You say hello, I say goodbye...

One of the core skills Foreign Service Officers need to develop is the ability to say goodbye...constantly.  With tours lasting, on average, two years, we move in and out of other peoples' lives at a dizzyingly rapid pace.  It can be a disconcerting process, especially when you come to really care for the people you share this globe-trotting life with.  The chances of running into one another again is both large (after all, the Foreign Service corps is quite small) and miniscule (Foreign Service Officers may quit, retire, or just get posted far away from you at all times).

I arrived in Argentina a little over a month ago, but I've already begun saying goodbye.  Summer is the season for staff turnovers and this summer is no exception.  For (nearly) each one of us dozen or so new officers at post, someone had to move on to another posting.  Not to mention all our summer interns and fellows.

The first of the despedidas (for people I know, anyway) was earlier this month, when the Econ Section said goodbye to our Pickering Fellow, Karina.  She and I shared a true love for whining at each other - seriously, folks, I can make Karina's name into a twenty-second whine at the drop of a hat.  And I already miss how she used to sit at her desk and laugh at her email so loud that it carried throughout the office, forcing everyone to peer out and ask just what was so funny.

Cynthia, Megan (the world's fiercest OMS), Yours Truly, Karina

This weekend we also said goodbye to the Political Section's intern, Patrick, and his lovely wife, Whitney.  We've easily discovered that they both bowl better than I (honestly, even Mad Maggie Delicious could bowl better than I, despite the lack of opposable thumbs) and very soon we will be missing their presence at all the after-hours events, plus all of Patrick's hard work at the office (nearly the entire Political Section just turned over, so the work of 6 or so full-time Americans was being handled by one Political Officer and Patrick for weeks on end).

Patrick, Whitney, Megan, Nile (the world's most fashionable, dance-crazy baby), and Neil

My Friday night, in fact, was spent fare-ing-thee-well to Patrick and Whitney, where I met some new non-embassy people while also toasting with some friends from within the embassy community.  The funny thing is that it looks as though one of the people I met Friday night will be crashing in my guest room for the next two nights.  So while Patrick and Whitney flew back to the States today, they leave a bit of a legacy for me.

Life in the Foreign Service is certainly never static.

I wish you well, Patrick, Whitney and Karina.  May our paths cross again...

A moment in Austen

This evening I sub'd in for the Ambassador at a musical soiree hosted by the Sofitel Hotel in downtown Buenos Aires.  It featured violinist Palbo Saravi and guitarrist Victor Villadangos, who played pieces by Niccolo Paganini, Carlos Guastavino, Jacques Ibert, Maura Giuliani, Maximo Pujol, and Astor Piazzolla.

We were served champagne in a beautifully appointed (yellow!) room, and my friend Vanna and I were seated in one of the reserved couches at the front of the room.  It was a very small affair, with perhaps 50 people in attendance.  To our left was the Ambassador to Belgium and to our right the Ambassador to New Zealand (who were both relatively nonplussed when they discovered we were basically nobodies).

The moment the music started, I couldn't help but think that this is what it felt like to be at a musical concert in the Victorian age (although back then I would have been more likely to exchange the grey suit for a more elegant dress).  Without t.v. and the internet to entertain us, concerts and plays would have been the greatest source of amusement, other than a country ball.

And I completely fell in love, all over again, with the violin.  Some of the pieces were tangoes, some not, but all were painfully, beautifully melancholy, with such a sweet air to them.

I did try to give the guitarrist his share of my attentions, because clearly he was a master at his craft, but I just couldn't look away from the violin for long.  What a beautiful, beautiful instrument.

The only downside to the evening is the fact that I am just now going to bed, at midnight.  Just five hours and forty-five minutes until the next work day starts for me.  And to just think: some Argentines are just now going out for supper.

Feeling awkward

The life of a diplomat isn't always so glamorous.

No, seriously.  Stop laughing.  I wasn't joking. 

There are many times when you have to attend functions that you don't want to be at, where you're thinking, "I could be at home in my pjs watching the Home Shopping Network," or, "Did I accidentally leave the stove on again?"  And this is instead of paying attention to whatever awe-inspiring presentation is being given or conversation is being lobbed your way. 

