Continuing... with Pictures of Buenos Aires

Sometimes I feel guilty for being on a vacation like this when so much is going on in the world and people who are close to me are faced with so many commitments. But on the other hand, I've had my cousin tell me how much he's enjoyed my pictures, and how they help him look forward to coming home.

So here are my pictures, from Buenos Aires:



Avenida 9 de Julio in downtown Buenos Aires, with a smaller replica of the Washington Monument in the background.



The "Casa Rosada" of Argentina.



Busy Avenida Cordoba at midday.



From left to right, Michael (from Texas), Kyle and myself with two pretty Chileans at Hostel-Inn in barrio San Telmo.



Boarding a boat in the pastoral area of the Tigre river delta, an hour northwest of Buenos Aires by train.



Our destination: Akù Akù. A relaxing restaurant facing a canal with hammocks, lawn chairs and games.



Myself with my friends and fellow Spanish students, posing behind lawn game with indigenous origins. Megan, Leigh, and Michael (from Virginia).



Midday Sunday in the famous antiques marketplace of barrio San Telmo.



Myself with more students from the Linguatec Spanish school at a house party. Eric, Neehar, Matthew, Roberto, and Rosie.

Real Life, Iraq

I guess that blogs were originally created with the purpose of distributing information as it happens, and with that purpose, this blog serves its initial use.

I just found out that my best friend from High School has been called up from the reserves for a tour of duty that could last for a year and a half. He is to report for duty at the end of March, and it is very likely he will be sent to Iraq.

I have feared receiving this news for almost 2 years, although in the last few months, the possibility had slipped from my mind. Even now, I have a cousin who is faithfully serving in Afganistan, and I have been selfishly thankful that his orders brought him there, and not to Iraq. But the possiblity I feared has now come to life, and I hope even more earnestly that the situation will be secured soon and our troops brought home faster.

I'm a little bit in shock, and a bit surprised as well by how this news has affected me. But all of these situations take on additional gravity when they involve those we care about. My cousin and friend are constantly in my thoughts and prayers, and so are the thousands of others, many younger than me, who, in service, are placed in danger everyday.

"La Cocaina" and Sunset (not what you think)

It's pretty easy to meet new people here when you go out at night, either because people are that friendly or because everyone wants to talk to an exotic-looking foreigner (there's no blending in for me in Argentina...). So, for either reason, I have got to meet several Porteños when me and my friend Michael go out at night, including Carolina, who used to work for an airline and speaks English pretty well.

Wednesday night, Michael and I were invited to celebrate her feliz cumpleaños at her house in Palermo where we met her friends from work, school and her childhood. Most of her friends are not originally from the city, most are from small towns in provinces around it. In particular, one of her friends was named Paulo, and was from the northernmost province, Jujuy. He was a musician and sang a haunting song in Spanish about a mythical creature that roams the mountains of the northwest called "La Cocaina."

"La Cocaina" is a short, gnome-like creature with the face of an old man and a distinctive hat. It has one arm covered in llama wool and its other arm is made of steel. Wherever it goes, it carries a bulge of coca leaves (which are common in the Andes) it its mouth, thus giving it its name. The legend has it that when hunters lose their way in the mountains for several days, and lose all hope of finding their way out, that they often lie down and give up. Eventually one of the Cocainas finds them, and encircles them with a red string, in order to put their souls at rest or help it find its way onward. The end of the story matched the end of my comprehension of it, so if anyone knows more about the story, please share it, for me, what I did get of the story was a small triumph of translation.

Changing gears a little bit, I finally got to experience one of the best-known nightclubs in Greater Buenos Aires, Sunset. Unfortunately, the government here has still not recovered from the horrific nightclub fire tragedy of the new year, and clubs inside the city are still closed. However, at 3 a.m. Saturday night/Sunday morning, myself and a group of people, including my friend Roland from Iguaçu, spontaneously decided to jump in a cab and head for the suburbs and Sunset.

