11/15/05
MAR DEL PLATA, ARG.

Internet cafes exist even in bus terminals. I´ve got forty minutes before El Rápido leaves for Bahía Blanca.

Before bed I mumble into my phrasebook, trying to get my tongue around the R´s. This morning I had a breakthrough conversation with some older local guys. Bush was in town a few weeks back, and apparently everyone hates him except for this guy Norberto. I couldn´t follow Norberto´s explanation except for when he cupped his hands between his knees as though carrying a sack of oranges. It was as good an analysis of the 2004 election as I´ve heard.

I haven´t yet learned my way around the food here. There have been meals that I wanted to scrape off my tongue. Lots of bland, bready stuff. One waiter in Pinamar indicated enthusiasm for something called milanesa, so I got a plateful of it. It was the grossest thing I´ve ever eaten half of. I packed a napkin down over it and ate rolls. Milanesa means ¨schnitzel,¨ so I´m not sure if fault lies with the Germans, the Argentines, or the restaurant. Empanadas (turnovers) have become my safety food, also steak and pasta. And the complimentary packets of cookies on ómnibuses. Not exactly adventure eating, and symptomatic of what makes me want to get into the mountains.

Argentina has an effusive and public relationship with music. On the boardwalk here, people dance dances that have names while a singer bursts into the microphone. You see rotund older couples orbiting each other with smoldering looks and perfect steps, whipping scarves around. I will not be learning those dances. Fun to watch, though. People just aren´t embarrassed by music here.

The Boca Juniors won the other day, which made the streets boom with exclamations like, ¨HIJO DE PUTA!¨ Soccer is frothing mad in Argentina. Even the Europeans sound taken aback. I was in the country only two days before learning-- quite passively and from various sources including a T-shirt rack-- how a national hero called Maradona cut through the British in 1986 to kick in a World Cup victory. The game cuts to him on the sidelines today, a stamping bulk with a cigar and a crucifix, and the locals go crazy. He´s like the Pope on a motorcycle.