Vina del Mar was many things that I expected, it was a beautiful town located on the other side of the bay from Valparaiso on the Pacific Coast with many high-rises and quiet, but urban, beaches. For me it was a relief to visit the ocean again, it is calming to be near the water. I spent my days walking up and down the man pedestrian shopping street, and chilling out on the beach a couple of hours each day.
One difference was immediate however, and evidenced itself immediately upon my afternoon arrival, I stuck out in Chile, and in a much more conspicuous way than in Argentina. Reactions to me, when walking down the street, or sitting on the beach, were both positive and negative, but were m ore intense in both ways. At least five times I had people stare at me continuously, even after I was looking back at them, and one man started talking to me when he though I was Brazilian, but became disinterested after I told him I was not. And, as happens frequently since I've been outside Brazil, I was asked persistently by people passing by at night if I had any drugs on me that I'd be willing to sell.
Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of positive reactions as well, of equal intensity. Countless times people passing by would smile and give me a thumbs-up or a peace sign, and more than one group of jovial young people tried to wave me over to join them when I was walking on the beach. I never took them up on the invitations because I was just generally wary of the attention I was getting in general. Most strangely, though, at least 3 times I was walking along a well-trafficked street when someone in a car would honk, smile, and flash a thumbs-up to me while driving past in their car.
I've described all of this to illustrate the intensity of reactions I've received without so much as an introduction or conversation. I have had good, and very normal, interactions with store clerks, hotel workers, and waiters thus far, and I have already met quite a few chill Chileans on my travels thus far. Nevertheless, the intensity of my presence in Vina del Mar made me uncomfortable, and I regret that it was a relief to leave. (Just to be clear, there are quite a few states in the U.S. that I could name off that I don't feel comfortable being in as well...)
I am on my way to Santiago, which I expect will be just as metropolitan as every other large South American city I've been to thus far, and I've heard that it may be the most Americanized. Already I've heard more American pop music blaring out of car windows and stores than any other place I've been to so far.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Leaving Argentina
Easter Sunday I found a great little missionary Methodist Church to attend with friendly people and a bilingual service. On Monday, I finally finished my IRS tax filling extension and confirmed my reservation for the Inca Trail, removing two urgent items that had been on my to-do list for over a month. Also, I finally met up with and spent the evening with Leigh, my friend from Buenos Aires who is now studying abroad for a year in Mendoza.
Having done all of those things just supported the sensation that my I have completed my time in Argentina, a place in which I had been for 2 months. I've come to like Argentina very much and have experienced amazing hospitality and genuine friendliness there. From the platenses I met in Rio, to my marvelous host mother, to people I talked to on the street, to the workers at the hostel in Mendoza, they've been friendly, helpful, and genuinely interested in getting to know me. I hope that I can help put to rest the unfair reputation Argentineans have for being arrogant and rude, I experienced the exact opposite. Buenos Aires may be the most polite city that I've visited in my life. Argentineans are very proud people, especially when it comes to their landscape and culture, but they are no more proud of their country and its beauty than I am of California and the United States.
Crossing the Andes mountain range this morning was spectacular, we were so high and there was so little vegetation that it was as if we were driving on Mars. Once we crossed the border, however, I felt an immediate difference in the place I was in. What it is, and what it will mean, I don't know yet, but do know that I should be leaving Chile by the beginning of next week, so I won't have much time here. Thus far I have been reminded of home by what is a very California-like landscape, with dry mountain ranges and very fertile valleys and basins. This evening I will return to the Pacific Ocean and my experiences of Chile will begin.
Having done all of those things just supported the sensation that my I have completed my time in Argentina, a place in which I had been for 2 months. I've come to like Argentina very much and have experienced amazing hospitality and genuine friendliness there. From the platenses I met in Rio, to my marvelous host mother, to people I talked to on the street, to the workers at the hostel in Mendoza, they've been friendly, helpful, and genuinely interested in getting to know me. I hope that I can help put to rest the unfair reputation Argentineans have for being arrogant and rude, I experienced the exact opposite. Buenos Aires may be the most polite city that I've visited in my life. Argentineans are very proud people, especially when it comes to their landscape and culture, but they are no more proud of their country and its beauty than I am of California and the United States.
Crossing the Andes mountain range this morning was spectacular, we were so high and there was so little vegetation that it was as if we were driving on Mars. Once we crossed the border, however, I felt an immediate difference in the place I was in. What it is, and what it will mean, I don't know yet, but do know that I should be leaving Chile by the beginning of next week, so I won't have much time here. Thus far I have been reminded of home by what is a very California-like landscape, with dry mountain ranges and very fertile valleys and basins. This evening I will return to the Pacific Ocean and my experiences of Chile will begin.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Un dia como un gaucho
After a low-key day in Mendoza, I wanted to take advantage of the beautiful outdoors and the spectacular Andes mountains nearby, and my dorm-mates offered the perfect opportunity. Staying with me were a slightly older group of guys from Greater Buenos Aires, and they invited me to join them on what I like to think of as a Gaucho Adventure. (Gauchos are classic Argentinean cowboys.)