One would think that this should be the normal course of things for someone in the Foreign Service and, moreover, that the foreign service officer (FSO) would be all attentive and interested, but I have to admit that I am a very poor excuse for a FSO.

Well, add to that a foreign language and you can end up having some really long, and really painful, events.  I was at a luncheon on Tuesday, hosted by a very active group of Argentine business owners, and I was subbing in for the Ambassador.  Of course, having just recently arrived, I didn't know anyone, but my boss told me I had to go so I was there.  On time.  Unlike nearly everyone else. 

My (clearly faulty) understanding was that, when it comes to business situations, things in Argentina will start on time.  The luncheon was scheduled for 12:30.  So I naturally arrived at 12:45.  I believe I was the fifth attendee to arrive (out of 100-200).  Talk about awkward.

We were not allowed into the main dining hall, of course, and were meant to mingle in the lobby, while servers weaved through the crowds, handing out appetizers and drinks.  Two very unfortunate things immediately crossed my mind:

• Being a natural-born klutz, I could not eat anything on offer if I did not want to wear it on my suit or introduce myself to people with something nasty and green between my front teeth.  It would also impede my newly developed, quick-action business-card-giving skill.  Mad skill, yo.
• Of the five of us that were there, I didn't know 4 of them, but I was going to have to grow a pair and go introduce myself to at least one of them.  Even more unfortunately for me, most of these people actually knew each other, so they were already clumping in small groups...drats!

...except for this one gentleman, who was off in the corner making calls, that is.  I developed a plan to introduce myself to him, the second he got off the phone.  I eyeball'd the hell out of him until he finished talking - in fact, he may have been so uncomfortable (or maybe he thought I was checking him out?) that he eventually just gave up on the phone and came over to introduce himself to me.  And so I made my first contact!  The upside: he spoke English, having grown up in Massachusetts largely until he was 9.  ROCK.

So my new friend Wency was the perfect gentleman, introducing me to all the other business leaders and entourages as they arrived, trying his damnedest to make me feel welcome.  I think, actually, that he enjoyed meeting someone outside of the norm, and I'm sure it helped that I was a good 30 years younger than most of the other attendees (and also one of the only women).  So it was a good fit, me and Wency, until we had cocktail-hour'd our way through 1 1/2 hours and it was time to actually sit in the dining room - at our assigned tables.  Wency and I were split up.  Drats again!

At this point, I was so hungry I could hardly focus on anything other people were saying.  If you've never learned a foreign language before, or if you're one of those people who are really talented linguistically, you might not understand how much constant focus it requires to partake in a conversation in a foreign language.  Noting that I usually eat lunch at 11:30AM and snack pretty much all the time, on this particular day it was approaching 2PM and I still hadn't eaten a damn thing so my concentration was somewhere along the negative scale. 

Which ended up being fine, actually, because here is what happened: everyone did the whole, "Buenas tardes, Soy --, mucho gusto conocerle..." with a healthy dose of cheek-kissing, we sat down in our assigned seats, and then the two people on either side of me immediately turned to the person on the other side of them and began long, drawn-out conversations.  So I just sat there like a dumb mute.  It was awesome.  And by "awesome," I mean "awkward."

Then, they still didn't give me any food.  The program included a presentation by one of the presidential candidates (elections are in October 2011) so there would be no food until he had spoken.  So the only thing the servers dropped on the table was a small bowl of breads and breadsticks, water and wine.

The presidential hopeful began his remarks and I tried my darnedest to listen, but I don't know if it was the lack of food that made me a little nutty, or his heavy accent/use of lunfardo/inability not to mumble, but I understood maybe 1 in every 50 words - not enough to get even the tiniest hope of an understanding of what was being said.  The dumb mute routine continued.

When he finally stopped speaking, we were (finally!) served lunch.  You will not be surprised to know that it was a steak, with a vegetable or two for garnish.  I ate as delicately as I could, which was near impossible as I was freakin' ravenous.  My table-mates continued to ignore me.  One even fell asleep - that was pretty sweet.

