So what’s the next best thing? Cooking my own steak.
Wednesday and Thursdays are cheap meat days at the nearby Carrefour. They gave me a discount coupon with a value 30% of the price of the meat I bought today. I guess this means I’ll have steak again soon with the coupon.
Cooking steak in a hostel kitchen is easy
When I bought the meat, the three pieces in the A$20 (S$5) pack didn’t look that much. But it looked a lot bigger as I seasoned them with salt. A dorm mate even asked, “Are you having all three now?” Indeed, I am.
I cooked them in batches since the frying pan was a little too tiny to host all three of the meat. They turned out medium rare and were bleeding profusely when I sat them for 10 minutes.
Eating steak in a hostel kitchen is even easier
While it was great stuffing my face with steak, the cut that I bought wasn’t that tasty. (Do you think I’ll admit that my cooking is bad. Of course not.)
Next time, I’ll buy a better cut and see how it goes.
Until next meal!
Have you cooked in a hostel before? What’s your best dish?
Today was one of the most uneventful day of my time in Buenos Aires. The school didn’t have any after school activities and I had to finish my transit visa application for the US.
Even though it was the third day of Spanish class, it felt like I’ve been doing this for a long time. It’s probably because having 3-hour lessons at a go isn’t very healthy but time does fly when we’re in class.
After class, I popped into one of the supposed “All-You-Can-Eat” places. It turned out to be a Chinese place and sold food by weight.
I picked some of the lighter food: chicken parts with less bones, squid and fried rice. This whole plastic bowl of food was for A$22 (~S$5.50).
It’s not that cheap when compared to Chinese food back home. But here in Argentina where a cheap steak meal would set you back A$45, it’s kind of a miracle that you can find something filling at this price.
Chinese food in Buenos Aires
The side dishes were quite alright and were quite authentic Chinese cooking. However, the fried rice was a little on the tough side. Maybe Argentinians are more used to not fully cooked rice.
After lunch, I continued filling in the online form for my US visa. There were pages and pages of spaces to fill in. My page kept logging itself out, claiming I had not saved the form for 20 minutes. I had to clear my cache before everything went back to normal.
After I had done the online form, there was still payment of my US$160 visa fee. It was either a choice of paying by cash at the branches of two different banks or paying by credit card.
The only catch for the credit card payment was that it required a 20% charge on top of the transaction due to some rule set by the Argentinian government.
So that makes paying by cash the only option for me. By the time I was done, it was past 3:30pm. I hurriedly packed my things, hoping that I could find one of the Rapigogo branches and pay my fee fast.
Off to pay my visa fee
I set the bank on my Google Map and went off to find it. I assumed that it would be a large bank but it turned out to be something that was smaller than a post office.
At that time, I didn’t have the A$880+ on me. I was terrified of being robbed so I didn’t want to withdraw money before I know where the bank was.
Unfortunately, all the ATMs I went to that were near the Rapigogo branch couldn’t give me the money I want. I decided that I would make the payment tomorrow.
On my way back, I got a few groceries from Carrefour, including two cans of cheap corn in cream. The can turned out to be a hell lot more cream than corn.
Dinner was still brocolli soup but with a can of terrible corn. I also learned the hard way that I should not wash pasta before cooking it. (I assumed it was like rice and need a good rinse.)
[This is Part II of Jun 11. In Part I, I went to La Boca.]
The receptionist at the hostel convinced me to go to a tango lesson and show as it was “cheap Tuesday”.
Everything was A$320 (~S$80), including transportation to and from the hostel, one lesson, a 3-course meal, unlimited drinks and a good show.
My heart did bleed a little when I handed over my A$320. That’s one third of the maximum amount I can withdraw from the ATM at a go. This meant that I will probably need to visit the ATM soon.
My classmate C joined the lesson + show as well, signing up with my hostel. She heard that her hostel was selling a similar package but at A$500.
Pick up to Complejo Tango
My receptionist said the shuttle bus would come at 6:45pm to pick us up. It wasn’t until well past 7pm that the bus actually came.
The bus was half full with very excited girls. Where are all the boys?? [I overheard in my dorm the next day that the guys went to a lesson/show with more guys than girls. Maybe I should have signed up for that.]
When we reached Complejo Tango, we were all sheparded onto a narrow staircase and went one floor up to reach the medium-sized dance studio.