We left town around 2pm, driving west towards the Andes mountain range. After taking a short tour of a beautiful canyon, we were dropped off at a camp in the foothills to begin our hike. The landscape reminded me a lot of California's mountainous desert regions, but these mountains were even higher than the Sierras. We made our climb into the mountains using a dry riverbed as our pathway, until the bed gave way to a dry rocky creek. From there we started a steeper climb on the rocky terrain until we found a tranquil valley tucked in between several peaks. It was a spectacular place that we reached, a place not unlike what I had always imagined a hidden valley in the Andes would look like. A couple of young Argentineans were camping there and I envied them because I didn't want to leave.
After climbing over 2000 meters (6000+ feet) in a few hours, we retraced our steps almost all the way back before changing direction to reach a stable of horses. We arrived about 30 minutes after sunset, and were greeted by a modern-day gaucho along the way. It was only my second time ever riding a horse, but my nervousness was easily overcome by my exhaustion and thankfulness that I didn't have to walk anymore. So, after a quick sip of Matè to give us all a pick-me-up, we loaded up and rode off.
The horseback riding was actually more challenging than I thought it would be because of the conditions. We rode for nearly 2 hours through the desert brush of the foothills, mostly by moonlight, as the sun had set long ago. Adding to these challenges, my friend Sergio started to poke some fun at me and was looking for a response. But riding a horse at night, being witty, and speaking Spanish all at the same time was far beyond my abilities that night!
When we finally got back to the camp after 10pm, the tour staff had prepared a sumptuous asado for us, including some of Mendoza's famously tasty wine. It was a perfect cap to the day in the outdoors that I had been craving for so long.
Standing on a rickety bridge spanning an impressive canyon in the Andes just outside Mendoza.
Myself and the porteños standing in the dry river bed that was our principal path during the day.
An amazing sight, a small creek being swallowed up into nothing in the sandy river bed.
The Magical Place. The valley we reached at the top of the trail.
The view back down after we started descending from our summit.
The mountains at sunset.
A real gaucho.
Not a real gaucho.
Sergio, his friend, and I, getting ready for our ride.
We left town around 2pm, driving west towards the Andes mountain range. After taking a short tour of a beautiful canyon, we were dropped off at a camp in the foothills to begin our hike. The landscape reminded me a lot of California's mountainous desert regions, but these mountains were even higher than the Sierras. We made our climb into the mountains using a dry riverbed as our pathway, until the bed gave way to a dry rocky creek. From there we started a steeper climb on the rocky terrain until we found a tranquil valley tucked in between several peaks. It was a spectacular place that we reached, a place not unlike what I had always imagined a hidden valley in the Andes would look like. A couple of young Argentineans were camping there and I envied them because I didn't want to leave.
After climbing over 2000 meters (6000+ feet) in a few hours, we retraced our steps almost all the way back before changing direction to reach a stable of horses. We arrived about 30 minutes after sunset, and were greeted by a modern-day gaucho along the way. It was only my second time ever riding a horse, but my nervousness was easily overcome by my exhaustion and thankfulness that I didn't have to walk anymore. So, after a quick sip of Matè to give us all a pick-me-up, we loaded up and rode off.
The horseback riding was actually more challenging than I thought it would be because of the conditions. We rode for nearly 2 hours through the desert brush of the foothills, mostly by moonlight, as the sun had set long ago. Adding to these challenges, my friend Sergio started to poke some fun at me and was looking for a response. But riding a horse at night, being witty, and speaking Spanish all at the same time was far beyond my abilities that night!
When we finally got back to the camp after 10pm, the tour staff had prepared a sumptuous asado for us, including some of Mendoza's famously tasty wine. It was a perfect cap to the day in the outdoors that I had been craving for so long.
Standing on a rickety bridge spanning an impressive canyon in the Andes just outside Mendoza. Myself and the porteños standing in the dry river bed that was our principal path during the day. An amazing sight, a small creek being swallowed up into nothing in the sandy river bed. The Magical Place. The valley we reached at the top of the trail.
The view back down after we started descending from our summit. The mountains at sunset. A real gaucho.
Not a real gaucho.
Sergio, his friend, and I, getting ready for our ride.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Good Friday
I arrived in Mendoza at 7:30 in the morning tired and disoriented, but fortunately my bus seatmate was also looking for a hostel and the tow of us set out to find one together. They were all full until we reached the Hostel Independencia at the edge of Plaza Independencia in the center of town.
I spent most of the day resting up, but I wanted to experience something of what a South American city had to offer on Good Friday of semana santa. While it wasn't nearly as spectacular as what probably took place in Còrdoba, Mendoza offered something impressive in other ways. In the south part of town there is what I could only describe as a religious park surrounding a Catholic church. The park consisted of 12 stakes adorned with mosaic tile pictorials of the stations of the cross. The stations were strung between two small chapels, one depicting Christ in a life-sized statue bleeding and in pain, and the other with a second statue of Christ in the tomb. What struck me was the thousands upon thousands of people crowded in the park, standing in line to touch the statues, pray and continue to the next station. There were families, young people, old people, all in a sacred state of mind.
