Santana, from Dresden, Germany, has nine years of formal training in ballet and is here for the travel adventure, to improve her Spanish, and master the Tango.
In a recent conversation with one of the female residents of Puerto Limon Hostel (not Santana pictured here) in which she was discussing various men in her life, she used the expression “un hombre completo” enthusiastically describing one of them. When I picked up on the interesting expression and asked for more details, she provided the following, but since a great deal of her answer was peppered with lively and animated facial and body language, I will fill in some of the blanks with my own words, not hers. Hopefully I will accurately convey the essence of what she shared with me.,
Apparently the expression is unique to Mexico and not necessarily the entire Latin American population, and originally was applied to bulls and horses as the essence of maleness: powerful and inspiring of both awe and respect. When the bull comes out of the gate at a bullfight, with his lethal horns, rippling and powerful shoulders, back, and hind legs, he is the personification of fight, attitude and yes, danger. As a collective the crowd sucks in their breath in anticipation of the impending confrontation between the bull and the mounted matador and horse with their own combined advantages of agility, speed, and cunning.
When “completo” is applied to a man, it is about the whole man, particularly as perceived by his female counterparts. It is about first impressions, a grand entrance that commands respect, the way he moves, his self-confidence, his touch, powerful but gentle; he is relaxed and elegant. He is beautiful to the eye, whether in a $5,000 designer suit or in jeans and
Hostel life can be a germination plateau for new ideas and directions.
A client of mine once said some people live their lives as if they were looking for a lost ball in tall grass. Watching people come and go at Puerto Limon Hostel in San Telmo barrio of Buenos Aires, Argentina over the course of the last month, I am inclined to agree. For those of you who are new to this conversation, I am a freelance writer who has come to Argentina to observe and write, first here in Buenos Aires, and eventually throughout South America. What is this continent all about? How does the Latin history, experience, and culture impact their thinking and choices? Argentina is a country built on immigrants, and they keep on coming. So let’s look at the diverse residents of Puerto Limon as a microcosm of Argentina itself.
I am going to divide the residents into two groups: those who live their life with purpose and those who do not. They can be millenials traveling on their parents money with $10,000 or more invested in their backpacks, cameras, and other totes. Or they can be surviving by working in the hostel for partial room and board. They may sport a PhD, or never graduated from high school. They can have an entry-level go-nowhere job or they can be experienced professionals who have been floored by one of life’s hard knocks, and deciding whether to get up or give up. Whatever their circumstances, all have a choice whether to focus or not, to act or not, to assume responsibility for the direction of their life or to wait for life to happen to them.
Talented Jorgia from Bahia, Brazil misses the action-orientation and passion of her home country.
One of the things I am enjoying about hostel life is that this place is a beehive of cross-pollination. What is heard here is unfiltered by teams of experts who determine what the public should or shouldn’t hear, or the politically correct interpretation that should be given to events or ideas under discussion. In a month’s time I have lost count of how many countries have been represented here, but I suspect it is close to two dozen or more. I am sometimes amused (and alternatively annoyed) when someone asks what are Argentines like, or what do they think of Americans, as if there is an Argentine mind or an American character. It is a common enough practice, but the following are excerpts from very individual (and sharp) minds culled from the noisy life of Puerto Limon hostel in San Telmo barrio of Buenos Aires. And they have opinions and experiences you may not have heard on CNN.
Are Argentines Passive?
Take Jorgia, for example, a former staffer pictured here, who went on to a teaching job somewhere. Jorgia is from Bahia, Brazil and when she completes her education here she intends to return to Brazil. Her mother tongue is Portuguese, but she also speaks Spanish and impeccably fluent English. She was a quick student as a child and she has adapted well here from all appearances. Jorgia says she gets a little homesick and she doesn’t like certain behaviors she considers common among Argentines. She feels they are too passive and gave as an example when riding on a city bus if the driver fails to stop at a scheduled location, indifferent to the people who have been standing patiently in line for the bus to stop, Jorgia says the people on the bus will say nothing, while back in her Brazilian community everyone on the bus would be yelling at the bus driver to stop; hey, didn’t you see the line back there?! The passengers wouldn’t let the bus driver get away with skipping a stop.
I had heard about the legendary pickpockets of Buenos Aires before I even left Florida. Supposedly they are some of the most skilled in the world, and indeed I was told they even held conventions and trade shows in Buenos Aires for their craft where they display and share the latest and best techniques for lifting purses and snatching cameras.On my third day I took a walking tour of San Telmo, and as I whipped out my $85.00 Blue-Light KMart Special camera to snap a shot, the guide quietly cautioned me to wrap my hand through the camera strap if I wanted to keep it. He said the pickpockets were known to drive by and snatch cameras loosely held right from your hand and drive quickly on.
