LA MUUUUUUUUUUUURGAAAAAAAAAA

"Volvio la murga, a seducirlos otra vez, sin que se dieran cuenta....."*

One of my top three favorite things about life in Cordoba (along with my great living situation and the previously mentioned veggie empanadas) is the murga. What is a murga you ask? Well, Wikipedia defines it as a group that makes music in the street for everybody, most often during the Carnaval season or other big party days. There's all sorts of styles, the two main ones here being: murga uruguaya, which is a choir that wears elaborate costumes and makeup and sings songs that almost always have both humor and social critique, and murga porteña, from Buenos Aires,which is much more about flashy dancing, loud drums and razzle-dazzle. (Think "You Got Served") Here in Cordoba there are TONS of murgas, most a combination of those two styles. It was my former guitar teacher who led me to my murga, Ni Lerda Ni Perezosa (Not Slow or Lazy). The name is, it must be admitted, ironic, because we have the reputation of being slow, lazy, and very, very flaky. Still, I love it. With the murga, I've had the chance to perform in the beautiful outdoors:In tons of plazas: at the opening of a public library, at protests dancing down the main avenue of Cordoba, at quinceneras and even at a wedding! (Here I am with Barby, another girl from the murga, and the bride and groom:) In some ways I'd say it's filled the hole left by the wonderful frisbee team at Vassar. Like the Boxing Nuns, we get in a circle and do a cheer before we go out, we wear matching-but-not-matching outfits, there's always the debate about whether the group wants to "get serious" or keep flying by the seat of our pants, and finally, it's made up of a pretty diverse collection of people (despite the reputation all murgueros have of being dirty hippies). In Ni Lerda, for example, we have med students, high schoolers and our resident poet, Felix, who is in his 60's and has quite the sense of humor (his nickname for me is "Sonrisa," or "Smile." This is much better than what he used to call me: "The Other German Girl." Blonde Barby had already taken the first spot).
Here are a few of the members strategizing before we hit the stage- guess which one's Felix:We even have a canine companero, Felix's loyal companion Eureka!
This past Sunday, we had our "corso," which means a free party for everyone in the plaza, ideally during the season of Carnaval. It was, of course, kinda badly organized, but really fun. We set up the stage (here is Vientito, the murga's resident clown, trying to mount a banner):painted our faces :
and settled in for what basically amounted to a neighborhood variety show! There were other murgas, like Patas Pa' Arriba (Feet in the Air):
a kids' murga (here's their percussion section):one adorable murguerito who insisted on being in the middle of the action:
a reggae band that played a little too long, jugglers and fire-breathers, a Nirvana-esque rock band, and, at the end, the ceremonial burning of the "Rey Momo"As it's been explained to me, Momo is like the Idiot King of the Carnaval, and when he goes up in flames, it's a symbol of a total destruction of hierarchies, equality and fiesta for everyone!
The only downside is when the wind picks up and blows flaming pieces of the Rey Momo onto the dancing public... I'm not sure what that's a symbol for.

*The murga returned, to seduce you again, without you realizing it...

Off the Ledge

Hey everybody! First of all, an update. Since my near-suicide first post of '09, I have been filling my life with reading, work, murga, cooking things (like a soup that actually tasted like soup!) and lots of hanging out with the housemates, including an outing to hippie town San Marcos Sierras with awesome new Finnish roommate Vappu (the blondie awaiting her mate in the pic)
As a result, I am doing much better in Cordoba! I still miss the good old days in Austin, and it's still way too freakin hot, but am slowly burrowing back into my Argentinian existence. One of the things that is keeping me busy is the search for private students to fill my time and my pocketbook (hey, something's gotta pay for my lollipops, veggie empanadas and phone cards!). So far, it's not going so hot. The following are my Do's and Don'ts for starting your own English business.
Abby's Private Teachin' Tips

Do:Put up fliers in the schools. The less snobby ones will let you, and most kids have a pretty hard time with English here.
Don't: Expect said kids or said kids' parents to call you immediately. They're busy doing other stuff. But they will call. Eventually. Some day.
Do: Advertise the fact that you are a native speaker and have experience with all levels and ages.
Don't: Get discouraged when an uppity Irishman puts up fliers in YOUR neighborhood advertising the exact same things in the exact same words PLUS other stuff you didn't think to write.
Do: Answer the phone, it could be a potential student!
Don't: Answer the phone if you have just woken up. It could be a grumpy old lady with a billion questions you have no idea how to answer!
In conclusion, please let me know if you know anybody living in Cordoba who wants English classes. Maybe internet advertising is the trick?