You would think that leaving for a danceclub at 3 in the morning may not be worth it, or that it could even be closed, but things in Argentina are very different. When our cab reached a point within a quarter-mile of the club, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic. At that point, we decided to walk from there and entered the sprawling club with several more people coming behind us.

Sunset has two huge dance floors, at least 4 bars, terraces, and an expansive open-air patio. When we arrived, there were at least 1000 people dancing, some to a mix of Argentinean and various Latin music in the indoor dance floor, and others to Electronica and House underneath the covered canopy outside. Neither were my first choices of music for dancing to, but the lively atmosphere and the fact I hadn't been to a dance club for too long a time easily made up for it. This crowd, like every one I've experienced in South America, was raucous and fun-loving. Forget machismo, anyone and everyone is liable to get hit on or picked up at least a few times during a night there. Aside from those expected outlets, Sunset is particularly well known for its troupe of female dancers, who were all beautiful and quite fit. Between the dancers, the dancing, and all of the happenings in between, we hardly noticed when the sun came up, and neither did anyone at the club. It was a singularly unique experience for me to be with hundreds of people on a dance floor in the clear bright of day.

Even as we left the club at 7 a.m., it was still way more than half-filled, and didn't look likely to slow down anytime soon. As we passed many clubgoers who had stopped off to grab a bite of breakfast, I had to decline. By this time, all I wanted and needed was the comfort of my bed.

Weird Things About South America

It occurred to me that while I think about, and adjust to all of the weird things I've run into every day, I may not have mentioned any of them here.

No matter what city you’re in, when you walk on the sidewalks in South America, water is going to drip down onto your head because none of the high-rise buildings have central air conditioning. They all have AC units crammed into the windows, hanging out over the street and dripping down for everyone’s benefit.

Another crazy thing is the driving, and if I can help it, I’ll never drive on this continent. Lane markings mean nothing, pedestrians have no rights whatsoever, and buses and taxis actually speed up to run you down when you cross the street. In Rio, at night, the cabbies cruise through every red light as if it were nothing, and it is nearly impossible to stand your ground while riding a herky-jerky local bus, even when you hold on with two hands.

Brazil had a couple of oddities of it’s own. For one thing, in all of the cheap places that I stayed in, Brazilian bathrooms were identical. They were closet-sized rooms with a stand-alone sink (no counter), a toilet, and a waterfall-style showerhead, basically hanging over the top of the other two. The floor was only an undivided square of sloped tile and a single drain, meaning the ground almost always covered in a slick mess… needless to say, taking a shower or using the bathroom when I stayed at the hostel there was pretty gross, and I tried to avoid doing either for as long as I could.

Also unique to Brazil, was a lack of worry about what Americans would usually consider revealing beachwear. It’s true that nearly everyone there wears a thong to the beach, and if they are not, they make it one! That went for guys too, and people had no qualms about walking 5, 6 or 7 blocks up from the beach in those skimpy clothes, without the need to cover up with a towel. And when it came to stores and restaurants, those businesses would find no use for the saying “no shirt, no shoes, no service,” I don’t think I ever saw anyone turned away, much less, given a sidways look.

Buenos Aires, however, has quite a bit more of the conservative Victorianism that I’m used to, and most of the amenities of a city in Europe. So, for now at least, my time of living on the edge is over. However, weird has not meant bad, and if you can’t deal with differences, traveling isn’t for you. I’ve been having a great time, enjoying every strange little bit.

Domesticated

Even though I've now been living in the southern hemisphere's version of the City that Never Sleeps for more than a week now, my life has become a lot more boring. For one thing, I'm not living in crazy hostels anymore, I have my own room, bathroom, and a permenant place to keep my things without locking them up. But the biggest reason why things are a bit more normal are the starting of my Spanish classes at Linguatec, which begin at 9am and last 4 hours. The classes are great, with fun but solid teachers and some organized activities. Getting up for class everyday, though, makes me kind of feel like I have a 9 to 5 again.

