Heading Up North

Edinburgh.

It's been a rather brief visit to Edinburgh. It's a great small city, but I'm anxious to get moving. I bought a plane ticket for Krakow, on the eighteenth, which has me on a time limit now. A long time limit, but a time limit nonetheless. So I'll be heading to Stirling this morning.

But as for Edinburgh, it's a lovely little city. One thing that has surprised me is the quality of the museums. The National Gallery has a rather impressive collection of paintings from early renaissance to impressionism. It includes paintings from two of my favorite artists, El Greco, and John Singer Sargent, as well as some other fantastic works.

The Museum of Scotland and the Royal Museum (they are combined) is another impressive set of exhibits. The Museum of Scotland contains exhibits relating to the history of Scotland, from prehistoric times to the nineteenth century. All exhibits excellently displayed with superbly written labels. The Royal Museum houses collections of both global sculpture (Egyptian, Japanese, etc), as well as scientific exhibits. Maybe it's this new interest in music that I've developed of the last five years, but the exhibit of historical phonographs was damned interesting.

The last two days were also on-again-off-again sunny. This made for excellent walking in the local park. The park includes a small hilltop peak named Artur's Seat. I would have missed it actually, if I hadn't walked around the other large hill that was closer to the city. The hill provided some great views of the whole city.

The best views of the city were back at the Museum of Scotland. The rooftop terrace, which is actually not that easy to find, has some excellent in-city views of Edinburgh castle, the University and all of the Royal Mile. It was an exceptionally clear day, as well. By the look of it, the last one that I'll see for a while.

Edinburgh, given it's size, is a very manageable city on foot. I'm always surprised that everything seems much closer than it appears on the map. It makes for some rather easy walking from sight to sight. Plus given how centrally located the hostel is, it easy to come in for a sit and a coffee. Sure that makes me sound a bit like an old man, but, well, really.

As for seeming a bit like an old man, I have been going out for a pint at the pubs. There is a vast selection of pubs right off of the Royal Mile. Given how touristy the street is, you'd think that the pubs would be filled with foreigners of all stripes. It turns out that this is one of the bar areas. There are locals abound at the pubs. The pub life is quite a bit more my speed than the club life in Buenos Aires.

But back to the old man bit. I haven't been able to stay out much past eleven. Perhaps I should blame it on the jet lag, really.

For Those Who Might Have Missed It...

Photos can be found here.

Quick Trip on the Slow Train

Edinburgh.

Wow. So I really only spent an afternoon in London. Just enough time to wonder about and have a coffee. I admit it, I stopped at a Starbucks, but it was raining cats and dogs, the store was right there...

Bloody addict.

Very, very early in the morning I caught the train up to Edinburgh. There is some really lovely countryside on the way up here. Lush farmland, nestled in low, rolling hills. There are quite a few villages, very close, that are dominated by huge, medieval churches. It made for interesting scenery.

As well as sleepy scenery. I only had about six hours of sleep since leaving Minneapolis. I slept the last few hours up to Edinburgh (it was a five hour trip overall). After finding a hostel, which is quite centrally located, and near to the train station, I found some lunch and had a two hour nap.

I wandered about the University area, which is full of some nice parks and greens. I found myself a little lost after that. I generally seem to forget that most cities that grew out of medieval castle towns tend to radiate outward, rather than work in a block system. So often I get a little confused about the cardinal directions.

The whole reason I was wandering around that area to begin with was, well, to look for this tango club. There's not a whole lot of tango here in Edinburgh, but I thought I would check out what's here. It turns out that it is the equivalent of spring break here, so the building was closed. I might have to change the name of this blog.

Today has been full of a cold, thick mist, or maybe it would be called a dense fog. Cold, wet and wanting to at least see some sights, I went up to Edinburgh Castle. While not really terribly architecturally interesting, the exhibits are quite historically informative and interesting. I found that of the building itself, the World War I memorial, built in the twenties was probably the most interesting. Some bits, like the remains of David's tower, seemed to be half closed, or incomplete exhibits. Often I would find myself, after climbing a well lit stair or down a well lit hall, in closed off alcove with no explanation.

St. Giles church, just down the Royal mile from the castle, was excellent. The stained glass there, installed in the 18th century, is beautiful. On one wall it depicts the life of Jesus, on the other it follows the apostles, and early saints, as well as some of the early biblical figures such as King David and Moses. The faces of these figures are excellent.

The problem as I see it right now, is trying to come up with a better plan if tomorrow is a rainy day. I can't very well go traipsing about parks in rainy/foggy/misty/crappy weather.

Wait. Traipsing?

Long Day

London.

I made it in one piece, as usual. I've never actually had any trouble with flights before. This one probably had the closest thing to an issue. I neglected to print out my itinerary before heading to the airport.

This could have been a Bad Thing.

It turns out that, in the case that they ask, if you don't have proof of onward travel, Immigration will not let you into the UK. As a consequence, Icelandair will not let you on your flight.

This was pretty simple to take care off, as long as I could find a printer. The airline couldn't print out an itinerary for me - their computers were down^[1]. So I found the one printer in the whole airport I could use. I charmed - that's right, charmed - my way into printing out my itinerary at the reception of the airport conference center.

Who knew I could be so charming?

On an Apologetic Note...

To all those folks that I did not get a chance to see before I left again, sorry about that. I was a bit of a lazy bastard. I'd blame ballroom dancing, but there wasn't even a whole lot of that going on...

[1] No wonder all the airlines are having issues. They seem to have the biggest, piece of crap computer system out there. It's really time to modernize that one, guys.

Mismanagement and Misadventure

Minneapolis, MN

Again, as a trip draws near I have done very little towards the preparation of the trip. I've order some books, I've paid for plane tickets, but naught else has been accomplished. You'd think, in this modern age of the Internet and email that I would have things more readily researched, hotels booked, and routes plotted.

In fact, I don't even have the slightest idea of where I will go.

Scotland, it turns out, is a remarkable small part of the British Isles. Bigger than Wales, but with a small population - roughly six million. Doesn't seem like much for a culture that apparently invented the modern world.

All this mismanagement and lack of planning certainly removes all the interesting travel related bits out and leaves us with ...well, very little.

I have been trying to keep myself active, though. It seems, mostly at night, though. There was a little tango dancing on Sunday, at the Loring. That felt pretty good. I couldn't remember any of the interesting bits I had learned (they'll come back), but I did feel very comfortable just navigating the floor. There was a certain confidence in my step that definitely wasn't there before.

Saturday night involved a trip out to The 400 Bar to see a band called The Heartless Bastards. They were billed as being a cross between The Black Keys and some other female lead singer that I had never heard of. While not having as much musical range as the Black Keys, the lead singer had a fantastic voice that conveyed just the proper amount of darkness and depression for a blues-rock band.

Good stuff.

Something Missed

From AP News, via Chron.com:

Portion of Patagonian Glacier Collapses^[1]

BUENOS AIRES, Argentina - A vast Patagonian glacier shed a 200-foot wall of ice with a roar during the night, sending debris plunging into a lake in southern Argentina as hundreds of tourists struggled to watch in the dark.

About 400 tourists were on hand when the Perito Moreno ice bridge collapsed, a phenomenon that has been repeated every few years. This time, cameras were unable to capture the final crack late Monday night.

Carlos Corvalan, supervisor at Los Glaciares National Park, said a section of ice had been showing signs it was ready to fall for three days before it finally gave way at 10:55 p.m.

Corvalan told the independent Diarios y Noticias news agency that many spectators had been keeping a round-the-clock vigil, sleeping in their cars at an overlook. Although it was a cloudy night with visibility obscured, he said the booming sound of cracking ice could be heard for miles.

"It was quite a sonorous event, quite impressive," Corvalan said.

A branch of the Perito Moreno glacier regularly advances across the lake, repeatedly forming a natural ice dam. The latest wall of ice fell as lake levels began rising on one side, exerting enormous pressure. Only a portion of the 3,000-year-old glacier, known as the "White Giant," was affected.

On Monday, the Todos Noticias television network frequently interrupted regular programming with live footage of large chunks of ice breaking from the towering glacier and crashing into the water.

The footage also showed a kind of natural tunnel forming inside the glacier ice, reminiscent of the March 12, 2004, collapse, when a huge section crashed into the water as tourists on shoreline walkways cheered and shot footage with video cameras.

The glacier is one of 48 at Los Glaciares National Park, an international tourist destination visited by thousands of people visit each year, about 1,335 miles south of Buenos Aires in the remote Santa Cruz province.

Ok, so that would have been damn cool. Maybe a little dark but still...

[1]© 2006 The Associated Press

Writer's Block

Minneapolis, MN

I've come to realize that there seems to be one way for me to really write regularly. I think it involves being able to walk frequently.

The suburbs are not providing this for me.