A Reluctant Return, now time to RALLY

A week has passed since I left Austin and journeyed back to Cordoba, and my only excuse for not writing earlier, dear reader, is that it has been quite the bumpy transition back! My visit to Austin was better than I could have imagined, full of tacos, tea, and TV time (as well as Thundercloud, tex-mex, trips, treks on the bike, tender moments... I could go on all day). All the quality time with friends, family and framily renewed my heart, but also made me as melty and squishy as a marshmallow when the time came to return. It was like exiting the womb for the second time!
Nobody wants to read a depressing post, so I'll keep it short and un-dramatic: the first week has been HORRIBLE!!! I got sickish the night before I left and have been PLAGUED by stomach pains since then, it's BLISTERING hot and humid and there is no air conditioning to be found (but plenty of MOSQUITOS), the few friends I had have dropped off the face of the EARTH, and all I can think about is sitting on the couch with the Loomis ladies, watching Gossip Girl and eating Eliza's homemade CREPES!
Okay, okay, there's also been some good stuff. Friday night I got to see Manu Chau, for example, and I still have a few friends, mainly my roommates, who are awesome and have been super tolerant with my mood swings. Each day is a little easier,work is picking up, and yesterday I got some great advice about choosing to be positive, so that's the new gameplan! I've made a list of goals for this year to keep me focused, cause goodness knows 10 months may seem like a long time, but in the blink of an eye I'll be back on that couch in Austin, wishing I was still in Argentina.

By the numbers

It has been 13 months since I found myself on a plane to Miami, chatting with a toe-sock inventor and feeling pretty darn sad and nervous. 13 months since I was at the airport with my dad, listening to him rant about his treatment by the French on his visit to Paris ("I'm going to learn French and show those assholes!"). 13 months since I surrendered my cellphone to Eliza (and 12. 5 months since she dropped it in the toilet), 13 months since I shared one last cup of coffee in Clementine with Joey and L. Coco, closing an epic season of coffee shop adventures, 13 months since I saw so many friends and family, since I watched something stupid on MTV while I sunk ever deeper into the recliner, and 13 months since I had one last Chango's taco.

In those 13 months, I've kept pretty busy. I've crossed the Argentina-Chile border 7 times (but only once been harrassed to explain what the heck is a frisbee in front of all my co-travelers). I've learned and forgotten Chilean slang used nowhere else in the world. I've lived in 5 places and stayed for a while in plenty more. I've been invited to the table of people I barely know (a decision oft regretted once they saw how much this Loomis likes to eat). I've celebrated Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, my birthday, Saint Patrick's Day, 4th of July, Halloween and Thanksgiving, not to mention 25 de Mayo, Dia del Amigo and Dia de la Primavera. On plenty of those holidays, I've been homesick. I don't know the number of calls to the U.S., but it surely wasn't enough. I've taught approximately 350 English classes and a couple of cutting, gluing and coloring classes disguised as English classes. I've made wonderful friends from Argentina, Texas, Chile, Germany and Chicago, and one enemy from New Jersey. I've read 32 books, written 3 songs (weak, Joey, I know), and become a fan of 2 soap operas.

And now, on Thursday morning, after 13 months and 2 days with my feet in South America, I will step back onto American soil! And for as much as I've changed in this year, surely everything else has too. My dad probably has a few more gray hairs, my mom a few more highlights, my bro some new t-shirts and my sis a new boyfriend. Everybody's got new jobs and is living in houses I've never visited, there's a new president-elect and a Hey Cupcake! on Burnet Road.

It's been 13 months... and I am so ready for a visit home. Stock up the Honey Bunches of Oats, bean and cheese tacos and Nada Chicken subs, I'm on my way!

Thanksgiving!

Last Thursday, we celebrated Thanksgiving in the house! We somehow found a turkey, everyone brought salads, and, miracle of miracles, my first ever apple pie, made with highly approximate quantities of ingredients, was edible! (Note, not exactly the FIRST... attempt .5 was a pile of salty dust with apples on top). Although few people got into the whole go-in-a-circle-and-say-what-you´re-grateful-for, we did read aloud the history of Thanksgiving. This was necessary, since more than one Argentine celebrant insisted that the holiday commemorated the time that the Pilgrams killed and ate the Native Americans. I had to explain that the massacre of the native populations of the U.S. came AFTER the meal of brotherhood and harmony!

Mariachi Mujeres

The other three housemates in a card for Vicky´s birthday:

First Injured Student

I guess it was a rite of passage... On my last day of real classes at Hogwarts (next weeks it´s final exams and ceremonial stuff), in the last fifteen minutes of the last class, one of my eleven year old diablitos, also the daughter of my boss, pulled out the chair from under one of the sweeter, freckly boys in the class (in general the girls in this class are incredibly cruel to the boys), who fell and hit his neck on the chair. He was okay a little bit later, but what a fright! And here I am thinking that teaching in public school with giant classes, if that´s what I end up doing, will be a breeze! Yikes.