The Monedas Problem

Translation: "Where are the coins?!"

There is a major problem in Buenos Aires today--there aren't enough coins (monedas) to go around. There are a number of theories as to why this is so--some say that people are melting down the coins for their metal value (something similar happened in the United States with copper pennies--they're mostly zinc now for this reason). Others say that it's the colectivos (the busses) who are intentionally hoarding them (the colectivos require coins to ride). Still more claim that it's actually the mafia that's hoarding all the coins.

Regardless of the cause the results are at times inconvenient and other times (for me at least) amusing. Since the colectivos only take monedas you have to hoard up your coins--which are hard to get--in order to take them. As a result, I never go to a restaurant and tip the waiter by way of saying "keep the change" since that 1 peso coin I get back is gold. Once I went to a pharmacy in an attempt to get change to take a colectivo when I didn't have sufficient change--I purchased a bag of chips that were supposed to cost 1.20. I paid for it with a ten peso note and received 9 pesos in change a 5 and two 2's (Argentine currency has two peso notes but one peso comes only in coins). When I looked at my receipt at I saw that it said I had paid 10.20--they had credited me 20 centavos that I had not paid, just to avoid giving me change! Sometimes when you buy something small like candy or cigarettes, rather than give you change they'll ask you if you'll take another, or some other small item, in addition.

Once when my host dad was trying to show me which bus line to take we went to a nearby pastry store to get change.
"No tengo monedas!" I don't have any coins, he told us.
"Es un desastre." It's a disaster, he said
"Totalmente desastre" my host dad agreed.

So it is.

My Host Family

Having written about the place I live last night I'd like to take a minute now to write about the people with whom I live. I live with an elderly couple in one of the older neighborhoods in the city. My host Mother's name is Irma, but she goes by Kuky (which is pronounced like "cookie"--I don't know whether or not this is intentional). She's very experienced with having foreign students in her home and is very nice. She takes care to explain things to me when I don't understand, speaks slowly and clearly and seems to take a genuine interest in my life, which I appreciate. It is a good feeling to come back home every night to someone who cares about you and about your well being and your safety. She was also very supportive when I told her that I recently lost my dad and this I appreciate a great deal. If she has any fault that I know of, it is only that she feeds me too much.

Her husband is a quiet and kind fellow, who likes to watch soccer on the television a great deal. I have less interaction with him however, because sadly he has Parkinson's disease, which makes it very difficult to understand him, and this tends to make conversations between us very awkward. I can understand when people speak Spanish to me, and if he spoke English I might be able to make out what he said, but the combination of the two is very difficult for me, although hopefully this will improve as my Spanish improves.

Though Argentines in general try to imitate Europeans a great deal, they seem similar to other Latinos with respect to their families, if Irma's family is at all representative of other Argentine families. This is to say that extended families are much more important here than in the States. I've already met several of Irma's children and one of her grandchildren. And it seems that they come by regularly. The day after I got here we celebrated the birthday of her oldest (if I remember correctly) son Hernan whose son Marco was also present, as well as another grandson whose name I can't remember.

By coincidence Marco, who has the same name as my brother (marco with "s" they told me), is also the same age as my Marco. His parents are divorced and he lives with his mother, but he still comes over to the apartment here with great frequency, and even has a bed made up here with some of his things. He is quite adept at using Irma's computer (which she knows next to nothing about) which is additionally impressive considering that the ancient monitor is completely green, making it hard to make out anything on the screen. Although I haven't been here long, this indicates to me that Marco has and will continue to be around this apartment a lot and I'm likely to see a lot more of him. So far I have not had many interactions with him, but from watching an American movie with him and seeing him around the house when we were both back here for lunch, he seems like a really good kid.

My New Home

There are so many things to write about, particularly in these first few days, but one important thing that I wanted to write about is the place I'm going to be living for the next year and the people who live there.

I live in a small apartment on avendia medrano, near the corner of corrientes and medrano where the subte (the metro) stops. From my balcony I can see the street four stories below and several of the old trees that grow on the wide sidewalks (which, consequently, do not have tree lawns). I love having a balcony and I go there often just to stare at the street, the cars, trees, the people walking by and just to think for a bit.

The door to my apartment complex is wide and made of glass with one entrances for healthy people and one that slopes for those who need a wheelchair. Inside there is both an ancient elevator and a winding staircase. I prefer the latter. The stairs are dark and made of stone and are lit by lights set into the walls like torches, which turn on automatically as you near them. The door to our apartment is wooden with three locks of varying types. Inside the apartment are numerous pieces of art collected over the years from various places, a table used for dinner, a kitchen to the left, and a sofa and two chairs at the end of the room, with the t.v. and the entrance to the balcony. The balcony connects all the rooms of the house, and each room has a door to the balcony.

A narrow hallway is the second entrance on the right as you enter with two bathrooms (a half guest and a full bath) on the right and my room on the left, with the full bedroom at the end of the hall. My room is small, neat, with a suitcase next to my desk and another under the bed. On my desk I have my computer (where I type up all of these entries), pictures of my three best friends from Shaker, a picture of my father kissing my mother (in a characteristically goofy fashion) and one of the prayer cards from my father's wake. The desk has two drawers which contain the contents of my pockets that I empty every night, including my change which is precious (more on that later).My bed is small, but comfortable, with a bedside table adorned only by a lamp and a picture of my dad and I during our trip to Hawaii. It's my favorite picture, because he has a slight smile, as if smiling at a private joke, something that only he and I share.

Visa Issues Part III

The distinction between the tourist visa I got in the airport and the student visa, which the IFSA-Butler is going to help me to obtain, is an important one. I was reading over some of the papers I received from the Butler program and I encountered the following:

"Students are allowed to enter Argentina by showing their passports, student visa (temporary resident visa) and letter from the student's local consulate (check with your consulate to see if they provide such a letter). The immigration officers will stamp your documents upon entry"

I read the above paragraph in the plane on my way to Buenos Aires, with no opportunity to call anyone from the program to clarifiy its meaning. This left me with the terrifying conclusion that I would be flying into a kind of purgatory where, without the required student visa, I would be detained in Buenos Aires, unable to leave the airport, but unable to go back home either, or owing to my lack of an international phone, to call anyone.

Fortunately another twenty minutes or so of reading through material made clear to me what I know now. I'm here in Buenos Aires on a tourist visa. However, this visa is only good for about a month, at which point (or before that point really) I have to apply for a student visa, which will be good for the rest of my time in Argentina. The IFSA-Butler staff are going to help us get these during the initial two-week orientation, which is a huge relief as bureaucratic red tape is difficult enough in one's first language, let alone a language with which you still struggle to catch busses.

On a related note, the student status of the visa means that I am only allowed to stay as long as I am an unemployed student. If either of those things change they have the right to deport me, end of story. This little tidbit should be of interest to those of you who asked whether I could work while I'm down here--not worth the risk as it turns out.