I have really lived in a suburban area for a quite a few years, and I've forgotten how often one has to drive from place to place. Sure, I could walk around the block, but it's the same set of houses that have been there for twenty-five-plus years. There has been remarkably little change in the neighborhood that I grew up in. So there seems to be remarkably little to provide some mental stimulation.

Perhaps that what's really missing. Lots of mental stimulation. I'm not even reading very much. I'm not even sure where the time has been going, during the day.

Not that things changed rapidly in my old neighborhood. I'm here at the coffee shop again (seems to be the only place I can sit and write with any kind of coherence) where I generally spent most of my time outside of my apartment in Uptown. It's a place of subtle changes, though. The art peaces change on the wall, as the shop features new artists. They changed bakers once. That did not receive high acclaim. A week later, it was changed back.

Fortunately, I have been doing more thinking about the next leg of my vagabond days. I'm headed to Scotland for a two weeks, followed by another four in Central Europe. It'll be a little more whirlwindy. I don't want to make it like my first backpacking trip to Europe, but I probably won't be staying three weeks in one place, like Argentina.

So I've thought that I really aught to write the location of the post at the top. Seems a little journalistic, and also a little pretentious, but, hey, it'll keep people up to speed with where I'm at. Plus it eases up the whole writer's block. Just getting a few words typed can help trigger a bit more.

Back North

Back North, where water drains clockwise, and the weather is cold.

It's strange to be back, really. There was quite a bit of thought put into to staying on Monday morning. I really liked it down there. The city was really starting to feel comfortable, and I was just starting to get the hang of Tango.

I had met some pretty cool people, as well, some of whom are staying on in BA for a while. I would have know some people while I was there, and not just been completely on my own. Certainly would have made the transition from visiting to living very easy.

But here I am, sitting in the coffee shop.

I decided, as it is, to stick with my original plan. So, I've already bought plane tickets for the next destination: Scotland. Well, London, actually. I'll get up to Scotland somehow.

The Tango Zone

Imagine, if you will, a rock concert. A Band plays on stage, up front. A sea of people expand out around the stage, cheering the first notes of songs they know, going wild at the end of each number, and listening with rapt attention in between. Pockets open up in the crowd where hard core fans thrash away, only to die down at the end of a song, openning again in another part of the audience.

Now imagine that the band is a Tango orchestra.

Same scenario, different music. Except instead of thrashing and moshing, pockets open in the crowd with a few couples dancing. The dance lasts for the length of the song, and then the pocket collapses. The next song begins and another pocket opens. All this happens to the cheers of the crowd.

The Tango festival's crowning event was this sort of scene. The Gran Milonga al Aire Libre, on Saturday night, consisted of a band shell constructed in the middle of a large, five-lane avenue, and three city blocks of the same street blocked off for spectators and dancers. The band was an orquesta tipica - four bandoneóns, four violins, a viola, a bass, and a piano, accompanied by a singer. Beautiful music, accompanied by beautiful dance.

The large city blocks created one of the largest dance areas I've ever seen. The dancers included an amazing variation: young and old dancers mixed together on the street. This mix showed just how alive and well tango is here in Buenos Aires.

This is only the eigth annual Tango festival, so it doesn't necessarily have a long history. It seems like an affirmation of local culture. It really celebrates the major contribution to world culture that tango has been. It's also very much a Buenos Aires contribution. It's origins are here, and it's future is here. Neo-tango sounds, from groups like Tanghetto and the Gotan Project^[1], as well as changes to the dance are keeping it alive and vibrant.

The festival certainly created a great cultural experience with the Gran Milonga. The event was enjoyed by dancers and onlookers a like. A beautiful, late summer night, made more so by a highly enjoyable event.

[1] Ok, so the Gotan Project is actually a French group. The French have been playing very similar music for years - accordian and violin-based jazz.

Last Weekend in BA

Today starts the last weekend in the city, before heading back to the States. It's starting out with something I haven't really experienced first hand here in Argentina (outside of the busride from Mendoza): it's damned rainy.

I am absolutely soaked.

I have this little travel umbrella. Sounds great, right? The key is travel umbrella; in heavy rain it covers my head, and the top of my shoulders - not all the way to the ends, mind you - and about three inches below that.^[1] Walking the last ten blocks in this fashion was not the brightest idea I've had all week.

Still, it hasn't been a bad day. I had one of my last tango lessons (one more on monday). It went pretty well, actually. The last two have dealt with the milonga style of tango. This is a much faster paced dance, in terms of the tempo. It often results in stopping and shifting weight in place, as milongas are usually very crowded. The last two classes covering this subject pretty much involved exercises consisting of taking a step, and closing, taking a step and then closing. The step could be taken in any direction (forward, backward, side-left, side-right, and cross-diagonals), with either foot. The weight is shifted for the desired foot at those closes. Now, one doesn't have to stop and weight all the time, it was just a very useful exercise.

I'm trying to see a movie this afternoon, just to wait out the rain. I've a ticket to see Munich. The movie schedules seem to be a bit odd, as the film is not at the same time as the previous day. Maybe it's because it's friday, maybe because it's Argentina. So I have to kill a little time, here.

My plans for the rest of the weekend (hopefully tonight, as well - I'm starting to feel a bit under the weather) is to go to various milongas. There is one tonight at Confiteria Ideal. Another one outdoors as part of the festival. The third, on Sunday, is outside in the Plaza Dorrego. I've heard that the Sunday one is really laid back. I'm looking forward to that one.

The instructors seem to think I've improved somewhat, which is good. Hopefully this means I will get out and dance a bit more...we'll see.

[1] How's that for a sentence. It has probably too much (incorrect) punctuation for its own good.

Luna Park

I had seen posters for this concert the week before I left for Mendoza. I thought to myself "that would be cool to go see, if only I could get tickets and some people to go." Monday, in talking with some of the folks I had met previously, they were going to go, that they got there tickets on Saturday, and I should try and grab a ticket myself.

So, last night, I went to see Franz Ferdinand at Luna Park in Buenos Aires.

Bloody good show. We were standing just in the middle of the crowd of to the right, at first. When the band started (there was no opening band - I was blown away by that fact alone) the crowd surged up to the front, and I was dragged along with it. Pretty quickly, I was standing in a sea of Argentines, five people deep from center stage. People jumping, pushing, screaming, singing along (very strange to hear people singing English songs with a Spanish accent). It was fantastic.

They played straight through for an hour, followed up by a four-song encore with a really great drum solo, played by three guys on one drum set. It seemed like both the crowd and the band had to warm up to each other. Perhaps it was the langauge barrier, perhaps it was the fact that they were really in town to open for U2. They played a lot of songs from their new album at first, but once they started playing numbers from first album, the energy really picked up.

This was a much different show from the first time I saw them. They played at the Fine Line in Minneapolis two years ago. That show was much more intimate, with a lot more conversation in between songs. Of course, they had only released the one album and a single at the time. They did less improvistion during the breaks at that show, though. Here, they seemed more at ease with adding some variation on the songs during the breaks.

Absolutely covered with sweat as we left (the down side of the center-front - other people's sweat), I enjoyed a well deserved beer.

Check off Night Out in a Crazy Crowd off the list.

"Here I Am Back Home Again..."

I'm back in Buenos Aires, to finish out the trip. Hopped of the bus, checked in, cleaned up and rushed off to the first tango lesson of the week.

It's good to be back.

Having a few days off really helped, I think. It gave some time to let it sink in. The subconscious seems to have done its job, because I felt more comfortable in the class then I had the first week. Not that I'm necessarily any better, I just feel more comfortable.

It's like anything, really. A new subject can be quite hard to learn when studied intensively. The brain needs time to process, create connections, reinforce the old ones, and clean up the useless bits^[1]. Then the brain can really start to work on new things.

It's nice to be back to the hostel, as well. A few of the people I met before I left are still here. Nice to see familiar faces and places. I'm sure I've said it before, but this is a really comfortable city. I could easily live here. Yeah, I've said that about a lot of places: Paris, New York, Seattle, San Francisco. Just another one to add to the list of places I really like.

A Brief Note for the Nextel Folks^[2]

Get into the Buenos Aires market. Nextel is in like Flynn down here. I haven't seen this much push-to-talk since the great walkie-talkie craze of 1983. Translate that junk into Spanish, open a sales office, and get on it.

Chirp, chirp.

[1] OK, so I probably need months of clean up time to get rid of all the useless bits.

[2] You know who you are.

Harvest Time

Harvest Time
Originally uploaded by pschwarz.

Ripe for the plucking

Not The Brightest...

Mendoza is really close to the Andes Mountains. It's the main reason it's great wine country; the mountains keep it dry, but provide enough ice melt for the irrigation. So I thought to myself, I really should head out to the mountains.

I went to the mountain, Aconcagua.

