Strange days.
Last week we stopped by a pediatrician’s office. The doctor, who was recommended by Mateo – our friend, who hooked us up with the apartment and very helpful with many things, was simply awesome! Lovely lady who spoke a perfect English, was genuinely in love with kids, no rush, no conveyor. Simple and genuine care, conversation, questions – just perfect. Would love to have her in Alpharetta. The waiting room had a few moms and kids. Toys, tables, chairs – the usual waiting room (although the office seemed to be in a former apartment, but I could be wrong). There was an alphabet hanging from the wall in front of us and Louisa confirmed with me that the letter W had the explanation that she was seeing. Yeap, it was. W – Whisky. For Spanish novices Whisky is Spanish for Whiskey:
(why not V – Vodka, B – Bourbon and G – Gin, beats me). PS Actually, I understand why not Gin – not for kids. A – Absinthe?
Ballerinas on the road in busy intersections. With photographer using a very amateur, point-shoot camera:
On the other hand, look at what happened at Chicago: http://tech.fortune.cnn.com/
I mentioned in my very first post about Luis. He was the friendly gentleman, who picked us up from the airport. Sweetest man. Well, he’s our building’s portero. Portero here is something like the super/security/mailman/garbageman/and-everything-else-in-the-building. So, we became quiet close. As close as one can get with another person who doesn’t speak a word of the other person language. Always smiling. Uber-warm personality. Sometimes we’ll drop off (he’s on the ground floor, we’re on the 2nd – British way second – actual second floor that third in US) some Armenian food or pizza/empanadas that we order for him. He’ll drop-off a bottle of vino next morning. Yesterday, we picked up a souvenir for him from the mercado (antique-flea market): antique-y looking marble ashtray (?) that had ‘Luis’ inscribed on it and a small payaso (clown) that Andrei wanted to get for him. As we walked in to the building, he opened his door (to get to our floor, we can take one of two elevators, which Andrei really loves, because they have two doors that you have to manually close) or a spiral/circular stairway that goes in front of the apartment doors entrance – I know makes no sense – it’s not 4AM yet). As we got to the stairway, called us to his apartment and told us (I think) that he’s watching his favorite team play futbol on TV. Then he showed me the portrait of him and young Maradona. There was another portrait of him and his futbol club star, but I don’t remember player’s name. Well, little we knew, but Maradona (you know, the real Diego, not from Dora) lived in this very building for years. On the 6th floor. Apartment 6A – exactly 4 floors above us. Luis was telling us that he listened to him play his guitar (that was triggered by me carrying my father’s day guitar gift from my family to me – antique /read: old – something I wanted to play for a little and if I need to leave it here – no hard feelings/ Argentinian guitar in a very old and very leather case). I snapped a photo of him and Maradona and then Andrei snapped a photo of us.
So, from now on, I’ll tell our Argentina trip story kinda like this: ‘Well, we lived in same building with Maradona…’
Dogs here are just “kind” (is that a right word to describe a dog?). They’re kind of “deballed”, so to speak. They’re very nice, polite (except those toilet needs), but they don’t bark much, they run around a lot of times without leash, but they don’t run away, don’t jump on people, don’t bite, don’t even acknowledge other people pass by them (Kobe, are you reading this?!) Must be the side effect of Argentinian best beef in the world?
this bunch was just relaxing. Perhaps they walker needed a bathroom break?
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