As a result, I've gone out at night a little less, and my mind has had some time to wander. This week I ended what had been a self-imposed news blackout and read about the Iraqi election results and North Koreas bold assertion that they have "nukes." But the news that affected me most directly was a work stoppage by Buenos Aires' subway workers for the first four days of the workweek. As a result, the downtown area has been gridlocked with traffic, and for me, I had the choice of a 1 hour walk to class, or getting a taxi for every trip.

This week I also learned quite a bit about Argentine society, which is influenced far more by Europe than by the rest of South America. Despite having a magnificent, first-world, capital city, Argentina is devastated by poverty. This country also has a very high literacy rate and free public universities, yet the unemployment rate is nearly 20% and more than half of the country lives below the poverty line. The saddest and worst thing about the poverty here are all of the people begging on th streets, far too many of them small children. However, I guess that out hardship comes great character, because I have been surprised by th generosity of Argentines on the street giving change to beggars, more than happens in the U.S.

It is hard to understand how such a well-educated country with great cities and infrastructure can be so impoverished. A good deal of blame lies at the feet of the government here, which created the conditions for the recent economic collapse. Whith the currency devalued, the government prevented citizens from withdrawing any of thier savings, causing millions to have their assets cut in half, or to a third. It is no wonder that many Argentineans are careful to diversify their savings in foreign currencies, bank, and bonds, with only a little bit kept in-country. With so little investment here, it's no wonder that there are so few jobs. I've even heard of university professors working for free because they can't find another job and would just rather teach. I wonder what it will take to end this cycle.

Dias en Buenos Aires

Saturday night I went out with a couple of cool Americans from the hostel, Kyle, from Seattle, and Michael, from Houston. After dinner, we went to a palacial mansion converted into a bar called "Million." It was a building squeezed in between others, like all of the buildings downtown here, but was clearly once a singular residence with 3 floors and built in a classical European style with huge staircases.

The next morning, after sleeping in and checking out of the hostel, I went to the local Catholic church in San Telmo for services. Until then, I hadn't been to church my whole time in South America. Even though there was plenty of standing, sitting, and repeating of creeds that I didn't know (much less in Spanish), it felt good to be in a house of God.

Later that day I contacted the lady whose home I will be living in for the rest of my time in Buenos Aires. Señora Sabato lives in a neighborhood called "Congresso," because it is near Argentina's national parliament building. The street she lives on is lined with business on the bottom floors but has many doorways that lead to private residences on the 2nd, 3rd and additional floors. Her entrance was no different and she led me up to her apartment. The Sra. is a very nice and motherly woman who is in her 60's and has grown children. She doesn't speak any English, but has hosted students from all over the world for years. After setting my things in the private room with a bathroom, we had dinner along with the other two students staying in her home. She baked a delicious torta made of cheese, egg and ham... I think she could have had a career as a chef if she wanted it.

After dinner, I explained to the Sra. the importance and significance of Super Bowl Sunday, and apologized for having to leave so quickly. It was 8:30pm when I rushed to an American sports bar in the Recoleta neighborhood where I was supposed to meet a group of friends for the game. Fortunately I found one of them, but not the whole group, but I was there in time for the start of the game.

After laboring to avoid all things overtly or stereotypically American for the past 2 and 1/2 weeks, it felt good to be part of a group of loud, rowdy Americans on Super Bowl Sunday. After all, it is an unofficial national holiday, where people either host or attend parties with family and friends, whether or not they care about the actual game.

As the game began, I felt a surprising welling of pride when former Presidents Clinton and Bush walked out onto the field together, united. And I also experienced an unexpected wave of emotion when I and the other hundred ex-pats joined in singing the national anthem and recognizing our men and women serving overseas. For this time, date, and place, nothing was more important than being American.

And with that, a great Super Bowl contest began, ending with the narrow and unfortunate loss of the Philadelphia Eagles. I do not reluctantly tip my hat to the Patriots however, they have clearly established themselves as the pre-eminent football team of this yet unnamed decade.