In marked contrast to the serenity surrounding the icons was the ring of vendors selling prayer cards, flowers, food and candy in the area surrounding the park. It gave me the sense that I was attending a street fair and a pilgrimage at the same time. To my knowledge, not many Argentineans are regular church-goers, but religion obviously still plays an important role on days like Good Friday and in various other small ways that show themselves in various parts of society. The newspaper estimated that 100,000 people were to visit the park that day, and I don't think they were far off.
The church that anchors the park.
One of the three statues of Jesus.
People in line to visit the stations of the cross.
A close-up of the mosaic picture on the cathedral, depicting a scene where the Virgin makes an appearance with the Andes mountains in the background.
I spent most of the day resting up, but I wanted to experience something of what a South American city had to offer on Good Friday of semana santa. While it wasn't nearly as spectacular as what probably took place in Còrdoba, Mendoza offered something impressive in other ways. In the south part of town there is what I could only describe as a religious park surrounding a Catholic church. The park consisted of 12 stakes adorned with mosaic tile pictorials of the stations of the cross. The stations were strung between two small chapels, one depicting Christ in a life-sized statue bleeding and in pain, and the other with a second statue of Christ in the tomb. What struck me was the thousands upon thousands of people crowded in the park, standing in line to touch the statues, pray and continue to the next station. There were families, young people, old people, all in a sacred state of mind.
In marked contrast to the serenity surrounding the icons was the ring of vendors selling prayer cards, flowers, food and candy in the area surrounding the park. It gave me the sense that I was attending a street fair and a pilgrimage at the same time. To my knowledge, not many Argentineans are regular church-goers, but religion obviously still plays an important role on days like Good Friday and in various other small ways that show themselves in various parts of society. The newspaper estimated that 100,000 people were to visit the park that day, and I don't think they were far off.
The church that anchors the park. One of the three statues of Jesus. People in line to visit the stations of the cross. A close-up of the mosaic picture on the cathedral, depicting a scene where the Virgin makes an appearance with the Andes mountains in the background.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Photos of Còrdoba
The first of many beautiful cathedrals I came across in Còrdoba.
Another one.
The oldest, and most important cathedral in the city. Later, I took a tour inside.
Questionable proof of my presence in Còrdoba...
Inside the Cathedral, facing the front altar.
Inside the cathedral, facing the rear.
A memorial in a Còrdoba park honoring fallen soldiers in the War of the Malvinas (the Falkland Islands War with the United Kingdom).
A painting of the Madonna with Child in Còrdoba's religious art museum. This piece came from Italy, and "black madonnas" are commonly found in the stained-glass windows of many Eastern European churches.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
City of Cathedrals
Tuesday night, a strike by Argentina's long-distance bus drivers had Buenos Aires's main bus terminal, Retiro, filled with irate travelers trying to escape the city for a vacation at the end of the holy week. Fortunately for me, the strike only lasted from 8-10pm, when government labor officials caved into having talks; my 1 a.m. departure time was saved.
Ever since I came down with the cold, I have been looking forward to leaving for Còrdoba to have time to rest as much as I needed to, and to be able to slow down. All of my time and energy were at a premium in BsAs. Còrdoba did not disappoint; I slept well on the bus ride there, checked myself into a hotel, and spent the day lazily walking around the city's historic downtown. Còrdoba is known as one of Argentina's most Catholic cities, and the city seems to have cathedrals on the corner of every other cobblestone street block.
Holy week certainly magnifies this impression, but Còrdoba seems to be a haven for Argentinean tourists, I have only run into a handful of foreign tourists thus far. The town is hosting a series of exhibits, plays, and processions in recognition of the holy week, or semana santa, culminating in a re-enactment of Christ's journey through the streets to Mount Calvary on Friday night. (I already regret that I will miss it.)
It strikes me that here people are not as squeamish about re-enacting and vividly experiencing these events as Christians in the U.S. might be. I even saw a live television program with an acted depiction of Christ in the Garden of Glesemethe that would have been downright controversial back in the states. Also, Catholics of various types, whether they are fundamentalist believers, or rare attenders, prominently display religious imagery, such as images of Jesus and Mary, and almost everyone wears some sort of cross around their neck or wrist. I don't know quite what to make of it yet, but to me there are the same echoes of sincerity, simplicity, and effortlessness that I have observed in the culture of most of the places I've visited thus far, and I find those characteristics admirable.
Tonight I have the feeling that I am prematurely leaving for Mendoza, not only because I'll miss the end of the semana santa festivities here, but because I didn't have the chance to explore some of the beautiful hills and tranquil towns that I've heard about that the are in the countryside just outside the city.
Ever since I came down with the cold, I have been looking forward to leaving for Còrdoba to have time to rest as much as I needed to, and to be able to slow down. All of my time and energy were at a premium in BsAs. Còrdoba did not disappoint; I slept well on the bus ride there, checked myself into a hotel, and spent the day lazily walking around the city's historic downtown. Còrdoba is known as one of Argentina's most Catholic cities, and the city seems to have cathedrals on the corner of every other cobblestone street block.