Complejo Tango dance studio
It took a while for the rest of the people to come and for the class to start. Our instructor was Alejandro, a name I will never forget because of Lady Gaga.
Since there were more females than males, some girls had to go to the boy’s side to learn their steps. I manage to hide away at the girl’s side because the boy’s supposed to lead.
Our lesson was short and sweet with lots of footwork. In between, we had to find partners to dance and it was rather awkward. Still, it was a nice break from all the sightseeing and Spanish learning.
Food
Complejo Tango stage
After our class, it was dinner time. Our tables were set in a hall that had a stage in the center, against the wall.
I shared a table with my classmates, dorm mates and a lady from Sydney. Our table wasn’t very near the stage but it was a nice distance.
For my three-course meal, I chose empanada for appetizer, steak cooked raw for my main and a creme caramel for dessert.
Since it was a all-you-can-drink, the waitress plonked down three bottles of wine to be shared about the five of us.
The meal was good, although my steak could use a bit more searing to get the fat crispy. (Oh, crispy fat on steak…)
The show started after the main and before dessert…
The show must go on
Surprisingly, there were storylines to the show. In the first one, a man–our instructor Alejandro–kept stabbing the wall where his shadow was. Then his pals came out.
The ladies did come out in the end and that’s when the show got exciting. One of the ladies looked very much like Melisandre with the same sexy red dress but hair that is more copper than red.
El tango
In between the storylined dances, an elderly man would pop up and sing. He would then disappear and appear in the storyline as The Elderly Gentleman with Great Seduction Skills, or something like that.
The length of the show was great. It didn’t feel too long or too short.
Around the end, some of the girls were drunk on their all-you-can-drink and were very boisterous. They continued being happily loud on the shuttle bus back.
I would recommend going for tango lesson + show as this if you don’t dance. It’s a great way to learn a bit about the dance and you get a certificate at the end.
Have you seen a tango show? Which part did you like best?
This morning, I had my first taste of dulce de leche. I had been avoiding it because it came in a box that didn’t look very sanitary.
But I decided to give it a try after Macarena said a restaurant serves very good dulce de leche pasty.
Dulce de leche is a jam-like substance that is muddy brown but tastes of milky caramel. It’s quite nice as a bread spread but between you and I, kaya is much better.
Class went well, we learned how to talk about the weather which is very useful as small talk.
La Boca
Same as yesterday, there was an after-school activity. Today’s event was a trip to La Boca.
Our guide was still Macarena. This time, we were given a sheet of paper with explanation of different important sites in La Boca. The whole sheet was in Spanish. Gulp.
Macarena was around to help with deciphering the sheet. It’s good that I didn’t visit La Boca on my own because I wouldn’t have known the significance of important buildings.
We started at the pier. The water was muddy and didn’t smell so good. On the pavement, there were chalk-drawn games.
One of the games was this box jumping game. Back in Malaysia, we call it 跳飞机(Translation: Jumping from [or is it on] airplanes).
There was also a gigantic tic tac toe which requires people to stand in the little circles. It reminded me of Hogwart’s gigantic chess pieces.
Our tour involved walking into one small lane, being stopped by touts to go sit in their coffee shops, looking at tango shows for tourists and lots of listening.
One surprising thing was that one of the coffee place touts managed to figure out where I was from. It started out with the usual calls of “Ni hao. Annyeong hasseyo” which I ignore.
Suddenly, the guy said, “Malaysia.” I stopped in my tracks, turned to him to give him a thumbs up and a “Muy bien!”
He proceeded to explain why he said Malaysia. “No ‘ni hao’. No ‘annyeong’. No ‘konnichiwa’. Is Malaysia.”
OK. That’s a good deduction, I suppose.
Bit of history of La Boca
I’m terrible at recounting history so if you want a proper version, Wikitravel La Boca will be great help.
La Boca used to be the living area of immigrants who found work at the shipyard. They built their houses using left over materials from the boats. The colorful walls were the result of using leftover paint from ship.
Writers and painted moved to La Boca, probably because it was rustic, and the place became a bohemian place.
From what I saw now, La Boca is mainly touristic. It’s a nice place to take photos that say, “Hey, I’ve been to Buenos Aires!”
After La Boca, we took a bus back to the main city area.