Arlean, a 78-year-old expat, and the first I met on arrival in Buenos Aires, told me how she had her wallet and passport lifted from her purse on the subway shortly after her arrival, and it had cost her $100 to get her passport replaced. I was regaled with the story of how on the sidewalks one will come up behind you and drop bird poop on you and another accomplice will rush up to help you clean it up, while the first one beats a hasty retreat in the ensuing confusion–with your wallet in hand. I was told they often work in pairs and one will distract you, perhaps bumping into you on a crowded subway while another makes their move. Any purse, camera, or other valuable not firmly grasped by both hands, or with your arm firmly looped through the shoulder strap is at risk.
Determined not to be a victim to such predators, I quickly made an executive decision to leave my good Canon in its new case locked up in the hostel locker. If they were going to get my camera, they weren’t going to get my good one. I practiced holding my backpack on my back and then on the front of me, clutching it with both hands, with my arms crisscrossed over it in front of me. I watched other subway travelers and studied how they held their purses and bags and even cell phones. I had been told that electronic gadgetry fetched high prices on the street in Argentina and I fully expected to see pickpockets patrolling every subway car looking for careless passengers holding their smart phones loosely by open subway doors, making themselves targets for a grab-and-run.
I began to wonder what a typical pickpocket would look like? Would he be short, small, quick and nimble on his feet? And speaking of feet, I wondered what kind of sneakers he would wear. Would they be shabby, and his clothes likewise labeling him as part of Argentina’s underclass? Or would the really successful pickpockets be dressed to the nines, wearing designer jeans making a pointed statement about their many successes?
As with any big city, it is the people on the street that you meet that determine the quality of your experience. Hostel Puerto Limon makes you want to stay or come back to Buenos Aires again and again.
On the way to the Tampa airport I felt some vague discomfort in my right hip that grew progressively worse. I was traveling light, with only a backpack and camera case and nothing to check through. However by the time I hobbled from the parking lot to the ticket counter to check in, I knew I was in trouble. I struck up a conversation with an American Airlines staffer who had sensed that I was in pain, and told him it had just happened and I didn’t know what it was about, but I would need help to get through security. He got me a wheelchair and asked if I wanted him to call an ambulance, and I said no, I was going to Buenos Aires.
Only later did I realize what a golden opportunity was given me to turn back at the last minute and how different my life might have become. Sometimes life comes down to just a few moments, and this was perhaps one of them. Did I experience a moment of doubt? More than a few of them. I knew of course that many people younger than me had already replaced major joints such as knees and hips, and perhaps my time had come. How did a bad joint announce itself anyway? Like this, on the way to some airport? And if this is what was happening, what was I going to do once I got to Buenos Aires? Turn right around and come back for a hip replacement operation? And if I did that, what would the chances be that I would ever resume my path of expatriation and extended travel? Was I an absurdity, attempting such foolishness, and had I just been given a sure sign that I should give the whole thing up? Yes, I wondered, but not for too long. I was going to Buenos Aires and we would let the chips fall where they may.
I am a 67-year-old retired businessman who has been an accidental writer all his life, and who now devotes his swan-song years to freelance travel, food, wine and cultural writing. Recently I liquidated all of my belongings except my beloved books, downsized to a backpack, and bought a plane ticket to Buenos Aires, with a two-night reservation at a hostel recommended to me by my vagabonding daughter Allison, who stayed here last year. In my first week I applied for permanent residency to be followed by dual citizenship. I write these words on my laptop from its makeshift perch atop a decaying wooden speaker that is the perfect desktop height as I sit hunched forward in the worn and tattered vinyl overstuffed chair that is ridiculously comfortable—all this in the community room of Puerto Limon where life is just beginning to stir at 7:30 a.m. Argentina time. I am preparing for months of extended travel throughout Argentina and other parts of South America, to be closely followed next summer by more of the same in the Far North of the Arctic region. I chose the hostel method of accommodation because it fosters interaction with other guests from all parts of the world; it puts me close to where I will learn the most. I seek far more than the tourist experience.
What will you do about healthcare?
In the process of getting here, some difficult questions needed to be asked and answered. At my age of course, one of the first such questions is what will I do about health care? Coming from a North American culture obsessed with longevity and denial of the inevitable, this is, or should be, of paramount importance. What will be the quality of health care in a third world nation, what will it cost without the infrastructure and safety nets provided by the world’s most recent empire? My recent health care experiences in Port Richey, FL however, were a revelation.
I have been an accidental writer all my life, and I have been a traveler all my life, but I had never put the two together in a professional way until September 2014 when I attended the Ultimate Travel Writer’s Workshop in San Diego. The three-day event was sponsored and managed by Lori Allen and her team at Great Escape Publishing. The program was written by world adventurer, master copywriter, and Executive Editor of International Living magazine, Jennifer Stevens.
To a certain extent we are all defined by our fears, and my first fear attending this event was that I was going to be the oldest person in the room, surrounded by twenty-something millennials, all exuding boundless energy (and maybe hormones), in love with writing and willing to work for free in order to be called a writer. Maybe they would sneak glances at me and wonder what such a relic was doing there. You know, the way my grown kids look at me.
