I spent the first day exploring the areas closest to my hotel and checking out the Feria de Tristán Narvaja (Tristán Narvaja Fair), a huge street market held every Sunday where they sell everything from live turkeys to Nintendo 64 consoles and games. I felt bad for the birds kept in tiny cages. That just ain’t right.

The next day I took a guided tour to Punta del Este, a resort town located about 140 km east of Montevideo. I almost missed the tour because I had fallen asleep while watching TV the night before, so I didn’t set my alarm. The tour guide called my room at 8:30 a.m., and I told her I wasn’t going because I didn’t think fifteen minutes was enough time to get ready. After hanging up and thinking for a minute, I changed my mind because there was no way I was gonna miss the opportunity of seeing the famous Punta del Este everyone talks about in Buenos Aires. Basically, I just brushed my teeth and did wudu and washed my hair. I normally don’t go out without showering, so I felt a bit dirty. If she hadn’t called, I would’ve surely missed the tour.

The tour guide asked me if I was Brazilian when we were on the phone. If I got a peso for every time somebody asked me that, I’d be a very rich man. My hotel was filled with Brazilians, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t sound like them…

Anyway, Punta del Este is super expensive. It was essentially made as a beach playground for Argentina’s rich. I spent $20 for lunch, something I rarely, rarely do in this part of the world.

Oh, after spending a long day exploring Montevideo on Tuesday, I got robbed by a group of four boys on the bank of the Río de la Plata. I was tired and wanted to relax for a bit by watching the waves from the estuary before leaving for Buenos Aires that night. I picked a nice, quiet area underneath a palm tree, far away from other people and the highway. Because of its isolation, I thought about the risk of sitting there, but I did it anyway. After eating an alfajor and taking several pictures of myself, I saw a group of boys that appeared to be around 15 or 16 years old walk in my direction. A few minutes later, they sat around me and began to ask me questions. They started off by asking me if I wanted a smoke. After declining, they asked where I was from. I lied and said Bangladesh; if I had said the US, they probably would’ve thought I was loaded with cash. I figured they had never heard of Bangladesh, so I told them it was by India–one of the boys asked me if I was meditating. One of them asked me if I worked, and I told him I study but teach English part time. They acted like they wanted to practice speaking English with me. A few seconds later, one of them says this to me: “Listen to me, negro (pronounced nay-gro; usually refers to those of black African descent, but the word is often used in Argentina and Uruguay to refer to all darker skinned people). ¿Sabés que es un nueve milímetro? (Do you know what a nine millimeter is?)” At that point, I knew they wanted to rob me. I told them they could have everything, but they “just” took my camera, cell phone, and about $100 in US dollars and Argentine and Uruguayan pesos. One of the kids wanted my backpack, but his buddy told him not to take it. Luckily, they didn’t take my passport and debit card. If they had, I would’ve been screwed. Before leaving, they told me not to turn around because they said their friends were waiting in the distance and would shoot me if I did. I knew it was BS, but I didn’t want to take a risk. I sat there for half an hour more and didn’t turn around.

(more…)

This happened less than a hundred meters away from my apartment building.

I didn’t hear any shots, but my host mom told me what had occurred after she returned from grocery shopping.

After watching the news coverage of the event, I was tempted to walk to the scene to see the hullabaloo and take pictures. I decided against that because I thought that was pretty low of me to even think of looking for the covered body so that I could have some interesting visuals for this post.

More than eight hours later, the streets are unblocked, and everything is back to normal.

While I’m still on the topic of death, a young man in his late 20s that lived next door passed away a few days ago after a long bout of testicular cancer. I never saw him, but my host mom told me how he lost 40 kilos over the past year and a half due to his illness and suffered greatly.

Hopefully he’s in a better place.

To reflect this rise of women in what has traditionally been a male-dominated region, several countries sent women to represent them at the inauguration ceremony in the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires.

Among them were the US Labour Secretary, Elaine Chao, Mexican Foreign Minister Patricia Espinosa Cantellano and the Governor General of Canada, Michaelle Jean.

The irony is that political analysts in Argentina say that the new president prefers working with men. (BBC)

I tried watching the ceremony on TV, but my elderly host mom kept drowning out Cristina’s speech by commenting how nasty the new president looks. I had to agree with her; why the frick does she put on so much eyeliner? Ewww. The combination of Botoxed wrinkly skin and makeup is not pleasant.

Once Friday hits, Insha’Allah, I’ll be totally done with my exams and papers for the semester. And after that? Grad school applications and hopefully a trip down to the Dirty South, which in this case means southern Argentina.

How weird is it to run into a pair of Pakistani Americans from California when waiting in line at an ice cream shop in Buenos Aires with another desi from the US? It’s so odd to run into your “own kind” in such a random place. I mean, I see plenty of white Americans around here, but I’m totally not used to meeting other brown people with American accents in Argentina. Ah, the joys of living in the South Asian diaspora.

I can’t get the following songs out of my head:

And one of the thousand Spanglish covers spawned by the original:

Okay, back to studying.