At night, I went to a tango show. I’ll tell you more in a separate post.
Would you paint the walls of your house like how they do in La Boca?
Mom and I were in Cappadocia when the riots in Istanbul erupted. We were in our blissful bubble which popped when Mom received a Whatsapp text from her friend with a short sentence in Chinese, “There are riots in Turkey.”
We both tried to guess what it might be related. Mom thought it might be because of arguments over land ownership while I couldn’t think of anything.
So mom sent a question back to her friend and to test her theory while I checked the Internet. (Mom’s friend replied, ‘I don’t think it’s about land ownership.”
I scanned a few headlines about the riots. Reports said the riots broke out because of Gezi Park, and how the government wanted to turn the greenland into a shopping mall.
I remember being selfish and thinking, “I hope this doesn’t affect our trip. Maybe it would all die down when we get back to Istanbul.”
It wasn’t until days later on our Pamukkale tour that I realized how serious the situation was.
I was having lunch and scanned through my Twitter stream for random reads. Our tour guide saw me and said, “Are you reading the news?”
“Just Twitter,” I said.
“Ah, you should know about what is happening in Istanbul,” she said in a serious tone. Our guide, Rayu, was only 25 years old, with a ponytail and kohled eyes.
The other tourists were curious about what was happening. The guide said, “There are riots and some people died.”
Back in the mini van, Rayu elaborated. She said the protest was not just about Gezi Park but about the government. The president wasn’t listening to the people so they have had enough and found the reason to fight.
She showed us a grainy photo on her phone of people occupying the bridge that connects the Asian and European sides of Istanbul.
She shared that a few of her friends are participating in protests and that she was worried about them so she did not get much sleep.
Rayu was passionate. She wanted to join the others in the protest. She said that Turkey needs a new hero like Ataturk and joked that maybe she could be the next hero.
Same thoughts, different person
Our other tour guide for the Troy tour had similar thoughts. I forgot what her name was but she had very curly hair that was tied into a bun. Since it was a Troy tour, let’s call her Helen.
She said we tourists should know what was going on in the country. I don’t think she meant that we should know about the news so we can stay safe. The undertone was that since we are in this country, we should not be in a bubble.
Helen said the protests were not limited to Istanbul anymore. Other cities, including her hometown in Antalya, had similar protests.
She was also angry about the president. She called him a dictator and said he wanted to turn Turkey into an Islamic nation. Although most of the citizens are Muslims, they do not see why their country should become Islamic, she said.
Tourist sights not impacted by Taksim protests
I remember thinking, selfishly, that I was glad that we didn’t choose to live in Taksim Square. (I was very close to booking a hotel there.)
When we were back in Istanbul, the Sultanahmet area where most historical sites are at was business as usual.
Mom and I took the tram to the end of the west side. It was one funicular ride away from Taksim Square. Of course we were sensible enough not to get involve or gawk.
When I checked Foursquare, I saw that Gezi Park was trending. Looking at the photos of the location, I saw people in selfies with handkerchief as facemasks.
Would the same happen in Malaysia, Singapore?
I was surprised by passionate both young tour guides were about the protests. They wanted to join their fellow country people, to show support.
I tried to imagine something like this happening in Malaysia. Sure, the young people were very vocal in showing support to whom they believe should lead.
Despite the phantom voters and blackout incident, Malaysians didn’t break out into riots. The police did not have to subdue crowds with tear gas. I’m very glad that everything was peaceful.
How about in Singapore? I know that Singaporeans are a peaceful bunch and probably something as violent as riots would not happen now.
Still, we have to remember that riots had happened in the past in Malaysia and Singapore so there’s no guarantee that they wouldn’t happen again. What is the tipping point for riots to happen?
For me, as someone who has a stake in both countries, I hope no riots happen because it causes devastation to all involved.
To the people in Turkey, stay safe.
PS I have very little knowledge about politics and only know bits and pieces from reading. If anything of what I wrote was wrong, please give feedback in the comments.
One of my goals for South America is to get my Spanish up to conversational level so I signed up for a week of class here in Buenos Aires.
I believe I searched for my school using Foursquare. I really do not like walking in the cold so I figured that my school should be very near where I stay.
Luckily, there was a school on Foursquare. I checked out the place, paid a deposit and became of of their students.