Then there was a question-answer session with the presidential hopeful - thankfully they served dessert while he was speaking, so I could have something to do other than sit there and look like I understood the words coming out of his mouth.

Suffice to say that I felt really inadequate to the task.

As soon as the program was over, I kissed all the Argentine cheeks within a ten-foot radius that I could see, and then made a mad dash for the door, my tail very much between my legs.

But, it couldn't be that easy.  The woman who organized the event stopped me at the door to introduce herself and tell me how wonderful it is to have a representative of the U.S. Embassy at the event.  She was gracious enough to invite me to the lunches whenever it is that the Ambassador can't be there.  I think I did pretty well, when I expressed how interesting the event was and thanked her kindly for the invitation. 

Yet as soon as there was an opening, I 50-yard-dashed it for the ladies room.  And then I was out of the hotel like a shot - FOUR HOURS LATER.

Clearly, I still have a lot of work to do.

Success!

Two more things have been checked off of my list of things to do to settle in to Buenos Aires:

1. Harass the good people down in shipping until my unaccompanied air baggage (UAB) arrives: if you recall, UAB is the 250lbs of random crap we get to ship to ourselves faster than the rest of our household crap (also known as HHE, or household effects).  When Anthony and I moved to Peru, it took our UAB 5 months to reach us; in Mexico, it took about a month; here in Buenos Aires, I've got them down to 3 weeks.  And now I have my winter coat, my gym gloves, dog food for Maggie, and a whole bunch of random toiletries, just to name a few things that I am appreciating at the moment.
2. I.  Have.  Internet.  I cannot stress this enough: internet is the world traveler's LIFESAVER.  Although it took weeks to figure out who Miguel Delfino is (the guy whose name is on my bill) so I could just get some freakin' WiFi service (long story), you are now free to Skype me at any time.  I've got my headphones and I'm waiting.  Bueller...?

See?  It takes so little to make me happy.

Inception: The Review

Don't read this if you don't want to know anything about this movie.  Just don't.  And don't say I didn't warn you.

Let me start with my overall take on this film, so when I get all sorts of picky in 30 seconds, you'll remember that I actually enjoyed this film.  I walked away feeling pretty satisfied with the movie, and not just because I got to sit in a Laz-i-Boy and order my meal from my theater seat.  This is a pretty solidly entertaining film, full of pretty fantastic acting.

BUT.  This is where I get picky folks, so if you don't want to hear it, go back and re-read that last paragraph.

I expect a lot out of movies, especially ones that are trying to be so tightly designed as this one.  So when a film has everything going for it and some little flaw flaunts itself, it drives me batty and I have to say something.  Because really, where is the joy in life if it is not in criticizing other people's hard work?

So, here are the pecadillos, in no particular order:

• Ellen Page, my friends.  I shouldn't have to say anything else, but I'm going to.  You and I may have loved her in Juno, because she was basically put on this earth to play that role (where deadpan delivery was a requirement), but her generally emotionless face and wooden acting need more work.  When she is standing in the same room as Leonardo DiCaprio (who, I have to say, I am not the world's biggest fan of, but even I can admit that the man can act his ass off), I expect her to rise to the challenge.  If she's playing a character that has to scold his, she better freakin' make me believe it.  She was almost there.  Like that famous Shel Silverstein poem, "Almost perfect, but not quite."
• The laws of physics.  Okay, this film is all about the idea of people entering each other's dreams to plant or steal ideas, so there's a bit of suspension of disbelief going on to start.  But there is one scene in particular that bothers me: the one with Joseph Gordon-Levitt fighting some unknown actor in the 2nd dream level down after they have lost gravity because in the first dream level, Gordon-Levitt's sleeping body is suspended  in that zero-gravity state because he is in a van that is toppling backwards off a bridge into a river below.  The fighting men are supposed to be tossed about in the same way that Gordon-Levitt's body is being tossed about in the van as it hurtles towards the water.  However, the movements don't match up.  I know this is a really picky thing, but it's quite noticeable after you've spent over an hour in the theatre watching a film that is impeccably aligned despite what could be a very difficult plot to follow.
• Offhand commentary is NOT funny.  This is just a minor annoyance, but I think it's a sign of some poor screenwriting choices.  There are a few moments when the director allowed the actors to drop themselves into a buddy action movie, where flip comments that go for easy laughs are a dime a dozen.  Unfortunately for this film, the comments are completely out of character when they're done.  I'm not saying that they don't get the laughs (JM was sitting next to me and laughing heartily each time one of these comments was uttered), but I found them to be a bit jarring and out-of-place.
• BAD ENDING.  Okay, this is the big one for me.  So, one of the key ideas in this film is that all these dreamwalkers, for lack of a better term, have one way to remind their brains that they are in a dream or in the real world.  Each dreamwalker carries his or her own token, for which only s/he knows the real dimensions and weight of.  If something is off with the token, then the dreamwalker is still in the dream world.  For DiCaprio's character, that token is a top, which used to belong to his late wife.  If he is in the dream world, the top spins forever as the rules of gravity don't necessarily apply.  However, if the top falls over after spinning for a while, he knows he has re-entered the real world.  The movie ends with DiCaprio spinning the top and walking away before he finds out if he is the real world or the dream world, with the camera staying focused on the spinning top, fading to the credits just at the moment that it seems we, the audience, would find out which world he was in.  THIS REALLY PISSES ME OFF.  This is such an art-school ending that I cannot even begin to describe my displeasure at this type of ending.  There is nothing that indicates the sheer arrogance of a movie as much as this type of ending.  They want you, the audience, to decide what ending you think should have happened.  People will come out of this movie swearing that DiCaprio made everything right in the end and got to return to his real life in the real world because of it.  Others will come out of it swearing the exact opposite - that he lost his connection to the real world and instead chose to remain in his mind, where he could invent whatever story made him the most happy.  A movie of true quality will not let you leave the theatre wondering what happened.  Or so I say at least.  I watch movies to see stories that have closure, very much unlike real life.  I do not want to leave the theatre feeling confused, wondering, "Whatever happened to that nice boy, Leo DiCaprio?"

So, that's me being a critic.  And it's so much easier for me to be nit-picky than to be nice, but please know that the movie was a completely enjoyable experience.  You may even think it's the best thing since sliced bread.  All I know is that it was a $10 well spent, but I won't be buying the DVD or failing to voice my opinion if asked.  (Hell, even if not asked.)  Go out to the theatre and make up your own mind.

I love you, DOT

I never thought it would get any better than The Strand Theatre in my hometown.  Several years ago, someone decided to renovate an old theatre located on the main street in town and turn it into a movie theatre.  The result is this really beautiful, authentic piece of usable history.  Tickets are inexpensive as the theatre plays second-run films, but it's really quite worthwhile.  The right and left sides of the theatre have bar-like seating, while the center hosts series of seats interpersed with tables.  And in the back of the theatre is a full-service kitchen, where you go to get your burgers, fries, onion rings, beer, wine, soda, pizza, chicken fingers, popcorn... I really love this theatre! 

The only other theatre I've ever been in that I love almost as much is the series of Ritz Theaters in Philadelphia, which aren't as exciting in terms of food, but they host both blockbuster films AND independent and foreign films, which is something The Strand does not.  The Ritz Theaters are also a large part of the venue for the Philadelphia Film Festival, which will always hold a very special place in my heart as I volunteered with them for many years as they transitioned from a small nothing of a festival into such a fantastic Festival, with a capital "F."  Freakin' fantastic.

BUT.  I have finally found an equal.  For different reasons, but I am in love all the same.  There is a movie theater here in Buenos Aires that actually rivals The Strand and the Ritz Theaters.  It's the Hoyt's at the DOT mall (please don't ask me to tell you what DOT stands for, I really have no idea), which is located as far away from my apartment as humanly possible of course.