Holy week certainly magnifies this impression, but Còrdoba seems to be a haven for Argentinean tourists, I have only run into a handful of foreign tourists thus far. The town is hosting a series of exhibits, plays, and processions in recognition of the holy week, or semana santa, culminating in a re-enactment of Christ's journey through the streets to Mount Calvary on Friday night. (I already regret that I will miss it.)
It strikes me that here people are not as squeamish about re-enacting and vividly experiencing these events as Christians in the U.S. might be. I even saw a live television program with an acted depiction of Christ in the Garden of Glesemethe that would have been downright controversial back in the states. Also, Catholics of various types, whether they are fundamentalist believers, or rare attenders, prominently display religious imagery, such as images of Jesus and Mary, and almost everyone wears some sort of cross around their neck or wrist. I don't know quite what to make of it yet, but to me there are the same echoes of sincerity, simplicity, and effortlessness that I have observed in the culture of most of the places I've visited thus far, and I find those characteristics admirable.
Tonight I have the feeling that I am prematurely leaving for Mendoza, not only because I'll miss the end of the semana santa festivities here, but because I didn't have the chance to explore some of the beautiful hills and tranquil towns that I've heard about that the are in the countryside just outside the city.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
One Day in La Plata
Midday Monday, battling an onsetting cold, I boarded a rickety, third-world style commuter train for an hour and a half journey south to La Plata. When I finally arrived, it was clear that I had left the modern, convenient, and very European world of Buenos Aires. The station was a bit run down, and the bathroom stall had a toilet without a seat on it. Nevertheless, there were two locutorios within a short distance, and I used one to check my email and call my friend to let him know I arrived.
When Gaston found me at our meeting place, he immediately greeted me like an old friend. In South America, it seems that hospitality and relationships take much higher priority than other places I've been. It had been 8 weeks since I'd seen him, Felipe, and Chino in Rio, but it didn't matter. In a short time walking around his neighborhood, I met his mom, Felipe's mom and dad in their wine store, and the 4th member of the tight group of friends, Chori.
Gaston and Chori took me on an unofficial tour of the City of La Plata, which was a more interesting place than I expected it to be. It was built some time after Buenos Aires and was master-planned by a famous architect with a grid network of streets crisscrossed by diagonal ones. All of the streets are "calles" and are identified by successive numbers, whether they run north-south or east-west. To my knowledge, there are no named streets in the whole city. Interestingly, the city was briefly named after Evita Peron shortly after her death. Evita was a famous, popular, and influential first lady back in the 50s or 60s, but today, her legacy is as controversial and divisive as George W. Bush's presidency. However, La Plata's biggest claim to fame is that the largest cathedral in South America was built there.
After touring the city and cathedral, Gaston had to work at the local convenience store and Chori and I hung out with him until the others arrived. Even though I hate the movie, the scene reminded me of the movie Clerks. When Felipe and Chino arrived, the four of us drove to the outskirts of town to have an asado at Felipe's house. Gaston arrived a little later with the meat and we started our late dinner. The time of sobremesa was great, with us all remembering the stories and crazy people we knew from our time in Rio. While it was satisfying to see that my Spanish had improved significantly from our time in Brazil, there were still many moments where I could not follow the conversation. Every day I experience the ups and downs of my progress, or lack thereof.
After the late night and comfortable sleep at Felipe's family's home, I ate breakfast with him and returned north to BA by train. Even though I had been fighting a cold the entire time there, I was very glad that I made the trip. For me, it fulfilled a promise made in Rio, and allowed me to once again experience the openness and hospitality of Argentines. I look forward to the day when I meet up with my amigos platenses again.
The cathedral in La Plata from the middle of a large plaza.
The cathedral up close.
The cornerstone of the city of La Plata, in the middle of the plaza facing the cathedral, in the geographic center of the city.
Chori and Gaston, surrounding their "old buddy," the architect of the city.
From left to right, Chino, Chori, myself, Felipe and Gaston during sobremesa.
When Gaston found me at our meeting place, he immediately greeted me like an old friend. In South America, it seems that hospitality and relationships take much higher priority than other places I've been. It had been 8 weeks since I'd seen him, Felipe, and Chino in Rio, but it didn't matter. In a short time walking around his neighborhood, I met his mom, Felipe's mom and dad in their wine store, and the 4th member of the tight group of friends, Chori.
Gaston and Chori took me on an unofficial tour of the City of La Plata, which was a more interesting place than I expected it to be. It was built some time after Buenos Aires and was master-planned by a famous architect with a grid network of streets crisscrossed by diagonal ones. All of the streets are "calles" and are identified by successive numbers, whether they run north-south or east-west. To my knowledge, there are no named streets in the whole city. Interestingly, the city was briefly named after Evita Peron shortly after her death. Evita was a famous, popular, and influential first lady back in the 50s or 60s, but today, her legacy is as controversial and divisive as George W. Bush's presidency. However, La Plata's biggest claim to fame is that the largest cathedral in South America was built there.
