Likes: thunder storms; power cuts due to thunder storms; dulce de leche (milk jam, aka condensed condensed milk); portenos (slang for BsAs locals) insanely friendly (and that's two adjectives), gregarious, sweet toothed, passionate, proud, disorganised, laid back and welcoming people; nights out beginning at midnight; malbec at £1.50 a bottle; empanadas (pies); electro tango; the cultural loathing of work of any shape or form; the view from our flat...
Dislikes: mosquitos you think twice about killing in case you lose; the coffee (like NYC, quantity rather than quality); the complete lack of urgency/systems/logic - why have one person to do a job when you can have four? and why fix a phone in 6 days when you can take 6 weeks...and counting...; the humidity; the driving; every single shop/business/building having a different set of opening hours making it about a 90% chance you will arrive when it is closed...; rubbish/pollution... the rest of the flat...
So far we miss: bagels; fajitas; thai curries; sport on TV; Fujiyama's; newspapers English; Flat White (note to all coffee lovers in London yet to discover this place, get yourself down to Berwick St); Errol, our mad neighbor; our (now Stanya's) bikes; a subway that takes you to places you want to go; all of you guys...
To be continued...
Thursday, 29 March 2007
Kayaking in Tigre
Quality! Twenty minutes north of here by train, into the Rio del Plata Delta - had a days kayaking with 6 of the other expat teachers and 2 of the Argentines (think all the best of the Argentine stereotypes). 8am get up, train, river boat, breakfast by the river, three hour kayak through the waterways, MASSIVE asado (see previous blog), snoozy afternoon, home in time for tea and medals.
Flat: before
Flat: before photos. Do you like our cage? We got to live in that for four weeks. Better now though - amazing how far £200 will go in the country. After photos to follow.
Thursday, 22 March 2007
Chicken in Orange Sauce
Dad, here's that recipe you asked for.
Ingredients:
6 chicken pieces
3 tps of flour
salt and pepper
oil for frying
2 cups of orange juice
2 tbsp brown sugar
2 tbsp white vinegar
1 tsp grated nutmeg
2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 cloves, segmented
Coat the chicken pieces in the seasoned flour. Fry in the oil until golden brown on both sides. Then transfer to a casserole dish. Add the orange juice, smoke a massive bifta, cover and simmer for about 45 mins until tender. Garnish with the orange segments and cook for a further 5 mins.
Serves 6.
Ingredients:
6 chicken pieces
3 tps of flour
salt and pepper
oil for frying
2 cups of orange juice
2 tbsp brown sugar
2 tbsp white vinegar
1 tsp grated nutmeg
2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 cloves, segmented
Coat the chicken pieces in the seasoned flour. Fry in the oil until golden brown on both sides. Then transfer to a casserole dish. Add the orange juice, smoke a massive bifta, cover and simmer for about 45 mins until tender. Garnish with the orange segments and cook for a further 5 mins.
Serves 6.
Hungry, Sir?
I've had a really lovely week at the Primary. The kids have been so friendly, and for some reason keep offering to buy some food at lunch.
I thought that we were really starting to connect, and it was the whole 'apple for my teacher' thing. But I suspect it has more to do with the Primary Parents Teachers meeting we had last Saturday.
And now I can't help but think that the kids arrived home that day and their mums said - much as mine has done for the last 15 years - something like: 'Oh. That new English teacher, Mr Fergusson. He looks awfully thin. Could you buy him something for lunch for a while?'
This should be embarrasing but three cans of Pepsi, an ice-cream a day, a couple of portions of fruit, a cracking ham sandwich, infinite amounts of biscuits, and, bizarrely, a chocolate chicken.
Brilliant.
I thought that we were really starting to connect, and it was the whole 'apple for my teacher' thing. But I suspect it has more to do with the Primary Parents Teachers meeting we had last Saturday.
And now I can't help but think that the kids arrived home that day and their mums said - much as mine has done for the last 15 years - something like: 'Oh. That new English teacher, Mr Fergusson. He looks awfully thin. Could you buy him something for lunch for a while?'
This should be embarrasing but three cans of Pepsi, an ice-cream a day, a couple of portions of fruit, a cracking ham sandwich, infinite amounts of biscuits, and, bizarrely, a chocolate chicken.
Brilliant.
Private school.
I never thought I'd teach at a school where you would actually hear the excuse, 'My pony is sick.' Today I heard the following classic:
Teacher: Give me a sentence using the present continuous.
Student: My nanny IS CLEANING the house.
I was momentarily confused as the character assasination failed to arrive. Fortunately, one likely lad turned around, a face of disdain, and put her straight, making the universal mongface - tongue behind bottom lip.
