Ropa sucia se lava en casa

Pete thinks I should share more about our challenges. He says it’s more authentic and that putting our dirty laundry out there will increase readership.


I mentioned the berrinches (tantrums) in an earlier post. They seem to be more frequent and more intense in the last two weeks. They happen—often with no known provocation—on the street, at the grocery store, in restaurants, and in The Room, where Pete and I worry about eviction. It is embarrassing, time-consuming, exhausting, and worrying. We hope that Lou is going through a normal developmental stage, possibly exacerbated by our move.

Food is frustrating. Our attempts at making spaghetti sauce, vegetable soup, and black bean soup served with a gluey mass of white rice were lackluster at best. Pete was eager to try a Mexican restaurant that advertised “Owned by Mexicans,” but Luciana told us the food is not like real Mexican food. And how could it be? Less than one month in I am bitter about American cheese slices sold as “Cheddar queso” and I have already sacrificed our hand-carried example of Minnesota culture to make wild rice soup, for myself.

Living in one room is difficult. I feel like I’m developing a tolerance for it and Pete feels like he’s developing an ulcer. In two weeks we plan to go to Chile and renew our Argentina entry permits, and then we’ll move into what we call Bungalow Belgrano, a guest house with two rooms and a tiny patio and yard.


Tonight I am at La Esquina (The Corner), a bar and restaurant with sweet Wi-Fi and a friendly atmosphere. I’m sitting at the bar with a chop, or draft beer, and a dish of Spanish peanuts. Peanuts without skins are described as “pelado,” which can mean peeled, shaved or bald.

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