After touring the city and cathedral, Gaston had to work at the local convenience store and Chori and I hung out with him until the others arrived. Even though I hate the movie, the scene reminded me of the movie Clerks. When Felipe and Chino arrived, the four of us drove to the outskirts of town to have an asado at Felipe's house. Gaston arrived a little later with the meat and we started our late dinner. The time of sobremesa was great, with us all remembering the stories and crazy people we knew from our time in Rio. While it was satisfying to see that my Spanish had improved significantly from our time in Brazil, there were still many moments where I could not follow the conversation. Every day I experience the ups and downs of my progress, or lack thereof.
After the late night and comfortable sleep at Felipe's family's home, I ate breakfast with him and returned north to BA by train. Even though I had been fighting a cold the entire time there, I was very glad that I made the trip. For me, it fulfilled a promise made in Rio, and allowed me to once again experience the openness and hospitality of Argentines. I look forward to the day when I meet up with my amigos platenses again.
The cathedral in La Plata from the middle of a large plaza. The cathedral up close.
The cornerstone of the city of La Plata, in the middle of the plaza facing the cathedral, in the geographic center of the city. Chori and Gaston, surrounding their "old buddy," the architect of the city. From left to right, Chino, Chori, myself, Felipe and Gaston during sobremesa.
Monday, March 21, 2005
A Long Goodbye
Even though I haven't left Buenos Aires for good yet, I feel as if I have already gone. I am taking a trip tonight to visit friends in La Plata that I made in Rio, while I leave my things in BA with a friend to pick up tomorrow. But already, I feel like a backpacker again, I no longer live in the city where I had made my life for the past almost 2 months.
Saying goodbye to a group of friends and a familiar place is never fun, but it was particularly difficult to say goodbye to, and leave the house of Elsa, the wonderful, caring lady who it was my honor to have as a host mother for the past 6 weeks. She doesn't speak any English, so our communication at first wasn't easy, but improved with my Spanish over time. By the end, we would talk freely about life, family, religion and politics. My brother's visit and wonderful time a week ago only increased the richness of the experience that I had with her in her home.
I'm leaving not only the style, comfort, and familiarity of her home, but also the company of countless porteños and foreigners who became great friends and companions. I enjoyed living in Buenos Aires and I hope I get the chance once again. The people are quite proud but very friendly as well, and I think they have reason to be both. That city is a vibrant mix of Europe and South America, with an abundance of cultural outlets paying tribute to each. The transportation options there were the easiest and cheapest I've ever encountered, and there are enough different and interesting neighborhoods to keep even the locals occupied every night. And, needless to say, the nightlife here rivals any of the best places in the world, as porteños rarely, if ever, sleep. Buenos Aires is one of a kind, don't miss out if you have a chance to go.
On the right, Elsa, my host mother, with her friend, Gosho, before going to a wedding with a ceremony at 10 p.m. and a fiesta to last until morning.
Saying goodbye to a group of friends and a familiar place is never fun, but it was particularly difficult to say goodbye to, and leave the house of Elsa, the wonderful, caring lady who it was my honor to have as a host mother for the past 6 weeks. She doesn't speak any English, so our communication at first wasn't easy, but improved with my Spanish over time. By the end, we would talk freely about life, family, religion and politics. My brother's visit and wonderful time a week ago only increased the richness of the experience that I had with her in her home.
I'm leaving not only the style, comfort, and familiarity of her home, but also the company of countless porteños and foreigners who became great friends and companions. I enjoyed living in Buenos Aires and I hope I get the chance once again. The people are quite proud but very friendly as well, and I think they have reason to be both. That city is a vibrant mix of Europe and South America, with an abundance of cultural outlets paying tribute to each. The transportation options there were the easiest and cheapest I've ever encountered, and there are enough different and interesting neighborhoods to keep even the locals occupied every night. And, needless to say, the nightlife here rivals any of the best places in the world, as porteños rarely, if ever, sleep. Buenos Aires is one of a kind, don't miss out if you have a chance to go.
On the right, Elsa, my host mother, with her friend, Gosho, before going to a wedding with a ceremony at 10 p.m. and a fiesta to last until morning.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Family Photos
Posing with a group of Uruguayan re-enacters who greeted us in the town center of Colonia del Sacramento.
My brother and I in Colonia.
A typical street leading to the Rio de la Plata in Colonia.
Dancing at "The Limit" in Buenos Aires, the only hip-hop dance club I've found thus far.
My brother and I on Sunday, at the Artisan's fair in Recoleta, just north of downtown Buenos Aires.
Tango dancers, putting on a free show at the fair.
Myself, Adrianna, her husband William, my brother, Stefan, and Michael (from Germany) after watching the spectacular Tango musical, Tangera.
Dinner at my favorite restaurant, El Desnivel, with Michael(Texas), myself, Kara, Stefan, Michael(Germany), Sulie, my brother, and Matt.Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Whirlwind
As promised, I had no time whatsoever to keep this updated while my brother was here, there was hardly a free hour for us to rest the entire time he was here. However, it was an awesome experience in my life to be able to meet and spend time with my brother on another continent where no one in our family had ever been before. Because of all the sleep deprivation, my memories are a blur, but here's what I can piece together of what we did.
