What an incredible weekend!
I am so blessed to be on the recipient end of so much grace, hospitality, and tradition!
Thursday night, the 5 of us loaded into Jorge's car and battled the traffic out of the monstrous city and into the quiet campo. It was dark so I couldn't see much scenery but that made las estrellas all the more striking! With the combination of being on the opposite side of the earth and outside of brilliant Buenos Aires for the first time, I saw stars that I'm sure I've never seen before in my life! Until Thursday night I'd never had the opportunity to see the Milky Way in all its celestial splendor. The sky was like a pure black cut of marble with a white speckled ribbon running through it.
We pulled over to a little country parrilla (grill) for a traditional Argentine asado dinner complete with papas fritas, chorizo, pollo, and flank de vaco. Yes, I made an exception to my American vegetarian lifestyle and accepted the grace of my host family and the labors of the asadores (not to mention the sacrifice of the animals) and ate the sumptuous meal. Las postres (the desserts), I swear this country has the best in the world, were flan, this candied papaya-like fruit, and a slab of jam/jelly atop a slab of cheese. Ricissimo!
After about 3 and a half hours of car trivia, making fun of Argentine politicians, and singing Madonna (Jorge's favorite), Lady Gaga, and Coldplay, we arrived in the tranquil luxurious little pueblo tucked among scraggly pine trees that shoot straight out of a sea of sand. Its a town unlike any I know that I could describe for you. Full of high class shops and cafes, Carilo is a secret vacation getaway that retains the cottagey quaintness of a small friendly village. And because it's winter, we literally had the place to ourselves!
We were renting a super cool apartment with 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen, living room, balcony with asado, putting green on the roof, gymnasium, maidservice, and complimentary breakfast that was brought to our room each morning! Now what's the most important thing to do upon entering a fancy room like this? I think you know the answer. Whether your 13 or 20, Argentine or American... you jump on the beds! Por supuesto!
It really was a weekend filled with juvenile bonding time though. We went for walks through the town, dragging in countless little piles of sand in our wake, although the hotels and restaurants seemed perfectly accustomed to the constant sweeping of sand-strewn lobbies. We snuck up on the roof and took pictures, which being the adult in the situation I totally condoned. I had some gym time with Sofi during the day and helado and cocoa with her and Santi at night, staying out for far too long and causing Ana and Jorge to believe we'd gotten ourselves lost somewhere in the 1 square kilometer of Carilo. Jorge took us off-roading in his camioneta (SUV) through the dunes on the beach and we'd stop at the little ballenerias (restaurants on the shorefront) for cafe and panqueques con dulce de leche (Don't even get me started on the dulce de leche! I had it for 3 separate meals on Friday. It's posing a serious problem for my wasteline.) And we hit the supermercado to pick up dinner supplies, and a Brazilian coconut that Santi just had to bring home to prove he could eat it. 13 year old boys... I swear I couldn't tell you how many times I heard "Basta Santi!" or "Santi por que?" or "Santi estupido!" over the course of this weekend.
Saturday night we had an asado of our own in the apartment and Jorge assumed the honored position of asador ("king of the grill"). I kid thee not, it is an obligatory tradition to applaude the chef after the meal has been consumed. Santi and I went hunting for politos (sticks) to use as kindling and when we returned, Sofi, who'd grown tired of homework, decided to give us all makeovers with her eyeliner! So here I am, on the balcony with Jorge, complimenting his grillin' skills when he haughtily exclaims "I am a gaucho!" and his 6+ foot tall self, wearing egyptian eye makeup and an apron reading "Kiss the Cook" does a galloping dance with his feet just to clarify... you know in case any of his machismo got lost in translation!
Speaking of translation, three full days of hearing and speaking nothing but Spanish, did wonders for my own comprehension skills! Not to mention all the useful vocab words I picked up. For instance, pendejo, which in Mexico is a steep insult, here simply means "teenager," and in certain contexts "pubic hair." Chinga, also very offensive in Mexican Spanish, is someone who tailors your pants for you! I even learned a phrase in Guarani, the native language of the original inhabitants of what is now Paraguay. God knows I can't spell it. But speaking it is much like howling at the moon like a coyote... "RO-HAI-HOOEY!" It is the equivalent of "Te amo" in Espanol.
Later Saturday night, at the dinner table I decided to make a toast thanking them for bringing me on such genuinely fun family excursion, for all their generosity, and for their patience with my much improved Spanish. So I proudly declared "Yo quiero hacer una tosta!" Between giggles and snickers, they explained that I had literally just said "I want to make a piece of toast!"
Ay Dios mio.... still so much to learn!
No comments:
Post a Comment