Hola gente linda,
As most of you know, I've had a really disheartening few weeks. I was sick, first with pharyngitis, then with a yeast infection and fever caused by the antibiotics, and a cold. I exhausted myself walking all around the city checking out options for rooms I could rent. The two housemates I'd been hanging out with a lot went on vacation, and things got really passive-aggressive and tense between Pierre (the one that stayed) and I. Luckily, though, this weekend everything has started looking up.
On the same day I had to move out from my old place, I confirmed my decision to move into a little apartment by the Obelisco. I share a room with a nice Dominican girl named June, who has decorated the place adorably. Medicine and sleep has made me feel much better. And last night I had an amazing time at Noche en Vela, a government-sponsored night full of great artistic and cultural events.
I saw the Moscow Symphonic Orquestra; La Clave, an Uruguayan murga (a traditional show with clowns and political songs which I've wanted to see for months), a great Hebrew band called Babel Orkesta, and a tango show.
The murga was everything I'd expected. All of the singers wore white face paint and bright, ruffled costumes (like jesters), and the background music was all drums and brass. The theme of the show I saw was Hells. One song was about living with a mother-in-law, another about twisted fairy-tales, and another about the army and Church trying to erase or "fix" homosexuality. I love Uruguay and everything Uruguayan! I can't wait to take another trip there in three months.
The Babel Orkesta was amazing, too. I loved the sharp, passionate oboe music and the Hebrew-style dancing. People danced in circles with their arms linked, switched partners, and made bridges for other couples to walk under with their hands. It was a gran fiesta!
The tango show was a nice, tranqui (peaceful) way to end the night. I liked the 1940's music and cheesy elderly announcer. My favorite act was two women dancing. It's a different dynamic and seems like a completely different dance.
This is one of the public hospitals I went to: el Hospital de Clínicas. The building is monolithic and reminds me of the dystopian, industrial scenes of George Orwell's 1984 and the film "Metropolis." Inside, the hospital is full of long, empty hallways with paint chipping off the walls, hanging on like skin-flaps. Open doorways lead to empty rooms and to rooms full of long-unoccupied, 1950's-style examining chairs. The rows of chairs behind glass screens and speakerphones are all empty, too. In front of them (pictured here) is a sculpture of what seems to be two old men, one attacking the other, and one pointing at the audience with a finger of blame. The only people in sight sit on benches lined up like pews at the end of each long corridor: sick people waiting for their numbers to be called. The children lie down and fidget with their hands or cry. The adults stare ahead, sometimes coughing, sometimes glancing at their watch. The lights don't flicker, but are consistently dim.
After forty minutes of waiting and not hearing a single name called, I decided to check out a nearby private hospital that my housemate had recommended, el Hospital Alemán. Its rooms are all modern and bright, with lots of smiling professionals in sight. But... there was a long wait at the private hospital, too, and consultations with specialists cost 100 US dollars, as opposed to the 3 US dollars a consultation at the public hospital costs. So I ate some sandwiches de miga (crustless sandwiches with ham and eggs/tomatoes/cheese) and went back.
I saw the doctor, who said that my fever was caused not by an ear infection or cold (which I'd suspected), but by the yeast infection I'd gotten from the antibiotics I'd taken to cure my pharyngitis, and that I'd have to go to yet another doctor: a gynecologist.
Today I found a public hospital with gynecology (equally ugly, though not as empty and huge) in a historic building on Las Heras Avenue. Consultations there are free. Three homeless people sleep on the floor of the consultation room (there are only about 10 chairs there, 30 people waiting in a line). After a half hour of waiting, the two men in the front of the line banged their arms against the counter until someone came and wrote all of our names down on a list. Fifteen minutes later we were all attended. The doctor prescribed me medicine (which has already helped a lot) and said that my Spanish is great.
Thanks again, everyone, for making me feel better these weeks!
Besos!
Kaeli