The school is literally opposite my hostel. I only have to go over a crossing to get there. Wonderful.
YQ goes to school
First day of class
My class was small, with only 3 students. Our teacher is Felisitas, who’s younger than I am. Actually, I’m the oldest in class and the youngest is a 19 year old. (NINETEEN!)
Our class started with lessons in the middle of nowhere. We were asked to read a passage on our photocopied textbook (or really just sheets).
I realized that I’ve forgotten almost everything. I don’t remember how to conjugate verbs “to be”, “to have”, to anything, actually. I even have to count on my fingers to get to number 9 which means I probably have to use my toes when counting to 19.
Still it was quite fun, although I do not look forward to memorizing all those new words I learned. Blergh.
After school, one of my classmates brought us to the pizzeria below my hostel for empanadas.
Empanadas are curry puff-like pastries, only it’s much much better. I’m not a big fan of curry puffs because I find them boring. But empanadas are totally different.
The size is about 2 times larger than a regular curry puff. This means more filling. My chicken-filled empanada was bursting with chicken. I fell faint remembering how good it was. I’ll get you a good photo one day.
Tour of the avenue
Our school organizes after-school activities. Today, it was a tour of Avenida de Mayo with Ms Macarena (I am not kidding).
It was less of a tour and more like one hour of intense intermediate Spanish listening lesson.
Ms Macarena spoke at full speed Argentinian (lots of “sh” replacing the usual “y” sounds). I could catch about 20 percent of what Ms M said and was too confused to ask about parts I didn’t understand.
After the tour, I headed to Carrefour for groceries. I am finally cooking, after two months of travelling!
I was planning to make tomato soup but at the supermarket, the tomatos were expensive and half of them look like they were rotting.
Broccoli was much cheaper so that ended up on my menu. I also tossed in a packet of small pasta called Fideos Semolados Ave Maria.
Fideos Semolados
In the first floor kitchen, I manage to make my very first dish: Broccoli soup with pasta.
Based on the other half of broccoli, I’ll be having the same thing tomorrow but maybe I’ll throw in an egg or two.
YQ made brocolli soup
Do you cook when you travel? What’s your secret recipe?
I don’t really have any plans for Buenos Aires. My main goal here is to learn enough Spanish to venture out into the wild wild South America.
So for today, I listened to the advice of someone on Instagram and decided to check out San Telmo Sunday flea market. A Google Map search told me that it was within a walking distance of 2.4km.
It was drizzling slightly when I walked out of the hostel building. The street was empty except for a few people and some taxis.
As I walked down the road, I realized that I was the only person carrying an umbrella. Other people were walking in the rain or standing in a shade.
It was a bit unnerving walking down the long stretch of road and not seeing another umbrella even though the rain was enough to soak into my clothes.
I thought that maybe Buenos Airesians (?) do not believe in umbrella. But umbrella is not a religion, how can you not believe in it?
Finally, when I turned into Ave Indepencia, I saw another umbrella. I could only see the white beard of the person carrying the umbrella.
Before heading to San Telmo, I walked along Ave Indepencia, trying to find a Japanese restaurant. I didn’t manage to find it but I did see the Japanese Association in Argentina.
(Later, I found out that the restaurant shared the same address as the association but I still could not find the entrance.)
Japanese Association in Argentina
After the fruitless search, I continued on my way. I turned around the corner and stopped to take a photo.
Suddenly, two boys appear near me. They stopped and one of them sat on the window sill. From the corner of my eye, I saw him holding a bottle of beer.
I felt uneasy. I suspected that they might want to rob me so I looked at the one nearest me in the eyes. I walked off but turned around to see if they were following me. The boy was still sitting but was looking in my direction.
I quickly walked down the streets. Luckily, a lot of people were walking a few roads down. I followed the current of the people and reached San Telmo Market.
The inside of the market wasn’t fascinating. It had different stalls. Some selling antiques, coffee, flowers, clothes, leather everything. One shop sold creepy antique dolls.
San Telmo Market, Buenos Aires
I walked around for about half an hour before I got bored. I thought to myself, “Is this it?”
So I got out of the market and walked right into the real Sunday flea market. Since the rain had only stopped just now, most of the stalls were only starting to set up their wares.
I also discovered the sister restaurant of the Japanese restaurant I wanted to go to. However, the price of A$100 (S$25) for a set meal scared me off and I gave an excuse that I should continue walking.