Aconcagua is the highest mountain outside of the Himalayas. At 6,962 meters, it's pretty damn tall. Everest, in comparison is 8,850 meters. The tallest in the States is Mt. McKinely (Denali) in Alaska at 6,194.

The bus ride out there was three hours, the first of many reasons this turned out to be a less than bright idea. I was dropped of at Puente de Incas, which had this strange natural bridge over the river (used, obviously by the Inca). From there, one has to hike or hitch 2km to get to the park entrance.

The entrance is not at all obvious. There was a little road sign, similar to those you'd find in the states, saying something to the effect of "Mt. Aconcagua Viewing Area." This is a national park. You'd think there'd be some sort of sign to indicate such.

I started my hike at 2,700 meters. The air was already pretty thin, so I spent most of my day with a pretty severe headache. I hiked up to the first base camp, at 3,300 meters^[1]. There, climbers spend four or five days to acclimatize to the altitude. Oddly enough, I spent my hour up there acclimatizing to the French couple that I met there. Mostly it was advice about why it's not an issue to be single, that there is plenty of time, and how there is probably "the woman of my life" in any one country that I could go to (all about timing). Strange the sorts of conversations one finds themselves sucked into.

I was getting pretty light-headed so I made my way back down the mountain. Aconcagua is still part of the desert, so it's dry and dusty, with almost no vegetation. The winds were whipping across at about 30 miles an hour. So the decent, while quick, was absolutely painful. I could hardly keep my eyes open from all the dust. I can see now why most climbers use enclosed sunglasses.

I had a couple hours to kill before the bus picked up at nine. I was exhausted from the altitude, the hike, the lack of water - it was recommended that you take two liters of water with you, I only took one. I closed out the one little shop while waiting for the bus, just guzzling water.

Now, it had become pretty cold. I was waiting outside for the bus, figuring that it would be along at any moment. At this point, all I wanted was some sleep (I had had a short night the night before) and a warm place out of the wind. The bus was late. Very late. I had begun to curse the whole idea all together. The only consolation was that the stars up there were amazing. The most absolutely brilliant night sky I have seen in a long time. I was suprised to see Orion, in all his glory, in the Southern Sky. Fantasic sky watching down here.

I promptly passed out on the bus. I only woke a few times during the trip. A bus stop here, a side of the road there was all I saw on the way back from the mountains. About forty-five minutes out of Mendoza I awoke to heavy breaking, a thud and a crunch sound. It was two in the morning, and we had just hit a horse.

That's right, a horse. A nice looking horse. A lovely color of brown, if the headlights were at all telling. The kind of horse that an adolescent girl would name Chocolate, or Brownie, or Betty Crocker. Poor horse.

Finally rolling into Mendoza at about three, I couldn't get a cab to save my life. I had slept enough on the bus that I felt up to walking back to the hostel. It was probably due to the return to higher oxegen levels. Damn, it felt good to breath again.

All in all, an interesting day.

[1] Lots of meter, references, I know. I'm just trying to educate y'all.

Wine Country

Ah, Mendoza. Lovely part of the country. Beautiful weather, mountains...wine.

It's an incredible change of pace. None of the congestion and chaos of Buenos Aires. Out by the wineries I was told not to even worry about locking up. Sounds like small town living.

Mendoza is actually in the middle of a desert, so it's quite dry this time of year. Surprisingly, I did seem to come here on one of the rare weeks where it is cool and rainy. It makes it a bit unusual, but damned comfortable after the heat and humidity of BA.

In an even more surprising lucky accident, it is also harvest festival time The week is filled with evening activities, such as markets, live music,street performers (they like their jugglers here) and, of course, a beauty pagent (what farm-related festival would be with out one).

I hopped a bus out to one of main winery areas and rented a bike for the afternoon. Given that is was cool and breezy, this was the perfect day to tool around in the wine country. I only made it to two different wineries, and this incredibly fancy delicatessen (in the middle of nowhere - with a huge, remote gate). Learned quite a bit about wine making, but not a whole lot of tasting. Still, I don't think there is a better way to tour about a wine making region.

The brilliant thing is that it is harvest time. The grapes are ripe on the vine, ready to be plucked. At the first winery I visited, they were loading truck loads of grapes into the processors to begin pressing. They have enormous pnuematic presses for juicing the grapes - no feet here.

The second winery was basically a private tour. I was able to ask more questions about wine making then I ever thought I could even ask^[1]. Go forty-five minutes before close on a Thursday, and it's no wonder that there was no one there. The winery, Tempus, was more of a research vinyard for their full operation. There they were five years into a fifteen year project of breading better Malbec grapes. They had more then 250 varieties of Malbec in the 2 acres of land.


Language Limbo

I've hit this odd stage in my ability to communicate. I starting to feel pretty comfortable with the basics of ordering food, buying tickets, and generally how to get where I want to go. My understanding of Spanish is impressive by my standards, in that I'm getting the drift of most of what's being told to me. The problem is still one of constructing sentences.

Here's the real crux of the problem. If someone startes to speak to me in Spanish, I switch my brain into Spanish mode. It's working overtime trying to peice together the whole concept trying to be conveyed. What happens on numerous occasions is that I fumble trying to respond in Spanish - I just don't have the words.

Now, occasionally, the person I'm talking to realizes that I speak English and will switch. This catches me off guard and, suddenly, I can't speak in either language. Here's where I look and act like a total idiot. I seem to only be able to point and grunt[2], and eventually the financial transaction is completed^[3].

I always want to return to those people and try and convince them that I am an intelligent person, if only I could talk...

[1] Ok, so it was probably the wine. I had drank about three glasses of wine at this point. Those of you who know, you'd understand.

[2] Thank you, Logical Positivism.

[3] Now in the case most fresh in my mind I was trying to buy popcorn. I had no idea that in Spanish is Palomitas (according to google translator, that is).

A Bit Before Leaving

I'm heading over to Mendoza tonight on an over night bus. I've heard that the buses here are really comfortable, like flying first class (in terms of the seats and leg room). Shouldn't be too bad of a twelve hour ride.

Thought I'd toss up one of the few pictures that I've managed to upload in the last few days. I have some more from the weekend, it just took forever to upload all the action shots from the tango of the previous week.

All in good time...

Sabado y Domingo

Saturday night, before going to a milonga, a group of folks from the hostel (great hostel, by the way) went to eat dinner at ten pm. This is the standard dinner time. Although, I think many of the tourists eat the same way as they would at home: a smaller lunch and a large dinner, where the Argentines do things the other way around. It turned out to be the slowest. Meals. Ever. Good company, but, good Lord, it was long. We left around half past midnight.

Straight into a parade for Carnival. There are a number of local neighborhood parades going on right. There were a lot of young kids, eight to twelve, as well as adults with these cans of spray foam. Never really crossed our minds what they were doing with these things. So, of course, wandering through as wide eyed tourist, we became targets.

All of us ended up covered in this spray foam.

Wish I had pictures of that...

A little after one, I figure I should really get over to the milonga. It could be winding down, I thought. I pull up in a cab at half past and the dance is going strong. In fact, there's still a performance in the middle of the dance yet to happen. I spend some time watching (I know, I know) before getting out there (that's right). Good God, it was intimidating. There were some fantastic dancers on the floor. Needless to say, I danced one set, and called it good. I need more lessons.

Of course, I'm comparing myself to people who have been doing this for years. It seems to me though, that one doesn't really go to milongas (at least as a lead) until you've been studying it for a while. There weren't a whole lot of inexperienced dancers on the floor. Although, there was a girl, probably seven or eight, out there dancing quite well.

Leaving the milonga a bit after three, I called it a night. An early night for Buenos Aires.

Markets and Music

Sunday was a relaxed walkabout day. I spent the day walking about the markets in San Telmo and Palermo with frequent stops for cold beverages. Up in Palermo, the market was in a park. It was almost like going to a music festival. There was a number of bands, rock and the like, playing out on the grass. Each properly set up to have a hill between them, in order to minimize the crossfired noise. It was a great way to pass the cool evening.

After the relaxing, but long day well all cabbed it down to the best parilla in all of BA. The best steak I've had since being here, really. Ridiculously cheap as well - under five bucks for tenderloin. Brilliant.

Holy Crap, There's So Much Tango

The following question was presented to me: "so, what's the deal.. there's just tango.. everywhere?"^[1] That has a really simple answer.

Yes. Yes, there is.

I had wondered, earlier, if tango is starting to die out. It turns out that there is just so much tango here that the market is close to a saturation point (at least in regards to classes).

I picked up this magazine, El Tangauta, which lists out all the classes, milongas and performances in the month. On any given day of the week there is roughly seventy-five classes. Seventy-five. If one actually wants to just dance, there are ten milongas every night of the week.

Good Lord, that's a lot of tango.