A Barnes and Noble media event with Kimberly Enlow. My neighbor and friend Kimberly Enlow is Community Business Development Manager at the local Barnes and Noble book store. So when she inquired if I would be interested in participating in a special event at the store, I didn’t think much about it. The event was a day-long public reading of Harper Lee’s classic novel To Kill a Mockingbird. Kimberly was endeavoring to recruit enough readers to read the 375-page book from start to finish in one long day; in my opinion an ambitious goal indeed. A wonderful novel, but it had been almost half a century since I had read it last.
There was a stalwart young lady named Katy on reading duty to an empty row of chairs for listeners when I arrived. As a show of support I sat down and listened, and in a few minutes picked up where Katy was at in the thread of the story. Kim showed up with a smile and a cup of B&N java. When it was time, I began my stint at the reading. I had heard of such readings happening in literary circles and book stores, but I had never participated. It had been years since I had done any reading to an audience, and that had been at a writing club where we each read portions of our own material for critique by other participants. I was not prepared for what happened next.
As I began reading, I quickly got caught up in the material and the events, and almost subliminally became aware of the skill of Harper Lee, who in 1960 managed to deliver social commentary, not as a dry polemic or as editorial lecture thinly disguised as broadcast news, as is so much in vogue today. Harper Lee didn’t preach or scold, but through the skilled use of narrative and dialogue of fictitious characters who came alive on the pages, she transported us to another time and another place to fully experience the pathos and humanity of the prejudices, loves, loyalties, and hatreds that can be found at any time and in any place. She opened our eyes and made us in turn laugh, cringe, experience shame, and even cry. There were pages and paragraphs where it was difficult to finish reading a sentence out loud. And through it all, somehow each of us managed to relive aspects of our own coming of age through a story that is essentially about two children who are learning about the world they live in.
When I paused at one point, there were a couple women standing nearby who had been listening. I noticed the slightest tremble in the voice of one of them when she said she just loved this book, and I could swear I saw tears held back with considerable effort. I understood because I had my own reasons for pretending to take a break.
For most of us, reading out loud requires considerable focus, at least if you are really into the story. It is difficult to even look up from the book without losing your place and momentum. As I sensed activity in our area of the store, but not willing to break concentration, you can imagine my surprise at what followed. You can watch it here.
Website designers and their clients often make for fractious and unhappy marriages. What is astonishing, given the frequent poor communications between designers and clients, is not the high rate of dissatisfaction with the experience, but that it is not even higher. A little knowledge and better preparation can go far to reducing the stress of creating a new website.
1. Designer vs developer
As a freelance writer with a primary focus on website content, I am writing this from the perspective of the client, the buyer of website design and development. I have worked with a variety of web designers, and each has been a learning experience. Let’s begin by defining terms. A web designer is what I would loosely refer to as “the front of the house”, meaning the person who is your primary contact for your website project. This person will probe your interests, goals, and ask lots of questions about any specifics you may have in mind, especially with regard to the “look” of your finished website. Your designer is essentially the sales person for the project, whether he is a sole operator or part of a team. The developer is what we will call “the back of the house.” This is a person who figures out how to construct the website so that it functions as it should. If the basic design or template that you are working with needs tweaked or customized, your developer will figure out how to do it and write the code. You may never meet your developer or even know his name. Think of your developer as the builder and your designer as the interior decorator. They may be staff employees of the same firm, or freelancers that work on a fee split of some type. It is important to understand that each of these professionals has a different focus when it comes to website creation, and there can be conflict between the two visions. The designer wants “pretty” and the developer wants efficiency and functionality. You may want both, but when compromises have to be made, you will most likely put more emphasis on one than the other. Or you may have no idea what you want, and are waiting for someone to tell you what your options are. This is usually where the problems begin. (more…)
With both online and social media communication, we have lost our way. We have forgotten that less is more.
Quantity has totally trumped quality. Social media dominated by commercial interests is no longer social, but just another technology pressed into the service of broadcast (or should I say bombast) media. Instead of being touched by the messages, we are bombarded by propaganda. Commerce has always been about selling, but seduced by technology, the volume has become so loud that it is virtually impossible to have an uninterrupted conversation. It is increasingly difficult to read a simple message of only a couple paragraphs without our screen being invaded by persistent banners, pop-up advertising and unprompted audio and video. We have become a mass population afflicted with attention-deficit disorder on steroids.
Personal Isolation is Growing
As a result, communication in the sense of gaining the trust and confidence of each other is atrophying and personal isolation is growing. Imagine being on a first date with someone you might be seriously interested in developing a relationship with, and over the course of dinner your conversation is continually interrupted by your guest sending and receiving messages on his/her smart phone. What is the message to you? ‘Please wait, this current interruption may be from someone more important than you and this dinner.’ This lends a very literal significance to the term instant gratification, where the party that interrupts achieves instant and often undeserved top priority. In the process, you have been devalued. (more…)
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