So I walked. All the way from one end of the market to the other end at Plaza Mayo. Walking on Buenos Aires’ cobbled stone path wasn’t easy. I sometimes trip but manage not to fall.
The wares sold repeated themselves: Woolly clothes, mate cups and straw, leather goods etc.
San Telmo Sunday flea market
I did manage to buy a comic book for Spanish practice.
Mafalda comic
After the long long walk, I headed back to my hostel. On the way, I stopped by SUMO, an ice cream shop recommended by a classmate.
In Argentina, they don’t serve ice cream like you know it. The sizes come in 1/4 kilogram, half a kilogram and a kilogram.
I didn’t realize that and ordered a medium ice cream. It came in a bad tasting waffle but was quite big. I found out that for 3 pesos more, I could have gotten the 1/4 kilogram of ice cream. Now I can only dream of such an ice cream.
Ice cream from San Telmo’s SUMO
After the cold lunch, I finally got back to my hostel. I stayed in and didn’t do much since it was the last day before classes start.
The best and worst meal
For dinner, I was deciding between dinner at the pizzeria downstairs or a nice meal out. In the end, nice meal won because I’ve made up mind to start cooking on Monday.
So off I went to a Tripadvisor recommended steak house. The restaurant only had another table of customer because it was still too early for dinner.
I ordered the smallest steak and rashly added a glass of champagne. We have to enjoy life to the fullest, don’t we?
The champagne was delightful. It wasn’t too dry and the bubbles were popping about. I was down to half a glass when my steak finally came with its expensive serving of thick cut fries.
Argentinian steak is so lovely.
The steak as DE-LI-CIOUS. I ordered it rare, knowing that it is cooked to medium rare here in Argentina. It was very tasty. The best part was the fat which was crispy and oozed of liquid cholesterol.
There was also pools of pink blood leaking but that was comforting because it meant that it wasn’t fully cooked.
While the whole meal was wonderful, almost at the end of my steak, I felt the strangest sensation.
I was feeling quite tipsy since I drank champagne on an empty stomach. Worst thing was, the delicious meat that I had was actually clawing their way up my throat.
Oh dear.
I sat in my chair, staring out of the window at the Carrefour Express opposite. Half of me wanted to pay my bill, run to the supermarket and chug down 1 liters of water. The other half of me knew that I would probably throw up on the corner of the street before I even leave the restaurant.
The blood on the plate made me more nauseous. The whole fragrant grilled meat smell was making me disgusted.
I did the best thing. I ordered a A$16 bottle of non-gassy water.
The water was my saviour. I immediately felt more clear headed and less nauseous. I gratefully took sips of the water and finished the whole bottle.
I couldn’t wait to leave the restaurant since the smell of meat wasn’t helping with my stomach. I paid my bill and walked back slowly, planning my next less-alcoholic menu.
I’m open for suggestions on food to cook in hostel kitchens. If you have any recipes, please share them with me in the comments. Muchas gracias.
When I learned about La Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires, I knew that I must visit the place. I didn’t have an exact visit schedule so I slotted it in for today.
Since Google Maps does not have public transport directions for Buenos Aires, I did the safest thing and walked all the way from my hostel.
Good thing Buenos Aires has a grid system. I just needed to walk straight and turn when there is a bend and continue walking.
On my way, I stopped by a GIGANTIC Carrefour for a pack of biscuit (in case I get hungry from the terrible hostel breakfast) and a cup of coffee at the Carrefour Cafe.
I found out that raw steak is sold at as cheap as A$22, making me determined to make my own steak instead of spending A$80 outside for a restaurant steak.
Back to the cemetery… I found it easily since the crosses and angels peeped over the high walls surrounding the resting place.
The place was amazing. Larger than life statues were littered everywhere looking mournful.
Many of the mausoleums were exquisite. My sister mistook the crosses for churches when I sent her and mom photos of the cemetery.
I walked for so long that I decided to take a rest at one of the partly sunny benches. I read through several chapters of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban during the wait.
At last, it was time for me to leave. Before that, I visited Evita’s grave. It looked more like a small black marble box, not as glamourous as many of the “houses” in the neighborhood.
After seeing the cemetery, it got me wondering what people nowadays prefer to be placed after they die.