On his first full day, Thursday, Jamiah accompanied me to my daily Spanish lessons, and made it clear that he spoke the language much better than me. That night we went to a Salsa dancing lesson where we met up with another expat and met some Argentines. Later that night we visited an over-popular bar in Recoleta called Shamrock, which was so crowded that you couldn't even stand comfortably with your friends inside.
Friday, my brother and I were invited to dinner at Adrianna's house, one of my favorite Argentinean professors from the school. There we ate a stir-fry dish made by her Columbian husband (who is a decent clay court tennis player) and talked with their American 15-year-old son. Later, we visited a small hip-hop club, on Bolivar, in the San Telmo neighborhood called The Limit.
Saturday, after staying out way to late, my brother and I woke in a hurry after 2 hours of sleep to catch the regular ferry from Buenos Aires to Uruguay. After overcoming a ticketing mix-up, we slept most of the 3 hour journey, and enjoyed most of the day in the tranquilo town of Colonia del Sacramento. Only in Uruguay could my brother and I have enjoyed a $470 meal without a heart attack (that's $20 U.S.). That night we went to a party in my friend Kara's dormitory, filled with international volunteer workers and students. There were people from Spain, Austria, Japan, Brazil, Germany, Canada, and a ton of other countries I can't remember. With plenty of time to spare, we left the party at 2 in the morning to go to Plaza Serrano in the Palermo neighborhood to join a friend at another bar. At about 4, we stood in line for about 30 minutes to try to get in a recently reopened nightclub before we gave up and went to another one filled with a group of Argentinean girls who were so tipsy, they repeatedly fell backwards into us.
Sunday was much more relaxed, we woke after midday to recover, and then visited an artisan's fair in Recoleta where we met scores of interesting people. First, we talked to a 60-year-old protonño selling "natural clothes" who had never left the city in his life but had buena honda (a good vibe). Next, we shared ideas with another vendor in Spanish about the spiritual aspects of the "Live Strong" bracelets, which fund cancer charities, after which, the man gave me a rosary as a gift. Finally, we bumped into 3 girls from New York City who were in town for the week. That night we visited Teatro Astral where we watched "Tangera," an Argentine musical which chronicled the origins of the dance Tango while depicting a tragic love story at the same time.
Monday and Tuesday were days of rest, which we spent visiting museums and tourist spots around the city, and we enjoyed great food at my favorite restaurant in the city, El Desnivel, an Argentinean steakhouse on Defensa street in San Telmo. By the time my brother left Tuesday night, like me, he didn't want to leave.
On his first full day, Thursday, Jamiah accompanied me to my daily Spanish lessons, and made it clear that he spoke the language much better than me. That night we went to a Salsa dancing lesson where we met up with another expat and met some Argentines. Later that night we visited an over-popular bar in Recoleta called Shamrock, which was so crowded that you couldn't even stand comfortably with your friends inside.
Friday, my brother and I were invited to dinner at Adrianna's house, one of my favorite Argentinean professors from the school. There we ate a stir-fry dish made by her Columbian husband (who is a decent clay court tennis player) and talked with their American 15-year-old son. Later, we visited a small hip-hop club, on Bolivar, in the San Telmo neighborhood called The Limit.
Saturday, after staying out way to late, my brother and I woke in a hurry after 2 hours of sleep to catch the regular ferry from Buenos Aires to Uruguay. After overcoming a ticketing mix-up, we slept most of the 3 hour journey, and enjoyed most of the day in the tranquilo town of Colonia del Sacramento. Only in Uruguay could my brother and I have enjoyed a $470 meal without a heart attack (that's $20 U.S.). That night we went to a party in my friend Kara's dormitory, filled with international volunteer workers and students. There were people from Spain, Austria, Japan, Brazil, Germany, Canada, and a ton of other countries I can't remember. With plenty of time to spare, we left the party at 2 in the morning to go to Plaza Serrano in the Palermo neighborhood to join a friend at another bar. At about 4, we stood in line for about 30 minutes to try to get in a recently reopened nightclub before we gave up and went to another one filled with a group of Argentinean girls who were so tipsy, they repeatedly fell backwards into us.
Sunday was much more relaxed, we woke after midday to recover, and then visited an artisan's fair in Recoleta where we met scores of interesting people. First, we talked to a 60-year-old protonño selling "natural clothes" who had never left the city in his life but had buena honda (a good vibe). Next, we shared ideas with another vendor in Spanish about the spiritual aspects of the "Live Strong" bracelets, which fund cancer charities, after which, the man gave me a rosary as a gift. Finally, we bumped into 3 girls from New York City who were in town for the week. That night we visited Teatro Astral where we watched "Tangera," an Argentine musical which chronicled the origins of the dance Tango while depicting a tragic love story at the same time.
Monday and Tuesday were days of rest, which we spent visiting museums and tourist spots around the city, and we enjoyed great food at my favorite restaurant in the city, El Desnivel, an Argentinean steakhouse on Defensa street in San Telmo. By the time my brother left Tuesday night, like me, he didn't want to leave.
Friday, March 11, 2005
My Argentinean Home
With the arrival of my brother and after an email from a friend, I realized that I haven't shared any pictures yet of where I live and go to class. For now, I'll start with pictures of my neighborhood and home.
