Pablo Penguino

Ah yes - here we are in Buenos Aires, living the Suburban dream. Not quite my typical style - the fenced-in yards, tinted windows, local plastic surgery shops  and array of fake boobs- but undeniably enjoyable for the time being. I've switched into first gear, neutral actually, to save on gas, and I'm enjoying the ride.

First let me introduce my roommate, life coach, fitness instructor and host of the last month - the beautiful Brooke. She's from The US of A but lives here in BA. Brooke and I met in Ecuador at a salsa class. After the 60+ crowd gathered their things - namely canes and walkers - I found myself next to a gal who, like myself, was asking Francisco, the adorable instructor about trying something "slightly more advanced." In other words, moving beyond the "forward step, backward step" component we had practiced for an hour with kind older men who were, to their credit, eager to learn but looked like drunken teenage giraffes and panicked ostriches.

Next thing I knew we had arranged ourselves a private lesson at his house for the following evening. We looked at each other both quietly wondering if this was an insanely dumb move, but we felt better about it after a few caprinahs. At the bar fifteen minutes later, we quickly planned the next four days together like school children on summer vacation and at one point Brooke looked at me and said ....

"Hey wait... we don't even know if we like each other."

"Oh trust me. We do"

There are times in life when you don't need to question these things. Some things just feel right. Those are good moments.

A lovely night of dancing and dinner with Brooke and the sweetheart Francisco. 

And the rest is history. Except it isn't. Nothing ever is. Because here I am, at her place in Buenos Aires for my fourth week, playing housewife with great enthusiasm. I've picked up running again which feels great. There is an awesome trail along the train tracks right next to the river. 

I learned the aforementioned "river" was just that, a river between Uruguay and Argentina last week. After THREE weeks of running beside it. I'm VERY relieved to hear it. There was something very creepy about that brown ocean. Brown rivers are more acceptable. 

We had Brooke's extra bike fixed for some excellent rides and exploratory suburban tours. I also signed up for pilates and have been practicing my vocabulary of body parts in spanish. Never thought I'd need to know meta-tarsals,  quads, abs or "this is really hurting me, can I stop?" Now I know.

Buenos Aires rocks the night life and weekend goodness. They weekend well. "To weekend" is a verb... it means the activities you generally take part in on the weekend. 

We've frequented the weekend markets in Palermo, San Telmo, Recolleta and Tigre, all barrios or zone in the city. In Palermo, bars and clubs open their doors on the weekends for local artisans to sell their crafts. We caught an afternoon raggaeton show on hippy hill where all ages spilled across the grass with their mates and joints ablazin'. I loved the little old man who maneuvered through the crowd selling beer from his lunchbox cooler. With streetside tango shows set under the trees of European-feel suburbs, the hustle of running across the world's supposedly widest street (it took us three light-changes to make it), cafes where friends and family share espressos and an ungodly quantity of pastries, there's little NOT to like about Buenos Aires. 

Some of my highlights were an electronic music festival, a hip-hop dance club where live break dancers work their magic on the main floor and we try to not to stand out, and two of Brooke's work functions where we undoubtedly made an impression. Likely with our in-exhaustive series of dance moves. We hit up a wicked percussion show... just 12 drummers that improv the whole time based solely on the conductors movements...

While practicing "the art of my dance" I turned to see this girl staring at me. I know her. How do I know her? Too many faces and places flying through my head like a Fischer Price Picture Viewer.

"How do we know each other?"

Turns out she served me beer at the Grad House on Dal campus a little too regularly. And now she is here in BA, at this drum show. Dancing beside me. Obviously.

Dancing to Rhianna from inside a child's playhouse to our sheer enjoyment (not sure it was funny to anyone other than us, but that didn't matter). Yes this was at a work party. Not only did we make quite the entrance the first time, but after leaving the party, I climbed on Brooke's shoulders and danced over the high security wall to a backyard full of confused guests until we convinced ourselves to return for more dancing shananigans.

Yes there is no shortage of silliness. Last week, one evening up late, I ran with my imagination which decided there was someone lurking on the bathroom roof. As any good citizen would do, I decided to run and hide in my room. I figure it would be wise to lock my bedroom door with this ancient, metal key that looked like it belonged to a Scholastic-order fuzzy diary for a grade 6er, and not a real door.

We should listen to those moments of intuition. 

That decision led to a 8 hour bedroom arrest. All the windows have bars around these parts, so climbing out the window was not an option. Luckily the bars were wide enough to pass through some peanut butter, rice cakes and a large tupperware for urinating. 

I'd say we bring out the best, and young, in each other. We're frequently asked if we're related, which we take to kindly. That is - until our taxi driver inquired, quite genuinely, if we we're mother-daughter. That's like the equivalent of asking someone if they are pregnant, experiencing hair loss and have been recently dumped ... all at once. That didn't go well.

Even the palm-reader said we had the same palms. 

For a creative/love-inspired/inside joke project that will not be explained here, Brooke rented a large mascot costume to dress up in and take pictures. I would be the perfect accomplice/agent. Turns out the large "blue bird" was actually "Pablo Penguino" an extremely famous Argentine cartoon for kids.

He's like Woody the Woodpecker. Let's just say, kids and old people alike were delighted when we wandered through the market, went grocery shopping (and then got escorted out) waited at the bus stop and RODE the bus. Children attacked, cars honked and I laughed until I cried. One family pulled over to ask us "if we do birthday parties?" Why didn't I say yes? I could use a little coin. 

Most memorable - Brooke couldn't get off the bus in the mascot suit, because she was unable to see the pole in the middle of the stairs to go down. After repeatedly head butting the pole in complete penguino-confusion, (and I was too weak with laughing to assist her), the bus driver was fed up and then closed the door on us, but we finally made it home. 

So all in all, I think we gave Buenos Aires a run for its money.