th, the first day of
class, as the start day when I should have listed my arrival date, Oct
6th. So yesterday, I checked me email and realized no one would be
there to pick me up and housing would not be ready. So a few frantic
emails later, within hours of my departure from New York, all was set.
And even better, I had previously been assigned to a shared apartment
and now a host family was available to take me in.

The Latin Immersion program has a VIPcar (a taxi really) pick you up
from the airport and takes you to your home. Before I left, I
confirmed with the language program that this car company would have
the address as I only had the old shared apartment address.

Turns out they had the address of the shared apartment and as it is
such a lovely day, no one was at the apartment. The driver, who
speaks no English, and I in my broken Spanish, started coming up with
different plans. I could stay at a hostel till Monday, we could call
the school, but the nearby phone was broken. He stayed with me for 30
minutes radio'ing the transportation company who was trying to get in
touch with the language program. In the end he drove me to the
school. I have confirmed with them that they did know I was coming
today, and well.....I think they are trying to get in touch with
someone, maybe the host family or the housing coordinator. I think
things are being taken care of, but such is the life of not speaking
the language. I am not completely sure of what is going on.

The school is great. It is in a very nice neighborhood and there are
beautiful tiled floors, tall french doors opening to the street, an
inner courtyard, and obviously a computer lab from where I am writing
this. The flight itself was good as I slept through most of it. I am
looking forward to getting to know the rest of this beautiful country!

Family History

The last big trip to Ireland was for my Granny Stewart’s funeral so it was only fitting that I visit her grave to pay my respects. My four great grandparents on my dad’s side are also buried in the same cemetery. Fortunately I’m not the only one in my family interested in genealogy as two of my uncles have located these old grave sites and are working on fixing them up. This cemetery is quite old and some parts are rather overgrown. I put on some rubber boots and trekked with Granda and Uncle Patrick through the growth to find the sites that other uncles had discovered and marked with a few red capped sticks. The ground is anything but even, with huge dips and holes. The constant Irish rain makes the ground soft, sinking around coffins. I tripped over partially buried metal grates and bumped up to harder bits of ground, hoping it is indeed really just ground. I’m not ready to fall into one of these holes! But, despite the potential for a somewhat uncomfortable environment, trekking through the lumpy grounds and tripping over graves, I felt a profound sense of comfort and serenity to be there with my ancestors. Look where our family has been, look how far we’ve come, and where are we going next? With a pair of bright pink rubber boots on, I was connecting to the past.

How to hail a taxi in Belfast

After spending the day with my great Aunt Jessie, Uncle Gerard, and then my mom’s cousin Norma, I took advantage of being in town and did a little shopping. After all, I had seen a lovely silk top in a shop that I wanted to check out again. Practicality got the better of me and I decided to save my money for Argentina and head on home. My Auntie Roisin would be serving dinner in about a half hour. And so began the adventure of finding my way home. Plan A was to call my Aunt Roisin as she had offered to pick me up. I stepped into one of those little red telephone booths to decipher how to make a call. It’s been years since I’ve used a pay phone. No such luck though as I had left the phone number at the house. With no number to call, Plan B was to walk to
Granda’s as he has everyone’s number. Granda lives only about 1.5 miles away from city center. On my way though, I thought it might just be easier to catch a cab since I know Brendan and Roisin’s address (Plan C).

As I walked to Grandda’s I kept an eye open to hail an available cab. In the states, a cab will have its top light on signifying it’s available, and turn it off when it’s full. Strangely though, cabs were passing me by with their lights off and appeared empty, or their lights on, but full of people. The few that I tried to hail, didn’t stop. This is strange I thought. There are also “black taxis” which are shared and operate more like buses, but you need to know where you are going and which one to pick…which I clearly did not know.

Eventually one stopped and asked, “Where you going Love?” I said to Cedar Avenue. He didn’t seem to know exactly where Cedar Ave is and said he thought it was located across town. Now I was not about to be taken for a tourist and have him drive in a circle just to charge me a higher fair, and I knew that Brendan and Roisin’s house wasn’t that far from Granda’s, so I got out of the cab and said I’d just head to my relative’s house since he didn’t know exactly where Cedar Ave is located.

Back to plan B. Granda is nearly always home, unless he’s at daily mass. And of course, I chose just that time to stop by. He wasn’t home. I knew I had two uncles within blocks of Granda’s, but had no idea where they live. Hmmm, what next? Plan D was to go to Auntie Jessie’s back towards town, or catch a cab on my way. An empty black taxi slowed down beside me, but when I put my hand out, I just got the finger wag saying NO. At the corner of the Fall’s Road, I asked a man smoking outside a bar what the deal is with determining which cabs are available. (I’m thinking to myself, I get cabs all the time in San Francisco…how hard can it be?) “You can’t just hail a cab from the street!” he said. It’s illegal. Due to “the Troubles” in Northern Ireland and the segregated neighborhoods, it was very dangerous for taxis or buses to go down certain streets. They stopped running these routes, so people set up their own private cab system (the black taxi) to go down these dangerous thoroughfares leading to home. He called me a cab and confirmed that yes, Cedar Ave is indeed “on the other side of town” which is really only about 2 miles away. So the first cab was indeed right. In the States, we think 100 years is a long long time ago. In Ireland, 100 miles is far far away. It’s all relative. In the end I made it home, albeit late for dinner, and with a better appreciation of Belfast transportation.

Finally home! (Me, Naomi, Laura)

Creating traditions at the airport

After a great week in Spain, I returned to Ireland for a few more days before my big trip to Argentina. To save a few hundred dollars, I few into Dublin, which is about 100 miles from Belfast. Normally this wouldn't be too much of a problem as I have great family willing to make the long drive down to pick me up, however my flight was arriving at 11:20PM. Not only did Uncle Brendan meet me at the airport, but my Granda Stewart also made the late night drive down, dressed for the occasion in a suit!!! Now this may not seem like a such a huge deal, but Granda isn't known for making trips, especially all the way to Dublin. But meeting family at the airport is become a fast tradition for him. He's also added a new tradition of stopping for a cup-of-tea stop at the side of the road not too far from the airport. So in the wee hours of the night, on a deserted road nearby, the three of us had tea and sandwiches at a roadside pullout agreeing that anything done more than once makes it a tradition.