a week gone by

A week ago on this night I was drinking wine on the second story of a double decker bus from Buenos Aires to Bariloche. At this time exactly (it is around midnight) they attentive bus attendant was coming around with whiskey and champagne so as to put us to sleep. We were also all watching a very terrible movie starring Will Smith as a heroic single father who, against all odds, became an investment banker. The bus took twenty hours, and we stopped once. It is not like the buses we know. The seats turn into beds and they play American music videos from the 80´s and other films dubbed in spanish. I woke up after a good night of sleep and got to watch the sun rise over the Pampas rushing by.
I arrived in San Carlos de Bariloche the following day (last monday afternoon). it is an alpine town. A man was there with a sign, it had my name on it. I went with him in a little car with the windows shut up tight on account of the wind. I was hot and also very nervous. He took me to my new home. So let me tell you a bit about this new home, where I have spent the last week and will spend the next month:

This place (and I will not name it on account of privacy, internet search stuff) is a sort alpine, Gaucho-themed estancia resort. It is remarkably, breathtakingly beautiful; at the foot of a giant snowcapped peak and rolling verdant mountains intermixed with smaller craggy peaks. We are on the shore of a crystal clear blue lake. There is a a lovely giant garden with lavender and berries (it is rasberry season here). There are horses all around and wild ducks, pheasants and of course many chickens and some stupid dogs and wonderful mouse-catching barn cats. I live in the servants quarters with the girls. The girls are the other workers. If you have ever been to a very nice hotel and wondered who ironed your pillowcase, who turned down the comforter, who vacumed and swept and dusted all the things, that is me and the girls. I am one of the girls.
The guests are very demanding here. They come from all over to have a very contrived experience--horseback rides, boating trips, fishing trips, massages, guided treks, three meals a day, cocktail hour, afternoon tea, todo. The girls, my girls, don´t speak a word of spanish or if they do, it is usually less comprehensible than my spanish, which is saying a lot. The first few days were emotionally and physically draining beyond my greatest fears. So many new words, new names, new rules, new skills. I learned, in spanish, how to set a table with a million forks and knives and glasses. I learned all the words associated with cleaning. I learned that I understand less than I thought I did. More so, I learned so much about the English speaking guests. This is the interesting part of my job: while I am trying to understand what it is that gabi, xime, maria or mani want me to do in the kitchen, I am also fully understanding and thoroughly distracted by the forced conversations of our english speaking dining guests. They come here, pay a lot of money and then sit together at a large table to be served three meals a day, two of which (lunch and dinner) are three courses. Lots of gamey meats and sweet sauces and lots and lots of wine. THey are disgusting a lot of them while others seem deserving of a second look. From now on, you will hear about them if I deem them worthy of your time.
But besides the guests, the girls (some of whom I am befriending in sweet ways), the cleaning, serving, shining of wine glasses and china, the fancy folding of napkins, etc. Besides all of that, I am hiking up in the mountain, swimming in the clear lake, boating, and picking fruits and vegetables from the garden. Today, for example, I hiked high up into the mountain, under a waterfall and then sweaty and tired, dove into the lake for a swim--all this between three course lunch and cocktail hour. I sleep like a rock and the roosters wake me when It is time to wake up.