This is Avenida Corrientes, a major street with a subway line underneath that leads to my nieghborhood of Once.
Here is the street that I live on, Azcuènaga. I challenge you to say that name to a cabbie at 4 in the morning and get him to understand you...
Here is the humble building where I live with my Argentinean host mother. The inglorius dark-colored entrance at the bottom left does little to represent the comfortable home inside.
Here's the comfortable and stylish living room of the Señora, who is a modern art professor during part of the year.
This is my bedroom, with a simple bed, mini-closet and desk.
This is my own private bathroom, attached to the room. The other two students living with the Señora have to share the other bathroom, so it's been a nice perk.
This is Avenida Corrientes, a major street with a subway line underneath that leads to my nieghborhood of Once. Here is the street that I live on, Azcuènaga. I challenge you to say that name to a cabbie at 4 in the morning and get him to understand you...
Here is the humble building where I live with my Argentinean host mother. The inglorius dark-colored entrance at the bottom left does little to represent the comfortable home inside.
Here's the comfortable and stylish living room of the Señora, who is a modern art professor during part of the year.
This is my bedroom, with a simple bed, mini-closet and desk. This is my own private bathroom, attached to the room. The other two students living with the Señora have to share the other bathroom, so it's been a nice perk.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Mi Hermano
This week had been a little boring and laid back, but it picked up real quick.
My brother arrived from Spain yesterday night and is going to be visiting me here in Argentina for almost a week. What a small world we live in: it's very cool to be in South America for the first time in my life, and then have my brother arrive on this new continent to visit me. My poor mother!
I've already introduced my brother to one of the coolest places to hang out here, Milion, the mansion-turned-bar in downtown BA, and there are many more touristy things I plan to do with him this week that I've never gotten around to doing myself. Saturday, we'll take a boat across the "river" (which is really a bay, but looks like the ocean on a map) and visit Uruguay for a day, before coming back and hopefully watching a football match.
It's going to be a very cool, but very busy week, so don't kill me if there isn't another update until Wednesday!
My brother arrived from Spain yesterday night and is going to be visiting me here in Argentina for almost a week. What a small world we live in: it's very cool to be in South America for the first time in my life, and then have my brother arrive on this new continent to visit me. My poor mother!
I've already introduced my brother to one of the coolest places to hang out here, Milion, the mansion-turned-bar in downtown BA, and there are many more touristy things I plan to do with him this week that I've never gotten around to doing myself. Saturday, we'll take a boat across the "river" (which is really a bay, but looks like the ocean on a map) and visit Uruguay for a day, before coming back and hopefully watching a football match.
It's going to be a very cool, but very busy week, so don't kill me if there isn't another update until Wednesday!
Monday, March 07, 2005
The Gonzalez's
Last Friday, I finally got the opportunity to meet up with the family of a good college friend of mine who lives in Greater Buenos Aires. Mr. and Mrs. Gonzalez live in Martinez, a close suburb of the city, set not far from the Rio de la Plata. I was invited to one of the family's regular weekend asados, but my friend could not attend because he's still working in the States. To get to Martinez, I took the subway to the main downtown train and bus station, Retiro, and took a commuter train to Martinez. The ride took a total of 45 minutes and cost me the equivalent of $0.50 US.
When the train reached my stop, I was in an urban, but residential, area. Many of the buildings were free standing, and what looked like I a small-town main street was surrounded by wooded neighborhoods of private, individual homes. It was a great difference from downtown Buenos Aires, where tens of thousands of people live in crowded highrises above window-shop businesses and traffic-choked streets.
The Gonzalez home was not unlike many of the beautiful homes that I walked past, except that it was among the biggest. The home was divided into 3 buildings, with gardens in between, and was a mix of Mediterranean architecture with the comforting feel of wood and brick. The dining area included an enormous grill in the kitchen, a table that could easily accommodate 10 or more people, and a rustic decorations all around.
The Gonzalez's had invited many other people to dinner as well, an Argentinean-American couple from Conneticut, Mrs. Gonzalez's sister with her Uruguayan husband, and her Peruvian niece who is studying in Buenos Aires to be a pilot. The food was delicious, including Choripan (chorizo sausage and french bread), cuts of Lomo steak (tender beef), and cerdo (pork). The conversation was also easy, flowing seamlessly between English and Spanish. The Gonsalez's are originally Peruvian, and spent many years living in the States, so there was a lot to talk about.
After dinner, I caught a ride back into the city with her niece, Natalia, and her friend Juan. I joined them in going to a great bar in Palermo called "Por H o Por B" (a saying in Argentina that I still don't understand), and it was filled with tons of other young, boisterous Argentines. As an added plus, the background music was hip hop, a very rare find in Argentina.
In the Gonzalez family home after dinner, with Mr. Gonzalez on the far right, and Mrs. Gonzalez in white, to my immediate left.
When the train reached my stop, I was in an urban, but residential, area. Many of the buildings were free standing, and what looked like I a small-town main street was surrounded by wooded neighborhoods of private, individual homes. It was a great difference from downtown Buenos Aires, where tens of thousands of people live in crowded highrises above window-shop businesses and traffic-choked streets.
