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.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
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
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!
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!
Saturday, October 6, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, October 4, 2007
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.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
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)
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)
Monday, October 1, 2007
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)