Livin' on 15 Pesos a Day

Today was our first day of formal class. After enjoying a breakfast consisting of some dulce de leche spread over toast along with some coffee we slowly gathered in a main room of the hostel to work on our Spanish skills. A walked with a small group of people around the corner to a meat shop during our break. Not only did the butcher possess an impressive meat slicer but also offered a great variety including a type of salami stuff with eggs, veggies, and cheese.

I ventured over to a nearby supermercado run by two Chinese immigrants for lunch. One of the workers began to translate Chinese to Spanish, but it obviosly did not end upo being much of a help. I was able to get 4 bananas, a package of delicious pastry crackers, and a massive Golden Crisp version of a rice cripsy treat for 8 pesos.

In the afternon we headed into the "villa" or slum area of the city to throw a birthday party for about 80 street children. After spending an hour as a place kick holder, the rugby ball that we were playing with popped after it went through a stake in the fence. One member of our group then decided to give one of the children a piggy back ride, something that suddenly turned into a full blown two hours of mayhem. It never stopped, as the kids began to refer to me as "El Cabillo."

Then came a very ankward moment. A father came to pick up his children and asked me my name. I replied "Me nombre Esteban" and he shook by hand and inched his cheek close to my face. This meant trouble, as I had become aware of the Argentinian custom of greeting via kiss on the cheek. I hesitated as long as I could, before slowly brushing up against his beard. Why am I writing this down? I'd like to get it out of my memory.

When we got back to the hostel the city was struck with a heavy thunderstorm that lasted about an hour. It was pretty cool to go up onto the roof and simultaneously hear the thunder as lightning lit up the South American sky. After having a free hamburger at the b-day party earlier, I enjoyed a mixed salad at Pericles, a Greek-owned cafe two doors down from our hostel.

The night got capped off with a trip to a local gelato shop owned by a real Italian. I enjoyed a dulce de leche con brownie cone and have begun to form a checkilist of flavors I will try before i leave.

I continue to keep my distance from Roque, the hostel housecat who mysteriously keps finding its way into our room even when the doors are closed. He is mean and ferocious, but how else is he suppossed to survive on the streets on Buenos Aires?