Pelons

(Conversated in Spanish but written in English for your [and my] sanity).

"Hi. Can I have the fruit outside? Look." I turned around and walked outside with the man at my heels. "This fruit. How do you say this? Nectarina?" I pointed at the plump redish yellow swirled nectarines sitting in the stand outside the market. The man hinted at a smile in the left corner of his mouth.
   "Pelon." I looked at him quizzically. He seriously tried to suppress the growing grin.
   "Oh."
   "How many?"
   "Four." I watched as he carefully picked four of the fruits for me. It's different here because you tell them what fruit you want and they pick it for you rather then bringing it to the counter yourself. I could tell he was picking the very best ones as he examined each of them before clutching them to his chest. It's a gamble here. As a foreigner I'm either treated like scum or a goddess. I like the goddess days. We walked back inside and he started to weigh my fruit.
   "28 pesos." I started digging through my backpack, paused, then pointed to the fruit sitting on the scale.
   "How do you say that again?" The skin between his eyebrows wrinkled.
   "28 pesos?"
   "No, the fruit." His glimmer of a smile returned.
   "Pelon."
   "Pelon" I whispered to myself. He watched me for a few seconds.
   "Where are you from?" He answered before I did. "The United States?" I looked down and laughed. His smirk turned into fret. "No?" I looked back at him as he bagged my fruit in a blue and white striped plastic bag.
   "Is it obvious?" He grinned again. The bag wrinkled and a car honked outside.
   "Thank you, sir." I smiled at his eyes and walked back out the door.

I looked up how to say Nectarine when I got back to my apartment. It's Nectarina.

I'm impressed if you've made it this far through my blog. I just wrote about buying Nectarines at a fruit stand. But my point is that Argentina is interesting because it is so different from any other Latin American country I've been to. It almost has its own vocabulary, and the accent is so different. They even call their language different: Castellano. I feel bad for the new students who just arrived this semester. They were sitting in class like a deer in the headlights. Argentinians pronounce the double ll's as sh instead of y. For example pollo is pronounced po-sh-o and ella is e-sh-a. So are the y's. So playa is pla-sh-a. I think that's why no one can pronounce my name. They say it like it's a magic potion or something with the way they sound it out. Here's a link if you're interested further ---> https://www.travelblog.org/South-America/Argentina/blog-195247.html

I've never felt like I have had a city before. I grew up in something like a town on the coast and I study twenty minutes from LA. But I feel like this city is becoming my own. It is taking my heart little piece by piece. Today I wanted to visit a thrift shop, so I looked one up online that looked decent and started walking. I walked for 45 minutes to find that it was closed. I looked through the window at the gaudy 80s jewelry lined up on tables and wasn't too disappointed. So I started walking back, and that's when I passed the Nectarines. They were too plump and available to resist. My 90 minute walk for them was worth it. But I love those nectarines. And I love that this city smells like cigarette smoke and that the apartments have old metal keys and locks and elevator doors. I know the sidewalks and which tiles are loose and will splash you if you step on them in the rain.

That's it. My heart fluttered when I flew back into BsAs after traveling for Christmas break. I thought that deserved a post.