We give our server a bill worth twice the cost of our meal, and she vanishes. Some time later, we ask another waitress where she has gone. The waitress asks what she looked like. In Spanish, I say, “She had a short tail.” The waitress looks confused. “Her tail was short,” I say, gesturing toward my head. The waitress nods. “Do you mean her hair?” “Ah. Yes,” I say. “Her hair.”
Category: Travel
Memory Scrapbook
More small differences between Argentina and home:
-An entire table of men in animated conversation will go completely silent when a woman walks by, in anticipation of checking out her ass once she passes.
-You have to ask for the check. In fact, you often have to get up from your table and go find your waiter so you can get the check. (This seems to be true everywhere but the U.S.)
-Everyone we meet is an artist.
-Bars have no last call, and nearly all of the women’s restrooms in bars have condom dispensers.
-This is the only place I’ve ever seen a roll of toilet paper hung on the wall next to the sink for use in drying one’s hands.
-In the grocery store, you have your vegetables weighed in the produce section. They put a tag on them so the cashier knows how much to charge you.
-Lowfat milk? No. Decaf? No.
-In our neighborhood alone, there are four car-washes that are also restaurants.
-You pay extra to sit outside.
-The napkins at many casual restaurants are like small squares of tissue paper.
-A burger “with everything” will come with tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, ham, and boiled or fried eggs on top.
Memory Scrapebook
A few little differences between home and Argentina:
The sidewalks seem to be constantly under repair here. There’s a new construction crew every few feet.
The butter that comes with your bread is almost always flavored with something: thyme, sundried tomatoes, rosemary.
The women do more primping in the public bathrooms. You can be at a coffee shop at 11 a.m. and there’s always someone at the mirror re-applying lipstick and fluffing their hair.
Everyone thinks Hank is a girl. I know this because they’re forced to choose a sex for their adjectives, “Que hermosa! Que bonita!”
The red lights turn yellow before going back to green.
There’s lots of graffitti with messages to girlfriends. “Happy Anniversary! Manuela, I love you!”
Our bathroom has a bidet and two new brushes so we can scrub under our nails when we wash our hands.
In modern buildings, I keep shoving my hands under sinks expecting them to work automatically. They don’t.
Our cab from the airport smelled good, like tea, and they still play Milli Vanilli on the radio here.
People, completely sane strangers, stop to kiss the baby or touch his head.
Taking This show on the Road
About two years ago, Bryan and I traveled constantly, in anticipation of never, ever being able to travel again. We knew we wanted a baby, and everyone very helpfully told us our lives would suck afterward. Also, that we’d never have sex again. Or read a magazine all the way through.
As it turns out, Hank is a happy, flexible guy. He was born that way, so we can’t take much credit, though we’d clearly blame only ourselves if he convulsed with fury at any deviation from routine. Such is parenting.
Fortunately, Hank is so mellow that our largest concern is whether he’ll just hand bullies his lunch money and sigh when he’s older. He doesn’t cry much on planes, or have trouble being in new places. We’re able to put him to sleep even out in the world (thanks Happiest Baby on the Block
!), and he often seems even more content when we travel because he has constant access to both of us.
It’s true that in some ways, traveling with a baby isn’t as much fun as traveling on your own. Especially at first, it was frustrating being unable to go wherever we wanted. In Amsterdam I worried excessively about getting lost and running out of formula or diapers. Of course, Amsterdam has drugstores every three feet or so, but apparently I thought the Dutch allowed their children to crap in the streets and fed them only chocolate until they were old enough for unpasteurized cheese. Live and learn.
At any rate, even when I’m up at 3 a.m. with a wide-awake Henry who hasn’t adjusted to the time change, traveling is still so much fun for us — I can hardly complain that it used to be 10 percent easier. Also, there are so many things about travel that are better with a baby. Hank definitely notices the stuff we’d speed right past, like friendly dogs, or cigarette butts. People are incredibly kind to you, and you waste less time sleeping off hangovers or wondering where the hell you just woke up.
One of the places we visited on our whirlwind pre-baby tour was Argentina, and we fell in love with Buenos Aires. Today, we fly back to live there for a month. (Bryan’s company closes for a couple weeks in winter, and he’s tacking on a couple weeks of his remaining paternity leave.) I’m so excited my stomach is actually flipping every time I think of it. Of course, it’s possible I have some kind of flu, in which case the fifteen-hour flight is going to be even less pleasant than I anticipated.
Anyway, now’s the time to flood me with Argentina tips if you missed your chance last time. We’d like to do every fun thing available, so don’t hold back. We’re also talking about arranging a meet-up, so let us know if you’ll be around too. You can even meet Hank. He’ll be the one eating cigarette butts out of the ashtray.
Detroit!
I find myself oddly in love with Detroit. I didn’t know much about it before we left, but it turns out to be kind of magically empty. There are people everywhere, just not as many as you expect to see given the infrastructure. All these gorgeous buildings are being left to themselves, like giant, crazy-expensive sculptures. Plus there’s all this amazing modernist architecture going for a song. It feels like it’s on the verge of a thousand artists descending and making it a freaky creative wonderland. Anyway, I didn’t have much time to go on photo safari, but here are a few shots I got. If you’re looking for shots of Melissa and her crew, they’re on Flickr.
Keg in the Bathtub
In Kalamazoo, Melissa and I score an upgrade to a suite at the Radisson. It’s enormous.
Melissa: This room is the first time I’ve ever wished I was a teenager again, so we could throw a raging party.
Me: And have hot teenage sex.
Melissa: There’s no such thing as hot teenage sex.
Me: What!? You’re forgetting all about the hot teenage boys.
Melissa: I guess you could have like twenty seconds of hot teenage sex.
Me: Hot teenage hotel room sex with someone in the bed next to you who has to pretend to be asleep.
Melissa: Haaaaaaahhht.
Hank hearts Melissa
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Sorry for the interruption in service yesterday. I had wine-related technical difficulties. Mainly that I forgot to post until after it was imprudent to post. Detroit rocks so far.
Indianapolis
My presentation is tomorrow, and then we’re headed to Detroit for a few days.
Best thing we’ve seen here so far? A girl in her car using the cigarette lighter to plug in her hair crimper. Not nearly enough hair crimping going on in parking garages these days.
Weekend Plans?
I’m doing a presentation at the Indianapolis Marion County Public Library* IUPUI University Library Auditorium (755 W. Michigan Street) on Sunday! I’ve never been to Indianapolis, so I have a good buzz of curious anticipation going.
If you live anywhere near there, please come. There’s a reception afterward where I’ll be signing books, and drinking tea, and possibly feeling slightly bewildered (the way these things can sometimes make you feel). At that time, it would be so lovely for you to say, “Hi Maggie, I’m [your name here].” And then I’ll say, “Nice to meet you!” And then we can make faces at the baby.
See you there!
*Oops! The library is co-sponsoring the event, the university is hosting.
Traveling
Headed to Texas, originally uploaded by MaggieMason.
The stars at NIGHT!
Are big and BRIGHT!
Mighty Girl 