[1] Which really is more of a statement, with a question ending. A bit like in Jeopardy, where someone fucks up answering a question and then just adds the upwards sound ending to make the statement a question.

Minor Disappointments

I was invited to go to a milonga tonight by some of my classmates. Interestingly enough, the foreign tango enthusiasts have something in common. However, it didn't quite go off.

I couldn't find the bloody place.

I mean it just wasn't there. I checked every street, every corner every building. A place called El Nacional shouldn't be that difficult to find. It just sounds grand.

Same goes with another site to see yesterday. Now, it's not one that would make it on everyone's list of must-sees here in BA, but I was going to go to this religious theme park last night. Tierra Santa is this religious theme park where the highlight of the show is that Jesus gets resurrected every half-hour. Kitschy as all hell.

Turns out it was closed, only open on weekends. Ahh...well. I don't think I'll try to go there again, as it's seems to be only place one can visit with the Scottish.

Weekend Wandering

Like I said in my last post, I spent a lot of time wandering around over the weekend. Sunday was great, since there were a number of open air markets in the plazas. They seemed to consist mostly of antiques^[1] or art, most of which was tango related.

There were a number of street tango performances, dancing for change, and posing for photos. Some were quite good. One of which explained, at length, and in very rapid Spanish, the history of the dance. Apparently, the gauchos that came to BA walked with the tango stride, as well as rubbed the tops of there shoes on the back of there trouser legs. This was due to several possible reasons. The first was that they had machismo in their strides. As for the shoe-rubbing, it grew out of their use of pant legs as a way to clean off the cow crap^[2].

Classy.

As for the second possibility, the simple did these things because they had new shoes. They would take these long strides that present the foot first, showing of their new kicks. As anyone knows with new shoes, they can hurt. This is where the leg rubbing came from.

I don't know how much fact there was in his history, but it was all entertaining non the less.

The great part about these parts of town is that the tourists mainly seem to bus from place to place. Once you go out onto the streets, you're left with the locals. Mind you, there's certainly streets that you should not wander down.

There's a tiny little section of this neighborhood called La Boca that has these house painted with bright colors. The story behind the paint is that the sailors who lived there were so poor that they stole what ever paint they could from the boats they were on to paint their homes. Granted, I think this history is quite true, given how poor La Boca is.

As For My Tango...

I did get back to classes on Monday. I've had lessons with really small class sizes, to the point that they were almost private lessons. Two teachers for the four to six students in the classes. It leaves me wondering: is Tango a dying art here, or is it merely that there are so many teachers that the class sizes are small. I think going to a milonga will help answer that question.

At least I think I've found the two sets of instructors that I will go to for the week. One for technique and improvisation, the other for various standard moves. Both have been good.

I will say this though: one class a day is probably plenty.

[1] read rubbish.

[2] Oddly enough, some PC's are censored. I wanted to use the word the guy used. Use your imagination.

Street Tango

Bloody nice tango. There was this excellent couple performing tango at the sunday market in San Telmo. The guy spent quite a bit of time explaining the history of the dance in very rapid Spanish. I was glad to have a decent spanish speaker in my company.

I spent a really good weekend just wandering around town, walking through the various neighborhoods. The city is really a joy to walk through. It has marvolous character.

The strange thing was that there really weren't a whole lot of people around on the weekend. They went to the parks and the outdoor markets, but otherwise the streets seemed pretty quiet.

I'm feeling a little bit sunburned at the moment, so I'm enjoying a little be of AC in the Locutorio Internet. Not really in the mood to write too much as a result. Perhaps after a bit to drink and eat.

Hopefully I'll be back in full swing once I start lessons again...

Tossed Right In

I've taken a few Tango lessons in the last two days. One was a beginner class, the other was, well, a non-beginner one.^[1] It was at the same hall, but with very different instructors. They did have one thing in common:

They throw the students right in.

The beginner class wasn't that bad, for me at least. I have a little foundation to work with, so I could pick up the steps pretty quickly (in fact, I probably had seen them before, I just never really used them correctly). The difficulty lie in the fact that they would demo the steps once, and then let people at it. I'm always suprised that I have a harder and harder time leading someone who doesn't really understand how to follow. I've become used to the follow telling me that I'm not doing it right...

The intermediate^[2] class was a bit different. The instructor probably would have made it more of a formal class, if there were any people with zero knowledge. Instead, it involved everyone simply dancing. The students would either ask questions (like "why am I having such a hard time leading X?") or the instructor would notice something the students weren't doing quite right (as in "hold your arm this way and relax you shoulders...").

The second instructor was much more observent then the first, and did a much better job of explaining things than I have had in the past. Unfortuneately, it was one of those classes where I think I'll only be able to remember and use one of the many things that I learned. If I try to remember more, I'll probably just end up thinking too much.

Bits and Pieces

I enjoyed my first Argentine steak last night. At twelve in the AM. Damn late to be having a steak that big. It was huge, I'm talking Cattle Baron huge, and absolutely brilliant. I think I was drunk of the beef more than the wine.

I love the graffiti here. There are all of these great stencil tags all over the place. I liked this one in particular, as it reminded me of how I feel most of the time.


[1] Well, I can see that the lack of sleep lately has minced my brain into pudding...

[2] I have no idea if this is the case, it just seemed more difficult to me.

A Few Photo's, At Last...

Ohare Sunset
Originally uploaded by pschwarz.

I've put up just a few photos to start with. There's not much there yet, but I thought I should get some proof of being here.
Most of what I've photographed, so far, has just been random things. I'd like to try and pick up the flavor of the city. We'll see if there's ever anything good...

First Impressions

First impressions are important. So far, so good. We seem to like each other, Buenos Aires and me. I haven't had any real issues, not even getting lost.

Well, not really lost. I found myself lost last night after dinner on the way back to my hotel. I stopped at a shop to by something to eat and met an American trying to explain how much more expensive cigarettes are back in the states. In English. I was amused. I also learned a little bit about the popcorn seed business. Interesting the type of people you meet.

As for my Spanish... Yeah, it's pretty rusty. But I can order coffee, and say that I have a reservation, but I do fall very easily into English. Also if there's someone who speaks Spanish more fluently than I do, I'll probably still end up deferring to them. That could get me into trouble, perhaps.

I had dinner with Swiss guy I met on the bus from the airport. Interesting to here the viewpoints from a citizen of a neutral country. Very...neutral. I've noticed that I do a better job meeting people from other countries when they're not in their own country. Weird.

I'm just settling in here, so there isn't really that much to tell, yet. I think the hostel might provide a little more fodder...

One small note, reguarding photos - I haven't taken very many yet, so I haven't uploaded any yet. Soon, my pretties, soon...

More Tango

DSC_0155
Originally uploaded by elurew6283.

I thought this was a really nice photo of tango (again, at the Loring Pasta Bar). Wish I could say I took the picture myself.^[1]

Here we can see the concentration required by the pair as the navigate their way across the floor. It has an intensity, grace and style. The dance is subtle and beautiful.^[2] Watch, as they move through the sea of people...

[1]I will say this: it's from a damned nice camera. I have to get me one of those...

[2] Starting to feel a little like Jacques Cousteau, now.

Not Even in a Backpack, Sam-I-Am

Ok, so I haven't packed yet. Not at all. Not even a little. I finally just grabbed my backpack out of the car.

I've got all day tomorrow. Well, ok, I have until about four PM or so. That's plenty of time. I should be able to get ready with no problem.

It's not like I haven't accomplished anything for packing. I've been to Target at least once a day for the last five, since I've never really been a list person. I mean, who really needs to write things down. It's not like I won't remember (snowglobe) what I need. I've a good memory, damn it.

Now, where was I.

Right. Packing. I pack light. Damn light.

Five t-shirts - check.
Five pair socks - check.
Five pairs of shorts^[1] - check.
Two pairs of trousers - check.
One pair shoes - check.
One pack towel - check.
One sleeping bag, ultra-light^[2] - check.
Toiletries - check.
Medkit - check.

Packing - done.

Knowing I won't keel over to do excessive weight: priceless.

Although, now that I think about it, I did settle on War and Peace as my travel reading.

Heavy.

[1] Ok, so I really can't allow myself to refer to them as underwear. At least not on paper. Makes me a little uncomfortable. Not really sure why.

[2] But not warm. Stupid ultra-light material.

Prep Work

I should be studying Spanish. I should be looking over my guide book and planning out an loose itinerary. I should be checking over my travel supplies and make sure that I have all my bases covered. What have I been doing with my time to prepare for this trip?

I've been dancing.

Weird, I know, but true. It's good prep work. Gets me thinking about balance, movement, and dancing with a partner (as opposed to dancing by myself, which, as it turns out, is not that useful). If I plan to go done and dance tango, I really need to be as comfortable with it all as I can possibly be. So this is good. I've gone dancing three times this week, I'll go again tomorrow.