Swindled by a restaurant
As I walked back from the cemetery, I peeped at the different menus. Alas, everything in proper restaurants cost about A$80 (S$20). I was in my miserly mode of mine so I didn’t go into any of them.
In the end, I found a dingy place near my hostel that offered set meals for A$45. I was tempted by the photo of the steak.
When I went into the restaurant, there were 3 men sitting side by side with their backs to the counter. They stared at me when I walked in. Oh well, I guess none of them wanted to handle the foreigner so I grabbed a menu and read the dish, adding a “Si?”
They said, “Si.” I mimed sitting down and one of the man nodded.
He asked, “Frites?” I replied, “Si.”
The dish took a while to cook. When it came, it was decent but not spectacular. If I wanted spectacular, I should have just gone to the A$80 shops.
When it was time to pay the bills, one of the man asked another man something. The other man said what clearly sounded like “30 pesos” in Spanish because the “t” was audible.
But the change I got back from the first man was change for A$45. I stared at the bill, turning it over to see it taped down the middle.
I could have asked the guy who gave me change, “30 pesos or 40 pesos?” I could do these numbers but it didn’t seem worth it making a scene for what is only S$2.50 of change.
I took leave, vowing to have enough guts to confront that swindler in the future.
#Bilingualsummer achievements
O Google Tranlated “Can I buy a SUBE here?”, memorizing the translation and using a broken version of it to ask for a SUBE. Extra points for understanding the lady’s question of how much I want to load into my card.
After yesterday’s frozen knees incident, mom told me I need to get something warm for the winter. (I still have hopes that the weather would not get too bad or that I could just stay indoors while it’s almost-freezing outside.)
I did look around the shops but everything was over A$200 (~S$50) so I didn’t want to get them. In the end, I decided that I should visit the second hand stores for something warm.
I followed the directions on Foursquare and found Juan Perez’s collection center. The real shop’s just a block away.
Juan Perez thrift store
When I entered the shop, I was required to put my bags in a safety bag that was locked. This was to stop people from stealing, I suppose.
The shop had a lot of thick jackets. Some of them had fur and some of them didn’t look warm enough. I searched high and low for something cheap. Sadly, the cheapest I could find was A$145 (~S$36).
I also spotted a Le Sport Sac bag for A$180. My second hand bag of the same brand was tearing at some parts.Even though I really wanted that to replace my old bag, I resisted because finding something warm was more important.
In the ned, I did find a coat that I quite liked. It had a A$145 price tag, a little out of initial goal of A$100. I brought the coat to a mirror.
Then I discovered the stairs to the second floor.
The second floor had a cheaper selection. It didn’t take me a long time to find something I like. Guess how much it was. Only A$70 (~S$18).
Turns out, El Alteneo was only next door to Movistar which I went to yesterday. Based on photos I’ve seen, I imagined that the shop was huge so I was kind of disappointed to find that the size wasn’t that big.
I just walked around the shelves, looking around. I’ll come back another day and soak in the book smells.
Cycling in the park
After a quick lunch, I joined my future Spanish language schoolmates and one of the school’s advisor for some cycling.
Getting to the bike shop took a long while and loads of walking. The bike ride was very nice since we got to see the park.
The weather was beautiful. It didn’t feel like winter at all and I wished that everyday was the same.
Buenos Aires city and nature.Don’t do this at home. Taking selfies while cycling.Derailed. I swear the gods of bicycles don’t like me. I’ve had this problem in San Francisco and Hoi An.
The advisor walked us back to the main avenue and I walked back to the hostel. DInner was two microwaved eggs, to save on eating expenses.
Cloudy Buenos Aires. The building has Evita on it.
#Bilingualsummer achievements
I signed up for a week of beginner’s Spanish at a language school just opposite my hostel. I cannot stand walking in the cold so the distance is very important for me.
At a cafe, the lady helpfully wrote down the Menu of the Day. Seeing the words on paper made it easier for me to understand, although I thought that papa was actually “father” and found out that it stood for “potatoes”.
I also made use of body language. I passed a tuck shop with a “Reload your Movistar” sticker. Like a caveperson, I pointed to the sign and said, “Si?” The rather cute shopperson said “Si” back and I said “veinte” (I actually remember the number 20!).
And that was how I got my phone credit reloaded with body language.
YQtravelling 