Fish Paste, Socrates and Hall & Oates

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"God is energy" says the woman opposite me. Her eyes widen. I don´t know whether she´s being comically dramatic or whether, if I let out a little puff of chuckle, she´ll break my skull on the fish paste bowl in front of me. Either way, I smile and nod.
I am sitting in the dining room of Marcello´s mother´s house. Next to me is Marcello´s brother, who speaks near perfect English. I kind of want to ask him what´s going on, and whether I´m about to be killed and eaten. But he´s listening, straight-faced, to his mother. I slowly and discreetly move my hand towards my fork in case she strikes. Eating with us, we have Luisina (the femaley-half of the dynamic duo who have taken me into their abode), Marcello´s grandmother; a 95-year old wit who´s a whizz with the knitting needles, and Luisina´s mum, who owns and operates the foremost bicycle shop in all San Luis. Quite a group.
Marcello´s mother points to the lightbulb above us, "How is that light shining, for instance? (paraphrased from Spanish) I reply in English so Marcello´s brother can translate.
"Well, I know the scientific explanation. An electric current passes into the small metallic filament in the centre of the bulb, exciting the molecules and producing heat and photons (what we call light). The size of the current passing through the filament is directly proportional to the degree of light and heat produced." I don´t want to sound arrogant in any way, but that was a good answer: articulate, confident and backed by empirical method. I totally owned her argument… What they didn´t know though, was that the night before, by sheer coincidence I had happened upon the wikipedia page for lightbulbs. What I was doing there, I do not know. I really do not know.

It seems that with every group I´m with in San Luis, the subject of my religion comes up. You see, in Argentina, and indeed this can be said for all of South America; there is ONLY Catholicism. I often stress that my family is of Irish Catholic background to see if it garners me any respite from the questions or the strange looks. They are all in good humour though- I can´t say anyone here is patently disgusted by my lack of holiness; at least it doesn´t show. When someone here asks me what my religion is, I answer in the following way; “I abide by the Socratic principle.” I say this partly hoping they will shrug, walk away and won´t ask me to elaborate.
But here, because you all love me so much, you won´t judge me for knowing this useless little historical titbit. There´s a famous story about Socrates- when asked why the Oracle at Delphi (most likely some drugged up teenage girl) had named him the wisest of all Greeks, he replied, “Because I know I know nothing.” If this was true of Socrates, of course, he was also the greatest self-publicist of all Greeks, but it was likely he was just being humble for the sake of being seen to be humble. Whereas I, I KNOW I know nothing- thus I am agnostic. Neither here nor there. Straight down the middle.
I acknowledge this has gotten a little off topic, but I know people in San Luis read this blog too, so this is just to clarify what I am. (The Devil?) “Ho ho ho (rubs belly), no, just an agnostic!”

Another question I often get asked here is, “what music do you listen to?” With the additional, “Do you listen to cumbia?” Cumbia is a genre of music that I would say is best defined to the Westerner as “that typical default Latino stuff they play in L.A.” I don´t have any better words to describe it. To be honest, if it weren´t for the awful conditions of my introduction to Cumbia, I might even like it; while I was staying in Nahuel´s house, I was to be awoken loudly on weekends by a strange whirring sound, and then a crash of heavy drumbeat. I covered my head with my pillow, but all I could hear was a reverberating cacophonic blare and the words “Mi amo!” This, I was told, was “Cumbia musica”, and ever since I have recoiled sharply at the very mention of it. So would I think differently if I first heard it elsewhere? Well, no, because Cumbia music is ONLY played loudly outside someone´s bedroom window. That is literally the only location people play it besides their Ford trucks or American muscle cars. No, weirdly, for about two weeks, all I´ve been listening to is Daryl Hall and John Oates… A word about Hall & Oates; how good are they?! My God, every song I click on is better than the last! Do we even need other bands?
So, I´d just like to do a shout out to Hall & Oates, gods amongst men, and thank them for getting me through some tough days- or perhaps they caused them due to my overt concentration on their songs instead of what I was doing… So Hall & Oates, booo.. But yay! 😊

Marcello comes to the computer while I´m writing this and asks me about the possibility of emigration to some other country. He asks whether I know what his options are. “Well, I think it´s a big step dude. Your first action I suppose would be to make Kimberly-Clark (his company) aware that you are thinking of emigrating, and discerning whether there is a possibility of being transferred to either a Kimberly-Clark factory abroad or one of K-C.´S oversea acquisitions; that is if you want job security when you arrive. But if there´s also the question of Luisina´s career and whether the move will be suitable to her goals and aspirations.” I think I just blagged my way through a counseling session. I go back to eating my coco pops and watching cartoons on the net. He really needs someone more qualified… Luisina is another one who brings me into her work affairs; I was waiting to go to the Institute the other day when she invites me in to one of her patient´s cubicles (she´s a physiotherapist) where an old, grumpy looking man was sat on the bed with his trousers rolled up. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but he kept trying to draw me into an aggressive, one-sided conversation. “Who are you?” “Why do you speak English?!” “Por que no hablo castellano (spanish)? Huh, POR QUE!?” (Oh, I can speak Spanish, I just don´t want to speak Spanish to you.)

I suppose some of you who read last week´s blog have been wondering what happened to my date with the Celeste girl I met at the nightclub… Well, like all good cricket matches, the suspense was held by the onset of rain; a deluge in fact. Yes, a giant thunderstorm put off the first attempt, but the second went more smoothly. That is the attempt, and not the date itself. Firstly, remember that she can´t speak any English (well, she knew the word “five”, but I think that´s all) and although my Spanish got a few conversations started, I could barely make out any of her responses due to a weird Poetoro de los Funes accent that I was unfamiliar with. The cinema we were supposed to go to was closed. So were all the shops. No one had change for a hundred pesos so we couldn´t go on any more than one arcade game. So we just walked around with each other, dictionaries and phrasebooks in hand. After a while we sat down in a cafeteria and she tried to have a serious talk with me. Through her accent I could understand the gist of it; “I like you a lot, but things are a little complicated- I´m a mother, I have a daughter called Jasmine.” (My mind took the brunt of the astonishment while my mouth said, “Oh, Jasmine´s a lovely name…”) Celeste is only 22, but thinking about it, I know alot of fairly young mothers around San Luis. She showed me some pictures and we had a laugh about the fact I was dating a mother for the first time. I like Celeste, she´s a really sweet, nice girl, and to be honest the fact that she was a mother didn´t bother me, it was just the low level of communication that was available to us, and I didn´t think it would be fair to start anything when I´m only here for two more months, especially when there´s a kid involved. We decided to just be friends. But I can´t help thinking back to the thunderstorm; was it a warning? A sign that things wouldn´t work out? Should I have faith in God? Nah, it was raining for everyone else too...

So, that was my week… The serious and the not-so-serious, the ups and the downs, and the Halls and Oates.

Chow for now,

Love,

FarawayFrank

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Comments

[Sandeep Marwaha]

BAGALAGALAGA
And there was me thinking you were dead. Looks like you're having an awesome time dude. Stay safe, and I'll follow you.