The Waltz has lately been one of my favorites. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it has to do with it's elegance and grace. I don't consider myself terribly graceful, even when dancing the waltz. It does get me closer. Of course, it's very hard to dance in a smaller space. It needs breathing room.

Swing is not bad either, mainly because I'm most practiced at it. I think it (it being East Coast Swing) is one of the easiest dances to learn and lead. It has a certain amount of energy, making it both fun to do and watch.

As for Tango, eh, what can I say? It's beautiful..

...when not lead by me...

Finally Done

I'm out of my apartment. Homeless. Officially a vagabond.

I handed over my keys with little fanfare and lament yesterday. Sure, I'll miss the apartment. It was a damn fine apartment. A little old, a few cracks here and there, but a nice apartment. It was always warm and comfortable. An excellent place to spend time, if one were so inclined.

I really never was.

I'm not, as it turns out, a homebody. I get really antsy if I'm cooped up all day. Which also then proceeds to surprise me how much time I do spend indoors. I do need to get out of the house, but I usually will go and spend that time indoors somewhere else. I seem destined to become one of those people who spend all their waking moments walking around malls for the climate control, or sitting in coffee shops discussing how things used to be better.

Which is odd, the latter prediction, since I do spend an inordinate amount of time discussing how much better things were under the previous administration. All I can say, at least economically, things are bound to get worse regardless of the party in power. We're about to dry up the well of hyperconsumerism sooner than later. Then, who'll be left holding any cash?

Not me, that's for sure. I'll probably blow it all on traveling abroad.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

A note about The People's Temple playing at the Guthrie: it's just not good. I don't consider myself a true devotee of theatre, but I've seen enough to know what I would like or dislike. It was flat, uninteresting, with strange flow and poor production of tension. The cast was likewise flat, their performances inspiring very little interest in the subject matter. The only saving grace was that the performers were allowed to where many different roles as they played each testimonial.

I think it is only playing for another few weeks, but my recommendation is to avoid it.

Coffeholics

One more little observation for the day. I was wondering around the coffee shop and noticed something a bit strange.

Even coffee shops have their share of sad drunks.

Now, I don't think these guys are actually drunk. They seem to have taken on all of the characteristics of an alcoholic. They sit, hunched over there coffee or coffee-like beverage, staring off into space with a strange and lost look in their eyes. There's this strange haze, induced by that fix, the fix of caffeine.

The eyes seem to betray a look of longing. Looking for a past, full of happier times and populated with the people yet to be harmed by this awful addiction. Lonely, they drown themselves in hot, tasty, coffee goodness.

Almost Empty

The movers came this morning. Odd to stand by, feeling useless, unnecessary, as they moved everything out.

Well, almost everything.

I still have to move my clothes, some personal items, the remains of the linen closet, and my A/V equipment. A small list, really.

Still, it seems as though this step is over. Sure, I have a few things to do to finalize the move - cleaning, mostly. Even so, it feels done. I'm able to relax a bit before the last push.

I did have a small party last night. Mainly for ballroom folks. Actually, it was the first and last party at this place. I will say this, though: It's not that hard to through a relatively informal party. It was a good way to see a bunch of people before I go.

Another odd thing about this whole deal: people seem to think that I'm not coming back at all. It's as though I'll never see anyone again. I don't think that's true, since I'll be back in a month, at least for a little while.

It is nice to get those goodbyes. You never know...

Prattlin'

I'm starting to get the sense that I might be just prattling on about absolute nonsense. It's like I've gone all Abe Simpson on my meager readership:

Like the time we went over to shelbyville during the war, I wore an onion on my belt....which was the style at the time...you couldn't get those white ones, you could only get those big yellow ones.................Now where was I........Oh yeah, the important thing was I was wearing an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time, you couldn't get those...^[1]

I at least feel that, for the most part, I tend to keep a rather coherent structure on my posts. I have been accused of prattling on about nothing. I have, in fact, in the past railed against the use of blogs as a way to just talk about nothing. Am I a hypocrite?

As For Things to Prattle on About...

I'm close to done on having things packed up for the movers. I'm need to get everything finished up this afternoon. There are a few things they won't be taking, so I don't have to work about that stuff too much. All that's really left to do is my clothes for storage, my records and home office. Three more days...

I haven't really been able to think about the trip very much. This move has sort of sucked up all the worry. I have, at least, booked myself a room for the first few nights. That takes all of the worry out of me. It's the summer season there, so I was a little worried that I had waited too long to make those reservations. Getting the room so easily actually assuages my fears that I'd have trouble finding places for the rest of the trip.

Well, when it all happens, I'll tell you all about it. In rambling detail...

[1] Ok, so I know this is from The Simpsons, but I have no idea which episode. They all kind of run together on me. Like that time I tried to make omelets with only oil and margarine. It was back during the Great War. I'm not taking that one against the Germans, but the Big One, you know, the one with the Germans. Well, anyway, we couldn't get eggs during that time, up at the front. All they would ship us was cooking oil,margarine, and these little tea biscuits. Well, we saved those biscuits for our afternoon tea. We learned how to drink tea from a British unit that was stationed just north of us there. They were a crazy bunch, with their "Cheery-o's" and "Pip-pips." Well, anyway, that was the summer that Private Doyle broke his one teacup, because he hadn't learned to keep only his pinky off the cup...

Zzzz....zzz....zzz...

Walkabout

I frightened myself off the other day. I was just a little bit too ranty. Spending too much time reading new and information at this day and age's rapid, instantaneous pace had caused my to just plain pissed off.

So I went on walkabout yesterday.

Really odd, needing to get away from doing...nothing. I think that doing nothing has gone to my head. I had worried that about a month into this whole business I would start to go crazy. I think that's true, to some extent.

Things I've become obsessed with:

• Number of views of my flickr account^[1]
  
• Email^[2]
• Writing about nothing^[3]
  
• Downloads of various TV comedies that I would prefer to watch on my own time^[4]
  

What I needed was to force myself away from these mild OCD tendencies and go walkabout.

It was an absolutely fantastic January day yesterday, another good reason to get out side. Forty-odd degrees, sunny, spring-like, half expecting to see roller-bladers come round every corner.

It was refreshing, really. No TV. No Internet. Admittedly, no packing, but I needed a break from that, anyway. Long walk, though. I hiked on up to downtown from my apartment. Twenty-eight blocks of pavement-pounding goodness.

It did remind me that I need few things. First, I need to get back in the habit of carrying a little notebook and pen. More often than not my best ideas come along when I'm walking around, looking at buildings, people, parks, and what not. When I used to have a little notebook, I'd be able to pull the notebook out and see the idea for the crap it really was. Occasionally, there'd be a gem in there.

Another thing I noticed, is that I really need to write by hand more. I did bring a journal with me (I know, why not use that for ideas? Not really convenient to pull out the larger book-sized writing pad when I just want to write down something like "Is the grass greener due to a lighting effect?"). My hand cramped up after about a paragraph. The rest of whatever it was I wrote looks like it was writing by a three year old^[5].

Finally, I learned one more thing on my walkabout: After twenty-eight blocks of pavement-pounding goodness, take the bus home.

[1] Please, please go look. I need the view count higher. Need it.

[2] I should really check that. The three different mail alert tools might be wrong.

[3] You're reading it.

[4]Which, by the way, The Office on NBC is actually rather good. Steve Carell is no Ricky Gervais, but who is? They play too very different characters. Once you can get past that, it's a pretty enjoyable show.

The structure is also a little different due to the port to American TV. There is more character development, even with the boss. I think American viewers, these days, seem to need even the worst characters to grow and change. In the original series, the only way that David Brent could grow as a character was to have major change happen - i.e. be made redundant.

Other than that, it has a pretty decent cast, and keeps some of the best parts of the original (the awkward looks at the camera, keeping the majority of the action in the office or at office functions, people so odd, that they're normal).

[5] Which, in fact, it was. I hired the first person I could find that I could dictate to. It happened to be little Timmy Jones, who would probably be upset that I said he was three. For the record he's three and a half.

Getting Angry

Since I have a lot of time on my hands, in the mornings anyway, I've been reading a lot of news. I've also been following the blog of a friend of mine, which covers a lot of political and legal news. Here's what's beginning to take shape: a really angry person.

Frankly, I'm starting to get pissed off.

There's the war (which really isn't a war, it's an "Authorized Use of Force" - we live in an age of doublespeak). It's a mess that's only now trying to win the hearts and minds of the American People. We're stuck in it, so now we should start to care about it.

Then there's the NSA eaves dropping issue. Now, I agree with a lot of commentators, that all the people that are under surveillance are suspected terrorist operatives. They're bad guys, sure, but that doesn't mean that their right to a warrant should be ignored. It's a slippery slope. Once we start down that path, what's stopping people from pointing fingers, going on anti-terrorist witch hunts. It has the potential to become McCarthyism all over again.