'Uuuuuuu-uh. They're called MAIDS.'
Another heckle.
'Or au pairs.'
Nutters.
Teacher: Give me a sentence using the present continuous.
Student: My nanny IS CLEANING the house.
I was momentarily confused as the character assasination failed to arrive. Fortunately, one likely lad turned around, a face of disdain, and put her straight, making the universal mongface - tongue behind bottom lip.
'Uuuuuuu-uh. They're called MAIDS.'
Another heckle.
'Or au pairs.'
Nutters.
Saturday, 10 March 2007
Who is Gubbins?
I told a kid, who had written a hitherto impressive ballad on Britney Spears entitled 'Bald Britney', that is last verse was 'gubbins'.
A strange word in any language, prompting the frankly hilarious question from around the class.
'Meester, who is Gubbins?
A strange word in any language, prompting the frankly hilarious question from around the class.
'Meester, who is Gubbins?
Who'd win a fight between a jellyfish and a bear?
Ah, bless 'em, they're coming round to my strange little world. After a week or two of getting to know you type gubbins, and shocked by the lack of banter between students and teachers I have started to introduce some useful English phrases to my Primary lesson.
They are now only allowed to get a drink of water if they ask as follows:
Replacing: Meester, can I drink water?
With: May I imbibe?
Or: (Scottish accen essential) Sir, I've got a thirst on.
Or, my favourite.
Sir. I'm parched.
Any further suggestions, please send them in.
They are now only allowed to get a drink of water if they ask as follows:
Replacing: Meester, can I drink water?
With: May I imbibe?
Or: (Scottish accen essential) Sir, I've got a thirst on.
Or, my favourite.
Sir. I'm parched.
Any further suggestions, please send them in.
Thursday, 1 March 2007
A minute in the life of a Primary teacher?
Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?Meester?
That is ONE MINUTE, so help me God.
That is ONE MINUTE, so help me God.
Beef numbers.
Another stat: 60kg of beef is consumed each year per capita. Apparantly that's about double what those little Texans can get through.
That's meant to be an impressive stat but I'm on 56kg on day 10 and I'm a skinny fella. This may have a little to do with the fact I have lunch at school and have, so far, been offered the following (bear in mind the food is amazing. I'm talking Nando's quality):
Monday: (8kg) Steak and patatas. (I had to get two plates cause me tatties didn't fit on my autosy slab of a main).
Tuesday: (5kg) Beef, in breadcrumbs.
Wednesday: (6kg) Beef stir fry, or 'salad' as they call it here.
Thursday: (4kg) Fish steak. That's a massive steak, with an anchovie dressing on the 'salad' (see above).
Friday: (33kg) Asado - see previous blog, but to summarise it's like someone has dared you to eat a whole cow.
Take the profoundly irritating 'shrimp' scene from Forrest Gump, replace 'shrimp' with the word 'beef', and you have almost word for word my diet to date.
And I'm not even including my Beef Pops cereal. I bet the cows are shit scared of leaving their houses. Unlike in Delhi, you never see a cow on the street here. no wonder. It's quite high profile. Apparantly there's a march of vegetarian mothers each month protesting against 'the disappeared', which are the 30,000 cows that are unaccounted for each week during the 80s. It's a political thing, I think. What do I know, I've been here a week and I can't beef really straight think.
That's meant to be an impressive stat but I'm on 56kg on day 10 and I'm a skinny fella. This may have a little to do with the fact I have lunch at school and have, so far, been offered the following (bear in mind the food is amazing. I'm talking Nando's quality):
Monday: (8kg) Steak and patatas. (I had to get two plates cause me tatties didn't fit on my autosy slab of a main).
Tuesday: (5kg) Beef, in breadcrumbs.
Wednesday: (6kg) Beef stir fry, or 'salad' as they call it here.
Thursday: (4kg) Fish steak. That's a massive steak, with an anchovie dressing on the 'salad' (see above).
Friday: (33kg) Asado - see previous blog, but to summarise it's like someone has dared you to eat a whole cow.
Take the profoundly irritating 'shrimp' scene from Forrest Gump, replace 'shrimp' with the word 'beef', and you have almost word for word my diet to date.
And I'm not even including my Beef Pops cereal. I bet the cows are shit scared of leaving their houses. Unlike in Delhi, you never see a cow on the street here. no wonder. It's quite high profile. Apparantly there's a march of vegetarian mothers each month protesting against 'the disappeared', which are the 30,000 cows that are unaccounted for each week during the 80s. It's a political thing, I think. What do I know, I've been here a week and I can't beef really straight think.
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