The Gonzalez home was not unlike many of the beautiful homes that I walked past, except that it was among the biggest. The home was divided into 3 buildings, with gardens in between, and was a mix of Mediterranean architecture with the comforting feel of wood and brick. The dining area included an enormous grill in the kitchen, a table that could easily accommodate 10 or more people, and a rustic decorations all around.
The Gonzalez's had invited many other people to dinner as well, an Argentinean-American couple from Conneticut, Mrs. Gonzalez's sister with her Uruguayan husband, and her Peruvian niece who is studying in Buenos Aires to be a pilot. The food was delicious, including Choripan (chorizo sausage and french bread), cuts of Lomo steak (tender beef), and cerdo (pork). The conversation was also easy, flowing seamlessly between English and Spanish. The Gonsalez's are originally Peruvian, and spent many years living in the States, so there was a lot to talk about.
After dinner, I caught a ride back into the city with her niece, Natalia, and her friend Juan. I joined them in going to a great bar in Palermo called "Por H o Por B" (a saying in Argentina that I still don't understand), and it was filled with tons of other young, boisterous Argentines. As an added plus, the background music was hip hop, a very rare find in Argentina.
In the Gonzalez family home after dinner, with Mr. Gonzalez on the far right, and Mrs. Gonzalez in white, to my immediate left.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Weekdays
It's getting harder and harder to keep up with this blog, as I'm now just about as busy from day to day as I would be back home.
This week was typical, Monday night was low key, with a bit only a bit of studying after my classes in the morning and some reading later that night. Tuesday, I went to the gym in the afternoon, where Victoria, a member of the staff, greeted me with the usual Argentinean kiss and proceeded to help me with my workout. That night, I joined Megan to place called Notorius, a hip and ingenious cafe/bar where you could order a cappuchino, browse their digital music collection and choose to purchase CDs, if you like. That night, Notorius hosted a live music show as well, a young jazz pianist who played tranquil, but complicated, songs that fit the mood of the evening perfectly.
Wednesday, I watched Alexandro Magno (Alexander the Great, which I didn't think was that bad) at the movies by myself in English with Spanish subtitles. Thursday, I finally played my first game of tennis on a red, clay court, and I have the pink shoes to prove it! It was a lot of fun, even though I can't quite hit and slide like the pros do yet.
I also had a pretty strange dream after eating a rich and heavy appetizer at 12:30am one night. I dreamt that one night, here in Buenos Aires, I was staying in an extra bedroom of some other American ex-pats for the night when I was woken up at 1am. Apparently, the "Bank of Argentina" had "failed," or "crashed," or something, and the city was dissolving into chaos. Not believing it at first, I looked out of the window to see shops closing, stores being looted, and roving mobs of people in the streets. The American who woke me told me that all of us needed to get out of there fast, so I tried to call a real-life American friend of mine here in BA to warn him. However, I couldn't get through, and eventually I just had to take of with the people I was with, speeding away for Chile.
I guess I had a dream like that coming after discussing Argentinean politics with my teachers in class all week.
This week was typical, Monday night was low key, with a bit only a bit of studying after my classes in the morning and some reading later that night. Tuesday, I went to the gym in the afternoon, where Victoria, a member of the staff, greeted me with the usual Argentinean kiss and proceeded to help me with my workout. That night, I joined Megan to place called Notorius, a hip and ingenious cafe/bar where you could order a cappuchino, browse their digital music collection and choose to purchase CDs, if you like. That night, Notorius hosted a live music show as well, a young jazz pianist who played tranquil, but complicated, songs that fit the mood of the evening perfectly.
Wednesday, I watched Alexandro Magno (Alexander the Great, which I didn't think was that bad) at the movies by myself in English with Spanish subtitles. Thursday, I finally played my first game of tennis on a red, clay court, and I have the pink shoes to prove it! It was a lot of fun, even though I can't quite hit and slide like the pros do yet.
I also had a pretty strange dream after eating a rich and heavy appetizer at 12:30am one night. I dreamt that one night, here in Buenos Aires, I was staying in an extra bedroom of some other American ex-pats for the night when I was woken up at 1am. Apparently, the "Bank of Argentina" had "failed," or "crashed," or something, and the city was dissolving into chaos. Not believing it at first, I looked out of the window to see shops closing, stores being looted, and roving mobs of people in the streets. The American who woke me told me that all of us needed to get out of there fast, so I tried to call a real-life American friend of mine here in BA to warn him. However, I couldn't get through, and eventually I just had to take of with the people I was with, speeding away for Chile.
I guess I had a dream like that coming after discussing Argentinean politics with my teachers in class all week.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Pictures of Pinamar
The hostel, Albergue Bruno Valente, converted from a hotel built in 1926.
The views from inside the dorm rooom and from the balcony.
The beach looking south, and then north along the Atlantic Coast.
One of many dirt roads leading from the beach back into town.
One of the "upscale" car dealerships along Pinamar's main strip, each model accompanied by a model. And, in case you were wondering, that slogan does translate to "have you felt like a Ford lately."
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