Then there's the torture debate. That one really gets me riled up. I'm pissed off about the fact that there even was a debate in the first place. Even so, if were going to have the debate, let's start off with the fact that torture provides little to no useful information. In other words, it's all about just hurting someone for the sake of hurt. We're supposed to be the good guys, right? One of the necessities of being the good guy is not doing what the bad guy is doing. Again, it's a slippery slope. We start by torturing possible terrorists, we follow up by torturing war prisoners, we end up torturing American citizens. War's all about innovation: innovation in weapons, supplies, policies.

The debate was won, but then the President, quietly, signed a statement that basically says, that's great and all, but I'm still going to do what I damn well please.

Which brings me to the whole issue of unitary powers. It was the only thing that concerned me in the Judge Alito senate hearings. Basically what it boils down to is more powers for the presidency. It undermines the whole system of checks and balances. The thing^[1] that Bush signed about the torture debate is one great example of the fact that this administration wants to do what it damn well pleases.

I operate under a theory that it only gets worse before it gets better. Things are starting to get really bad. Aside from the issues listed above, there's the prescription drug plan issues, the Jack Abramoff scandal, and other things. All these things are adding up, making people mad. We need to get people mad to make change in the administration.

The one nice thing I enjoy about my friends blog, is the fact that he backs up all his assertions with articles and statistics, cited in a strict manner, only adding his commentary on the outside. I've been a bit ranty^[2] here, but I've been feeling that way about it this morning.

[1] Which, I wish to God I knew what it was called. It made me so made that I couldn't remember it.

[2] Interestingly enough, being ranty has its advantages. Maybe it's the caffeine, maybe it's the anger, but I've typing like a maniac (and probably sounding like one as well). Or maybe it's that I'm actually starting to get really concerned about these issues and the direction that the US is moving. I've got time on my hands, maybe I should start doing something.

In Earnest

Now with the existential crisis-type entry behind us, we can get back to a simple, and oh, so interesting descriptions of my Exciting Life.

Packing has moved in to the forefront of my activities. I decided to start with the hardest bit first: the kitchen. I'm not usually one to try and tackle the hardest thing first. I normally like to get into a groove, and work my way up to the harder bits. Another thing to feel good about, with respect to the move.

But packing up the kitchen does leave me wondering: what the hell am I going to eat? I guess I'll have to <twist my arm> eat out.

Boxes. I need more boxes. Not for big things, as I seem to be getting rid of a lot of the bigger things. If I haven't used it, nor see myself using it, it gets tossed, or given away. I do have a lot of books. A lot. Of. Books. Too many. And I can't part with them. Well, OK, that's not quite true. Some of them truly were crappy. No point in keeping those. But I still need to deal with them.

Aside from packing, I've been reading a lot of comics lately. In particular, I've really enjoyed the Hellboy comics. Damned good stuff. That Mike Mignola really knows how to put together a great comic. Great use of shadow, and, as action comics go, it has some of the best writing I've seen. Then again, I've never really read a lot of action comics.

One thing I've noticed about comics, though is that they leave very little room in the end for conclusion. That seems like my kind of speed for writing. I've always been terrible with conclusions. Now if only I could draw...

I have been trying to figure out what the hell to read on my trip. I like to be covered for reading material on a long trip but a month might be too long. I've been thinking about picking up some popular physics books. There are two (apparently) really good books about the forefront of the field, both by Brian Greene. The first, is The elegant Universe, which was made into a Nova mini-series. The second is a follow-up (?), The Fabric of the Cosmos. Elegant Universe takes on quantum physics, and the truly bizarre natures of reality, where Fabric discusses things on the macro scale. Both cover subjects I was heavily interested in as a young lad, growing up in the Midwest.

So coming back from a minor existential crisis seems to have left my writing all over the board.

Better Call the Calling Off Off

I find that it's really hard to start things right now. New ideas, new activities, new relationships, anything and everything seems hard to get started. Part of the difficulty is the fact that I'm already getting started with a big change. Having this time deadline is frustrating. I know that anything I start is only for a limited time.

A friend of mine is moving into a new place. In order to save some money between moves, moved out of her place a few months ago. For the first few months she put off trying new activities by reasoning "after I move in to my new home, I'll start X." This resulted in a bit of a stagnation. After shaking off this feeling of stagnation she decided that there was nothing preventing her from starting anything.

It not like she was leaving the country or whatnot.

That's the toughest thing for me, I think. I'm leaving the country. Sure, it's only for a month, but then another month or two after that.

After that...I don't know. Maybe things won't be the same. People will have moved on with their lives. Perhaps I won't fit in any more.^[1]

Or maybe I won't come back.

I've this dream in the back of my mind to live and work abroad for a time. It's a bit of a romantic thing, I think. Spending an unspecified time in Paris, for example. Becoming just that familiar with a language, culture and place where it's like home.

I don't want mislead anyone, here. I really like Minneapolis. It's one of the best little cities in the country. But, it's a big world, out there and my feet are getting itchy.^[2]

What does this all have to do with getting started with things? Well, I think the worry is two-fold. First the above mentioned insecurity that people will just move on with out me, or that starting some new activity will be useless (I'll forget it pretty damned quickly, I think). The second on is the whole (remote) possibility that I won't come back. If I don't start anything, perhaps there will be less incentive to come back. Maybe I want to be freed up to drift about, a leaf in the wind.

Or perhaps, simply, I just have enough on my plate. This traveling is serious business. I can't be taking on new things at this time. There's just no time, no mental and emotional space.

Yeah, sure, I can tell myself that. Or perhaps I can just try things, and see what happens.


[1] Holy crap, that's a lot of insecurity pouring out, right there. Let's rein that in there, cowboy.

[2] Believe me, there's is not a cream for that. The travel itch is only curable by one thing: more travel. In high doses. Once yearly. It's chronic, you know. Comes around when you least expect it, or need it. You'll be comfortable in your little life with your little routines and little entertainments and, then, bam, your feet start to itch bad.

To prevent this from happening to you, avoid all travel writing and photography. Particular virulent strains can be caught from National Geographic or study-abroad students. If you have been in contact with either of these in the last twenty-four hours, contact your travel agent immediately.

This has been a public service annoucement from the Travel Addicts Society of America (TASA).

The Crazy Woke Me Up

The Crazy woke me up, this morning at four AM. I woke up to a running catalog of everything I owned that still needed to be boxed up or specially handled. Some part of my brain (apparently the one that handles organization - we don't really talk that much, only when dealing with desktop icons, or filesystem layouts) was listing out everything and then addressing whether or not it needed climate controlled storage. Thorough, complete, methodical, crazy.

I have a ton of old disk drives of various sorts. I have a few too many old computers. How am I going to handle the cold storage of those things? I hadn't really thought about my old fencing gear. Haven't used it in years, but I can't really see myself getting rid of it. Same goes with the Lego Mindstorms set. Such a cool idea for a toy, but I never really used it. Maybe I should give it away to charity, or a friend of mine.

It took about an hour to quit cataloging. I don't even really have that much stuff, so I 'm sure there were some repeats. I think it was just my weekly freakout. Nothing to worry about. I have plenty of time, over a week really. I guess that's my brain, for you. An hour or two of really worry and then I get on with things.

Trapped, Again

I spent all my time yesterday within five blocks of my house. I walked to the coffee shop. I walked to the grocery store. I played video games (well, ok, game: Civ IV - time and soul sucking addiction^[1]). My only "people time" yesterday was dinner and Lost with a friend of mine. Once again, saving me from Crazy.

Stupid car.

I thought Honda's were supposed to be reliable (warning: rant a comin'). Damn piece of junk, if you ask me. Every year, I have to put in at least two grand of work into the damn thing. I'd be better off buying two-grand car, once a year. Now that it's all fixed, I still have to find a place to park the damn thing for the month.

Ok, ok. That's enough bad-mouthing the car. I have it back. The breaks are so sensitive, I had to relearn the amount of pressure they need. They are nice. I've always thought "stop on a dime" was just an expression, but now...

[1] A little more on the subject of the game that is Civilization. Back when I was in college, the first Civilization had been out for a while, it's sequel coming pretty soon. A good friend of mine was a history major, so I loaned him my copy of the game. I stopped by his dorm room the next morning, and there he was, still playing, a little wild-eyed and obsessive.

He asked me to take it away from him. Please, oh, please, just take it away.

What's That Sucking Sound?

Call it Murphy's Law. Call it Luck. Call it Fate. Call it being at the Wrong End of the Probability Curve. Call it What You Will. It never fails that once you decide to quit your job, something major^[1] breaks.

In my case it was my car's breaks.