Here's why it rocks my socks off:

• You buy your tickets in advance and you PICK YOUR SEATS.  That's right, folks, assigned seating.  The only other theatre I know of that does this is that crappy theatre they built at 40th and Walnut in Philadelphia for all the rich Penn kids to go waste their parents money on.  The idea is fantastic, and helps you to avoid that really irritating "The 20" or whatever other crap they're now showing prior to the movie starting.  I am the first to admit I have an undying affection for previews, but I don't like commercials, inside the making of whatever crap show is coming out on Fox or HBO or whatever, or being forced to sit through yet another actor's senseless babble about the making-of for whatever pet film they're developing.  So yeah, assigned seating: AWESOME.
• When you arrive, you get access to a VIP room, replete with it's own set of bathrooms, a full-service bar, and a really nice lounge area, where you can order food.  Which brings me directly to...
• You can order food and HAVE IT DELIVERED DIRECTLY TO YOUR SEAT.  Did you hear me, people?  FOOD.  DELIVERED.  TO.  YOUR.  SEAT.
• Okay, so if you didn't actually order popcorn or a hamburger or that Thai stirfry wok thingy when you were in the VIP room, there is a button on your chair, very much like the button near your seat on an airplane, which you can use to call an attendant to your seat.  And then you can order your super-sized popcorn with extra butter.
• And, if that's not enough for you, all the seats in the theatre are Laz-i-Boy recliners.  I am not kidding.  There are maybe 30 seats in the whole theater.  With tables.  And buttons to call attendants for seat-side service.

It was all I could do not to giggle in glee throughout the entire movie.  Or pass out, I was so comfortable.  Whichever came first, really.

If someone in the movie theater business ever combines all these ideas together - a movie theater with Laz-i-Boys, seat-side food service, assigned seating, and shows both blockbusters and independent/foreign films - I will be the happiest customer ever.  Especially if they add full-on foot massages and mani-pedi services.

With a moo-moo here, and a moo-moo there...

One of the biggest events of the year here in Buenos Aires is the Palermo Livestock Show, which is an exhibit of livestock, agriculture, and international industry. And yes, I said "livestock show."  

I'm told that over 400 vendors come from all the different provinces of Argentina to attend and there are exhibits of  local argentine handicrafts, cooking demonstrations, local food exhibits, horse shows, agricultural equipment displays, and loads of livestock.  There are over 3,500 animals, including many different breeds of cows.

The Livestock Show also just so happens to take place in La Rural, the block-sized exposition building right next to the embassy.  When I found out that not only would there be hundreds of cows and lots of tasty food, but we could also flash our embassy badges to get in for free, I was sold on the idea. 

So I walked the twenty feet from the embassy entrance to La Rural and couldn't believe my eyes.  Such an immense space, just full of lovely, SMOOSHABLE!, doe-eyed cows with finger-length eyelashes.  Such adorable cows!  And people actually VACUME THE COWS.  To make their hair more fluffy.  Fluffy, adorable dinner, I tell you.

 There were also roosters and chickens, chinchillas (right next to chinchilla-fur coats - I see your future, guys, and it's not looking happy), bunnies!, and just about every type of livestock you could imagine. 

There was also about five bazillion people.  The later it got, the more people appeared.  It actually got to the point where I, despite having a good 6-7 inches over the majority of the attendees (apparently, country folk are a bit shorter than their bonaerense cousins), couldn't see the displays anymore.

But I couldn't leave without having a taste of the fabled choripan.  Which is basically a sausage in a bun, but you don't know what you're missing until you've finally tasted one.  However, the process is a bit of a pain the ass.  There is a separate tent just to order and pay for your food and then you take your ticket to another tent and fight with a bunch of rude Argentines for primacy before getting the attention of the people who are collecting tickets and doling out food.

When I say "rude," I mean to say that I had about 3 or 4 grandmothers physically grab me and push me out of the way, all the while yelling above the fray about what they ordered and waving their ticket in the air with the one hand that's not being used to push me out of the way.  It got to the point that I started throwing elbows and really using my height to my advantage. 

However, my friend Sandra: not so lucky.  She is petite, even by Argentine countryfolk standards.  And this is an action shot of her trying to get back out of crowd, after finally being noticed by someone controlling the issuance of choripan.  You'll note her by looking for a slightly squished person clutching desperately at a basket of fries as she emerges from the masses.

These people are animals, I tell you.  ANIMALS. 

But the choripan, it couldn't have been better if I had raised and slaughtered it myself.