Brushfire Fairytales and bodegas

First of all, before I forget again, (sorry Heather and Deo, I know you asked a long time ago), I have a mailing address. It is:




Margaret McCarron
San Martin 948 1º
(C1004AAS) Buenos Aires
Argentina

This is the address of COPA where I will be at least once a week so I will get anything you send me. You know, postcards, letters, packages, Cheez-its, messages in bottles (so long as they are properly addresses with correct postage obviously), love letters, or magazine clippings. Well, customs might eat the Cheez-its...

I am trying to go by Margaret down here because it is easier to understand upon initial introductions and just for kicks and giggles to see if I like it. It is a lot harder than I thought though. Answering the phone, realizing when someone is talking to me, introducing myself, everything takes an extra second of thought to get it right. This combined with having to speak and listen in a second language all day is exhausting. I have so much more sympathy for my friends who speak English as a second language. (Urvashi, Domi, please tell me it gets easier? :-D)

Wine, vino, whatever you want to call it, I didn't like it. I just wasn't a wine person. In fact, I was actually somewhat opposed to drinking it. That was before I encountered Argentine wine. I am now working on developing enough knowledge to be sufficiently pretentious when drinking wine back in the States. For example, I know understand the difference between a Malbec and a Cab Sauv (snobby wino slang, I love it); they are different kinds of grapes. Who knew! And apparently Argentina is like heaven for the Malbec grape, which results in some pretty fabulous wines. This I can attest to. I would recommend the Newen Malbec from bodega del fin del mundo, a new vineyard at "the end of the world" in Patagonia. It's better if you say it with your head tilted slightly back and to the side displaying your fabulous bone structure and flawless taste all in one.

In just under two weeks I have come to appreciate wine as well as something else (much more surprising) that I used to detest... moustaches. That is not to say that I think all men should grow moustaches, heavens no. Only that my time here in Buenos Aires has exposed me to the range of possibilities implied by the word. For example, I have come to firmly believe that if you are a man along the lines of Clark Gable and can pull of a three piece suit, a cigar, and a coffee the size of the tea-party cups of my youth at 10:00 a.m., then by God man, grow a moustache! However, if you happen to be at the blonder end of the spectrum (a la Paul Newman or Owen Wilson) you should stick to the all or nothing approach to facial hair. It is very nearly impossible for a blonde man to grow a moustache without looking like a misogynist wanna-be cowboy or, alternatively, a porn star circa 1970. Neither is a look that I would recommend. Fortunately for porteños (and porteñas!), about 96% of them sport hair that is Brylcreemed to a shiny black or going a distinguished salt and pepper before reaching Richard Gere silver. And moustaches abound.

p.s. the photo is of me and Avigail in a restaurant in Plaza Cerrano, about a 15 min. walk from my apartment, fabulous! And the Brushfire Fairytales is because they were playing Jack Johnson while we ate enormous steaks and provoleta (grilled cheese, yum!) with the program coordinators tonight. Again, fabulous!