Nothing is more unsettling then the feeling one has when a break line has sprung a leak. They work, sort of. Imagine that your stopping distance increases threefold, and your pedal doesn't feel effective until it hits the floor. Like I said, unsettling.

Granted I needed to replace my rear breaks: rusted rotors and no padding. They must have still had a little life left in them, as they saved my ass on sunday night from slamming into a parked car on 35W. After that, they decided to give up the ghost^[2].

I was smart, though. I actually planned for this. I was having automotive troubles before I quit, and so there's money for this. You just never know what it's going to be. It always surprises you.


[1] major (mã'jər) adj. 1. expensive

[2] "Give up the ghost" - I've got to tell you, that is a great phrase to use when describing the death of machines.

Holiday Blues

I think it has to do with the fact that it's a holiday today, but this place is crowded. I mean packed, people practically hanging from the tin ceiling.

All I want on a Monday morning is a quiet cup of joe.

I'm surprised by all the people, really. It's MLK day, after all. Not really one of those holidays that I've ever had the day off. But I suppose it's all the people who get bank and postal holidays.

The nice thing about today is this: I think I've turned that corner. I'm not really thinking about work anymore. Slowly, my mind is freeing up resources in order to work on other things. I'm actually able to read technical stuff and not frame it with my previous projects.

This is a big step. It like getting over a bad habit or a failed relationship. It's that moment where you know that you're free to get on with things. Granted it took a little longer than I expected, but really two weeks isn't so bad. I've heard a theory about relationships, on this score. It takes about a month per year in the relationship to really get over it. Perhaps, with work it's the same, only in weeks. I had been at the company for two years, so two weeks make sense.

It terms of future work, I had something really interesting mentioned to me the other night. It would mean cutting travel short after Argentina, which I'm not sure I'm willing to do. If the job is compelling enough, though, I'll have to consider it.

Too early to tell...

What's This Tango Business, Anyway?

Brilliant Tango
Originally uploaded by pschwarz.

Here's a small sample of tango. I was out at the Loring Pasta Bar earlier today^[1], and decided to see how pictures in a club would turn out.

Not too shaby...

Yo Hablo Español

I've been trying to finish up this biography of Alexander Hamilton. I've really been enjoying it, although it has been a really dense, slow read. There are an incredible amount of revolutionary-era historical facts, so many that I have had to stop and think about them each in turn, marveling at how much was missing from high school history.

Now that I've actually finished it (ok, honestly I have about ten pages to go) I can work on one of my original intellectual goals for this month: refresh my Spanish language skills.

They are downright dismal.

I remember bits and pieces. Fragments of the language float around in my memory: simple sentences about how little I understand Spanish, mostly bob to the surface. This is not surprising as I learned all of this when I was in high-school (and quit before I was a senior). That's a little over ten years ago, for those of you who have no idea how old I am.

Really, the way I see it, I just need to refresh my memory on how to conjugate verbs and a few phrases in order to get a hotel room or a meal. Anything else, I think I can get out of my phrase book. On top of that, I just need a bit of courage to say things, well anything, really, to people. The toughest thing is getting over that fear of saying something stupid in a foreign language.

Of course, given that my Spanish is dismal, I'm sure to say something really stupid. When I was in China, I was unable to pronounce anything, which really had me not trying to say anything after a while. The key was that I tried. Same deal with French, although my pronunciation was a little better (so I never really gave up with that one). With Spanish, I may have more of a barrier to speak in that I think I should know more. A few days there, and I'll probably be OK.

Now preventing myself from saying something stupid, that's another story altogether. I have enough trouble with that in English...

Flipped Time

I've discussed this with a few other friends of mine who are not working at the moment and I've found that there's a certain way that time is flipped about. Our busy hours, socially, are at night, our relaxed time is during the day.

I've been rather socially active, having something to do most evenings (tonight, not withstanding). During the day, however, there's been a remarkable amount of down time. I spend some time packing, planning, etc, but, in the end, it's mostly just quiet time.

Take, for example, the fact that I only did some moving yesterday. The evening was spent wall climbing, followed by taps and apps until 12:30. Longer than most of my days, really.

Of course, I've asked other friends of mine how they deal with the time. They simple say that they sleep through most of the day and then go out all night. This doesn't really work well for me, actually. I don't do so well sleeping with sunlight. Maybe I need exhaustion.

On another note, it also seems like the fuel that's been under this particular fire is starting to dwindle. I don't feel quite as free with words as I did at the start. Perhaps, it has to due with the fact that I'm at a point where things are set. Tickets: done. Storage space: done. Movers: done. All that's left is packing and waiting.

Perhaps, with those things out of the way I can spend more time thinking on other things. Like how many surgeries has Ertha Kitt had to get her face that tight. You know questions for the ages...

Future Plans

I've been asked a lot about where I'll be headed after Argentina. I haven't thought about it too much, really. But I would like to travel more, than just for a month, otherwise, this whole moving deal really won't amount to much.

I've a few ideas, both of which sit a little bit on the side of expensive. I'd like to do one of two things (or both - we'll see). One of which is to go to Scotland, the other is to trek across Northern Europe (Germany, mainly) and make my way over to Prague, Budapest, etc.

The first results from many descriptions of Scotland's beauty. I've heard tell tales of the amazing qualities of the Northern most parts, namely the Orkney Islands. Perhaps a scotch tour or two would be good, as well - I've always been curious what a barrel of scotch looks like after eleven or twelve years. I'd like to spend a little time hiking around in the highlands, although it would probably not involve overnight stays.

The second option is really from a desire to see more of Continental Europe. Germany is one of the countries I've often lamented not visited on my first whirlwind tour of the Continent. I've also heard wonderful things of the above mentioned cities as great examples of Central European cities, not overwhelmed by excessive tourism (although, Prague as had a surge of tourism in the past five years and is apparently not the great find it once was). If I'm really ambitious, its also tempting to dip into Russia, but I understand that getting a tourist visa is getting a bit more difficult.

So that's a few ideas for the moment. I think either of those should encompass a long lay over in Reykjaví­k, just to say that I've been and enjoyed (great music scene). Apparently there are some really good airfare deals if you take a long stay in Reykjaví­k on the way.

Current Plans Maturing...

I finally leased a storge space yesterday. It seems strange that I should be able to fit all of my possessions into a 5x15x9 space but, according to the mover guy, I can.

This has lead me into packing. That really starts to bring the feeling home that I'm shutting down this chapter of my life. There's a small pang as a result. Minute, really. I'm not terribly broken up by this whole experience. I need the adventure, actually. My life had become to predictable, to blasé.

It also really shows me how much crap acquired over the last three-plus years. I've added half again as many books, too much computer junk to name, furniture by the roomful.^[1]

So now begins the joy of throwing things out. I really feel good after moving. There's a purgative effect that really gives one a sense of well being. Now, I have only the things I need.

That is, of course, never the case but, at least, it's closer.


[1] This leads me to wonder about the rate at which we acquire crap. Is there a simple economic formula to this? With consumerism at it's current unabashed exuberence, does the rate of acquisition follow the same rate as that of consumer spending?

Since most people are spend, rather than saving, does this mean that the average amount of crap is on the increase?

Based on the 2003 consumer spending statistics, people spend roughly 10% of their annual income on things that I consider crap-acquiring areas (home furnishings, entertainment, apparel). If a correlation is to be made, that means an annual increase of 10% in crap.

Now, given that I've been acquiring this crap for the last three years, that means over 25% increase in stuff.

In my case, however, I had to furnish 75% of my apartment in the last three years (I had a futon and a TV stand to begin with), so my acquistion level is more like 125% or more.

Wow, it's amazing the number of percentages one can come up with when a few statistics are used.

Trapped

I have been pretty regular about this whole blogging thing-a-ma-jig, which has me pretty pleased with myself. I'm not one to pat myself on the back too much^[1] (quite the opposite, really. Anyone who knows me would probably say I'm a little too self-deprecating - then again, that sounds almost like self-praise - wow, this is a hard little circle to escape), so I'm not really praising the content, merely the regularity. It's sort of same way that government employees are promoted: based on time of service, not skill.

Everyday also has had a little something of interest that could be said about this whole experience. That is until a was trapped here at home, waiting for the UPS guy to show up with my new camera. It's really hard for anything interesting to happen when you won't even let yourself out for a cup of joe.

I really find that I'm not terribly stimulated to write if I haven't seen the outside of my apartment. Point of fact, I have already been out and about today and, therefore, able to write. You'd think that the crazy of being inside would compel me to get it out on paper (or on blog, as the case may be), but it does quite the opposite. I feel this need to be constantly entertained, and engaged mentally, but in a way that is not purely creative in my mind.

