Los Palitos: Day Five

6:30 AM  Pal flew off for a quick break. Caught the Palitos awake, though contemplative. (By the way, as always, you can click on these pics to enlarge them.)

I've been putting out sunflower seeds on the roof opposite Pal's window, but I haven't been sure if she's eating them. But yesterday I saw a dove out there for the first time. Again, this morning I saw two doves out there (and a few pigeons). I can't be sure that they're Pal Uno and Pal Dos, of course, since they all look the same, but think at least one of them must be a Pal.

Here's the view from my kitchen window. Pal's nest is in the windowbox in front of the bathroom window, which is to the right. You can also see that my aloe is blooming in the windowbox in front of my writing desk.

A possible Pal grabbing some seeds before the greedy pigeons get them all.

A bit later: This one is definitely Pal—I saw her leave the nest. (Correx: I saw him leave the nest. Daniel looked at the pics and tells me that the blue head here is a sure sign that this Pal is a he, not a she. So we know that he was taking care of the kids at least some of the time.)

I better get some more sunflower seeds tomorrow.

Noon: Another close-up (better camera).

Los Palitos: Day Four

7:00 AM—I just saw mom fly off, presumably for a quick bite, so I snapped some pics. Not great—the kids are asleep and curled up together. But you can see that their feathers are coming in.

5:00 PM—Just came home and Pal was out, so snapped another shot of sleeping babes. I guess that's about all they do right now, other than eat. Pal just came back, so my timing was good.

Los Palitos: Day Two

Los Palitos—Day One

After more than two weeks of fretting and anxiety (mine, that is), the eggs hatched today and we have two scrawny, yellow, and ugly little lumps I've named the Palitos (Uno and Dos). Pal (the mom and/or dad) has been sitting patiently throughout, sometimes turning around and waggling some tail feathers at me.

Today, Pal was gone when I came back to the apartment. I've been worried that the eggs weren't fertile, so I opened the window a bi and there they were, huddled together in a sodden lump, but clearly breathing. Pal stayed away for at least an hour, which made me awfully tense, but I guess she (or he) knows more about this than I do.

Pals

I noticed this bird hanging out in my window box. It was sitting there for quite a while and I kept thinking "what a lazy bird that is." Finally, it dawned on me that it wasn't lazy, but roosting. Sure enough, when it flew away for a bit one afternoon, I opened the window quickly and spotted an egg.

I've named her Pal (short for Paloma). My friend Daniel, who is a true expert on local birds, tells me she's a Paloma Torcaza, or Eared Dove. It's likely that there are two of them, with the male and femal taking turns sitting on the eggs. Since they look just about identical, I can't tell when Pal 1 switches places with Pal 2.

On being obvious

So I went to my first Borges class at the Rojas, a local center for adult/continuing education. These classes seem much more popular than their equivalent in the states. On inscription day, there were at least 200 people waiting at 9:00 in the morning to sign up for classes (they teach everything from practical classes like Photoshop and Excel to languages, literature, philosophy, acting, etc.)

Anyway, I'm taking a class called Introduction to Borges, which promises to be quite interesting. Last night was a general overview. Then we're going to read and discuss one story each week (I'll only be here for the first 4 classes). After talking for about half an hour, the quite genial professor got around to taking attendance, which went something like this:

Prof: Marcelo Locio?
Marcelo: Si.
Prof: Lidia Martinez?
Lidia: Si.
Prof: Bruno Goldstone?
Bruno: Si.
Prof: De donde eres? (Where are you from?)

Really???? Is my accent so prominent in a one-syllable word that it's obvious I'm a foreigner? I mean, I know I have an accent, but I didn't think it was quite so glaring. So I spent quite a while mulling it over in my head: is it my "s" or my "i" that's a tell? I narrowed it down to the "i," since consonants are fairly close in English and Spanish. But finally, I concluded that the fault probably lies in my surname, not my pronunciation. People here have a lot of trouble pronouncing it (and I often shorten it to Gold just to make things easier.)

Anyway, I've been outed as a foreigner, which would have happened anyway, but was kind of disappointing, because no one wants to talk to a Yankee when there are perfectly good locals to chat with. So my plan of meeting a new pal in class may not come to much. We'll see.

High Line, Part 2

The second part of the High Line opened today. I was there at 7 AM, as I was on day one of the first part. I'm still a fan.

Here's the first new section as you walk north from 20th Street.


They've added a fair bit of new seating, and even managed to squeeze in a narrow lawn.



All along the way are new "spurs" which jut off the line, allowing for benches and side views.


There's a slightly raised "flyover bridge" connecting two sections (facing south here).


Another traffic viewing stage, similar to the one in the first section. This is the "26th St. Viewing Spur."



The terrain in the new section is much more industrial, so you get all sorts of great glimpses at urban architecture that was never meant to be seen, like ductwork and alleyways.


Toward the northern end (it stops at 30th St. now), the line takes a gentle curve, which is hugged by a new wooden bench. (Facing north first, then south.)



Little building you'd never have noticed before become highlighted (one wonders what the neighbors will think when the crowds arrive.)


The plants carry on the same wild garden theme of the first part, to excellent effect.








At 30th Street, you can see a branch of the rails as they were before the park was renovated. This may or may not be done up if the final extension to 34th gets approved.



And all along, you get the same slightly-elevated street views that allow you to enjoy being a voyeur from above, yet don't feel intrusive because you're not in anyone's face. (I suppose if I had a zoom lens, I might have been.)