Just like Paris

They say that Buenos Aires is the Paris of South America, and they're right. The city is beautiful and well-planned, with efficient mass transit and spacious avenues alike. In fact, when I arrived in the city 2 days ago by bus, I didn't feel any of the disorientation that I did when I first arrived in Brazil. To me, Buenos Aires seems and feels just like a major European city.

After arriving, I took the useful, but antiquated, subway to the neighborhood of San Telmo, and walked to a intimate hostel squeezed in between a hotel and a business. I visited Avenida Florida, a pedestrian street of both expensive and bargain stores which is famous in the city. Even as tourists and middle-class Argentineans crowded the streets, it was shocking how many beggars, both old an young, competed for space and asked for money.

That night I joined up with Karina, who I met in Iguacu Falls, for dinner with some of her friends at the "early" hour of 8:30. Porteños (people who live in Buenos Aires) typically don't have dinner until 10 or 11pm. We went to a great steakhouse that served a "Lomo" cut of beef that was absolutely delicious, and it only set me back the equivalent of $7 U.S. dollars. Everything is cheap here.

It was great to have a familiar and interesting group to hang out with on my first night here, and, as is typical here, the night lasted until 4 in the morning. While Buenos Aires is not as rhythmic and carefree as Rio, I think there is a great chance I'm going to enjoy my time here quite a bit.

Pictures Again, Finally!

For all of the multitudes of internet cafes you can easily find in South America, finding modern computers that can transmit data over a USB port can be more of a challenge than it seems. For that reason, I still have pictures from Rio to show, and it cost me 12 pesos get my photos on a disk... well, whatever. Finally, pictures!



Ray, Michael, Christian and I in Rio.




The windy road between Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo.




Myself, Jessica, and Duda listening to live Bossa Nova in Sao Paulo.




Myself, Stephanie, Karina, and Archie overlooking the river that empties into Iguacu falls.




Just some of the 27 spectacular individual falls at Iguacu, from the Argentinean side.




Even this picture doesn't do justice to the breathtaking power of the water.




The sign says not to feed the animals...




...so the lady learns the hard way.




Archie imitates one of the many ridiculous signs around the park.




After the Iguacu Falls boat ride, we're soaked three times through.





From a town near the falls, the rivers converge to divide Argentina in the foreground, Paraguay to the left, and Brazil to the upper right.

A Backpacker´s Paradise

Paudimar is the name of the hostel I´m staying at in western Brazilian countryside, near the borders of Argentina and Paraguay near Iguacu Falls. While still being a cheap youth hostel, it was set on a few acres of land and had a swimming pool, hot tub, an on-premises bar and grill, a soccer field, open grass areas, hammocks for lounging and free internet access. It´s no secret why I decided to stay here for 3 nights!

Aside from my partners to the falls, I´ve met some fun people here as well. For one night I was locked up in the Scandinavian contingent, the next day I chilled with a couple of Austrians, later I banged the soccer ball around in a 2-hour match with some competitive Brits, and I ended last night rabble rousing in the bar and pool with a couple of Irishmen.

Even with the great and relaxing time I´ve had here, it has been a significantly different experience from the other hostels I´ve stayed at in other ways. Unlike the hostel in Rio, this one is dominated by backpackers from wealthy, western countries, and I have had no need to speak anything but English my whole time here. Also, besides not seeing many Americans during my whole time here, I have seen almost no people of color. Of the eight Americans I´ve met on this trip, just today did I meet Leticia, who is Mexican-American and from LA. It seems to me that, from this point on in my trip, to meet an African-American, or any other black person outside of Brazil will be a rarity.

That said, I have encountered no problems throughout my time in South America, and I look forward to the temporary stability I will have in Buenos Aires. There I not only have my language program to start, and a host family to meet, but many other contacts as well. I will leave by "coche cama," the comfortable "sleeper" bus, midday tomorrow, thoroughly relaxed after my time in the backpacker´s paradise.