I think this is one of those mental blocks, however. I think as I distance myself from work more, I'll be able to put out more and more drival on the page as I see fit. Or maybe it's just the way my mind happens to work. Every writer seems to have a different need in order to get themselves into a creative spirit. Some write immediately in the morning, to spill things out as the came in the nighttime. Others need to mull them over for the day, letting the ideas ferment with daylight and oxygen.

Or, perhaps like myself, they need to be fueled by much, too much, caffeine. Makes the fingers limber.


[1] But, apparently, I am one to overuse the phrase "I'm not one to X, but..."

What Day Is It?

I've found something that I'm actually uncomfortable with. I'm already starting to have trouble remembering what day it is. I'm bothered by this when I'm at home, simply because everyone else I know is still well aware of the days of the week.

I don't have an issue with this when I'm on the road. It's par for the course really. You only need to remember that I have to a plane to catch two days from now, or on such-and-such a date, but the day of the week is really irrelevant.

Days of the week are only really important for two reasons. First, for work. Knowing when it's Friday, knowing when it's Monday, knowing when it's Sunday night and one has a Monday morning looming, rearing it's ugly head, like the hangover Saturday had made it a miserable Sunday to begin with.

Work helps to keep those days organized. More often than not, the week is planned. This project needs to be finished by that deadline. Some meeting with whatshisname is on Thursday (make sure not to miss it, and find who he is - that's embarrassing). To add to this organization, one's weekends are planned with happy hours, snowboarding trips, and other things crammed into that small space of time that everyone is granted as a reprieve.

Having all this organization makes the time go by at a rather accelerated pace. There's no time to slow down since there's always seems to be not enough time. It's nice to slow down, and take the time. It's amazing how much time there is when one is not working. That's going to be a huge slap of reality, when I do go back to work. I'm sure I'll be ready for it by then.

I said there are two reasons for knowing the days of the week. The other is only for about seventy-five to ninety percent of the population. One needs to know when to go to church, temple, or whatever one goes to for their spiritual needs. This hasn't been a concern of mine for years. Only that I know now to avoid any conversation about what I do with my Sunday mornings.^[1]

Sunday does, however, have a lot of nice reasons to center a week around. There's time spent with family, time spent relaxing, time spent watching football (either kind really). It seems to be the one day of the week where no one is particularly obsessed with time.

Perhaps that's all I really need to do is to let go of being obsessed with time. It's just as hard to give up as being addicted to work. Time is an arbitrary business.

...and I've got it in spades...

[1] I realize, of course, that I'm violating the whole idea of not talking about my lack of religion. I'm interested in religion from a Sociological perspective, but I'm not interested in it from a practicing perspective. I've just stopped thinking of it that way.

Tread Softly

I've noticed one serious problem with this whole vagabond thing. How do I describe my time now? What do I tell people I do?

I was out last night dancing. Since social dancing involves meeting a large number of new people, you often have to have that brief little interview style introduction: where are you from, what do you do (or if you are a student, what do you study), followed by a dip or a turn and a "thank you for the dance".

What I was finding was that responding with the phrase "I do nothing, right now" got some really odd looks. I tried to change that a bit by using the phrase "I'm on sabbatical" or "I'm on holiday," but, still, this had some bizarre responses. The end of dance "thanks" were really awkward, usually followed with an "err...good luck with that...whole...thing."

More so with people I know, when I describe the fact that I just upped and quit my job, do I get strange responses. They range from really congratulatory ("That's cool. I'd love to do that.") to jealous ("You bastard. I'd love to do that.").

The first one is easy to deal with; just nod, smile and say something resembling a thank you in an oddly muffled and embarrassed way. The second, on the other hand is a bit more sensitive. Depending on the person I either smile impishly, perhaps raise an eyebrow (you know, generally my usual attempts at looking charming), or I try to avoid the subject all together.

Which is why I think I need to come up with a better description of this whole thing all together. I have a few ideas but, of course, suggestions would be welcome:

• South American Economic Stimulation Trip
• Exploring New Locations for Offshore Development
• Training with Argentine Monks in the Ancient Art of Tango-fu

Ok, so the last one might not be that plausible, but I might just have to start using it.

Confessions of a Workaholic

The first step is always admitting you have a problem. So here goes:

I'm addicted to my job.

There, I've said it. It's out. I feel a little better.

I've just checked my work email. I've done it once a day since the start of the week. That's definitely a sign of addiction. I shouldn't be concerned with things anymore. Really, I shouldn't check it. I should try to ignore the impulse to check into how that GPS code ended up, or whether or not the corporate strategy is on track.

Of course, if you spend three years of your life working at a place, it's really hard to just give it up. Small companies are inherently addictive. Most people I know either try them briefly and go back to large stable companies, or, like me, thrive in the small company environment of instability and overwork. My dad is one of the latter. The apple certainly hasn't fallen far.

One of the things I'm keeping in the back of my mind is to start my own startup when I return from, err, sabbatical^[1]. What that requires is coming up with some really good ideas, and then finding some money in order to actually do them. The problem is that I'm still attached to the old ideas of my last job. The addiction is preventing me from doing my own thinking on the subject.

I know that it takes about a week to get over work^[2]. But I wonder if it takes longer than that when you know that you won't being going back to work after two weeks. When you are one a vacation of normal length (about two weeks, in my opinion) you can forget about the work issues, because you know that they'll be there when you get back. But what about when you're not going back? How do you just let go?

Time, I guess. Time heals all, they say. I'm sure that's true with work addiction, as well.

Now, if only I could find a twelve-step program...

[1] I love the term sabbatical. There have been a lot of articles on the subject as more and more highly skilled, highly educated, or highly placed employees are getting burnt out with there current work.

[2] See this lengthy piece of drival for my thoughts on this whole subject.

Who Are All These People?

I had this strange notion that there would be this empty world out here away from work. I imagined that I would be this lone patron of the gym and the coffee shop. There would be more silence, less bustle, more clear air.

It turns out it's not the case. There are a crap-load of people on the outside.

Where do all these people come from? Are they taking breaks from the jobs? Are they all retired? Did they all quit their jobs in order to travel?

The gym can be pretty easily explained. I was there pretty close to the lunch hour. A lot of people take breaks to work out midday. Heck, even I used to do that when it used to be really convenient.

But the coffee house? Sure there are a lot of older people here for there afternoon visits, cups of coffee, time out of their homes. But what about all the young people? There are quite a few people who look to be roughly my age. I'm going to guess that they're students. Or, maybe they could be people who get to work from home. If that's the case, I need to find out what they do. It's seems like a good gig to work from home (or a coffee house, in this case).

Maybe they're all aspiring writers who have quit their day jobs for no particular reason. I wonder what that would be like...

First Day

First day. So far, so good. It's a Tuesday, and I'm sitting here in the early afternoon drinking coffee. Brilliant.

I have realized that I am going to need to manage my time in a reasonable fashion. I've to make sure that I've goals for the day, week, month etc. Otherwise, madness will ensue.

A few things for the week:

• Find a storage facility for my shit
• Find find some movers to move my shit.
  

As for today, I'm going to buy a camera. I really wanted to get one of those really small ones for putting in my pocket and giving me the ability to discretely take pictures in bars and whatnot (so I can take pictures of all the tangonistas...what?). I would like to become a better photographer, so I'd like to get the camera sooner than later. It'll give me more time to play around with it here, maybe practice a bit with the local tangonistas, add some shots of Minneapolis.

Mostly, I've taken pictures while I travel and I always thought that to do really interesting photography one had to have a really fancy camera (SLR, ton of lenses, etc). I recently watched Born Into Brothels, which is a very good documentary about these children from brothels (how's that for broken homes) who are being taught photography by this American woman. They were given very simple 35mm point-and-shot cameras and take some really fantastic pictures.

I feel inspired to take more pictures. Thanks, red light kids.

Mild Case of the Freakouts

I did actually freak out. Just a little bit. I stopped by a friends house briefly, just to say happy new year, etc. on Saturday. As with most people I've run into, he asked me how I feel about it. I explained (as I have to everyone else) about how it hadn't it yet, probably not until Monday.

And then it hit me.

A small bit, a bubble really, of panic slid out from that part of my brain that usually is brimming with anxiety. My heart began to race, my breathing quickened. I really suddenly needed a drink.

Now, I'm not normally one to need a drink to calm my nerves but, damn, it helped. Just one was all that was needed. That is really the remarkable thing about all this. Maybe it's a sign of maturity. I had a momentary lapse in my usually calm demeanor, and it was reset by a glass of random red. After that, no more worries.

It seems like it should be one of those things that I should continue to worry about. I never let myself worry about travel. I tend to forget about the whole trip until I get on the plan. I really think it's a defense mechanism. Sort of like the way that we forget pain so as not to paralyze us from doing anything else in life. If I had to think about it I would never get on that plane.

Now the plane ride, there's a place for some anxiety overflow...