Milonga!

Día 26

Friday evening I went to a milonga at the Tango Festival expo center. A live orchestra was playing pieces from the 40’s - 60’s era. Tango music has to be energetic, so unlike most classical music, it doesn’t put me to sleep. The musicians – mostly strings and an accordionist, wore white face, and had painted black  superhero eye masks around their eyes. The floor was open to any dancers, many casual in jeans, a few more elaborately dressed, including one woman in a leopard print dress.

            When a friend, admitting she didn’t know the steps, declined to dance with an Argentinean, he turned to me. I jumped on the chance, promising I knew little, by which, I pretty much meant I knew how to walk backwards. This man was extraordinarily patient, and spent about an hour teaching me. At first, he thought I was stupid (“It’s not that hard, I’m not lying” he insisted while explaining a move), until I told him I just didn’t speak that much Spanish. One main thing he tried to get me to do was relax; turns out, I dance best with my eyes shut.

If you know the basic technique, tango becomes largely about sensing the intentions of the leader. That’s a large part of what I like about social dance – like biking and ice skating, it’s all very natural. 

Día 17 - 23: Mate, Politics, and Cowboys (with a dash of death, and a side of tango)

I.   Día 17: Mate

I just finished curing my mate with mixed results. The vessel you drink from is called a “mate” (it’s also sometimes called a word that can also mean “penis”; This doesn’t make sense on many levels). My mate is made of a gourd, but you can also buy wood, plastic, or metal mates. Gourds and wood are the most popular and have different tastes. To prepare the drink, you fill the mate about 2/3 of the way with yerba leaves. You need to leave room, because the leaves will swell when heated. Shake the mate to mix up the yerba (add sugar if you like), and shake so the yerba makes a diagonal line within the gourd (not a straight line). This is supposed to ensure that not all the yerba gets wet at once, so the flavor lasts longer. Then, add the water, at about 90 degrees Celsius – if you pour water too hot, you’ll lose the taste as well. The bombilla is a special straw with a filter so you don’t suck up yerba (except, apparently, 8 peso ones don’t do this; buy a 30 peso one). 

Traditionally, one person has a mate gourd that they pass around. Each person drinks all the water, then passes the mate back to the owner, who refills it from a thermos, and passes it to someone else. I’ve encountered this in an Anthro class I sat in on, where one girl maintained the mate the whole class (I’m not sure she ever paused to take notes), and my Creative Writing teacher explained it today. It feels rather rude, but you shouldn’t say “thank you” unless you don’t want anymore.

To prepare your mate the first time, you’re supposed to cure it, which really just ensures you have a better taste. The general idea is to let your gourd absorb the flavor of the yerba more strongly. (I suppose it’s how ceramic tea pots will take on the flavor of their tea, and so – I assume - enhance the flavor of ensuing cups). Raquel’s boyfriend’s dad suggested brewing yerba in the new mate and letting it sit for three days. The internet suggested rinsing it the mate with water, letting it dry, then brushing the inside with sugar, brewing yerba for a day, dumping out the yerba, cutting any loose skin off the inside of the gourd, and repeating the process. I chose to let my first batch brew for two days, then cut loose skin and brew another day. Trying it now, it’s not the best mate, but then that could be the result of the brand of yerba I bought or the suboptimal straw.

II. Día 22: San Antonio 

Sunday I visited San Antonio de Areco, which I had heard described as a cowboy town, two hours from Buenos Aires by bus. It’s a nice small town, more enjoyable for its pretty river and relaxing atmosphere than for any particular event we did there. Upscale silver workshops are popular, as our horse rides for tourists. 

We went to a museum that was an old cowboy farm, and also stopped by the guide-book famous La Olla de Cobre chocolate store, which had a line down the block and was crowded, likely with fellow tourists. For my own tourist advice I’d say it’s fine to skip it; it smells awesome, but save for a piece of cinnamon chocolate I tried (which gave quite a kick), what I tried wasn’t particularly special, and mostly I found it too sweet.

          La Olla de Cobre ("The Copper Pot")

III. Día 23: Tango

The World Tango festival is in Buenos Aires this week, and the previous one. I went to see a competition today, in which partners dance in a circle, showing off their moves to four judges, and slowly get eliminated. Most of the dancers were young (the women often younger than the men) and from Argentina, Colombia, or Japan.

 Masterful photograpy. A TV screen highlighted one pair at a time.

Clothing seems to be important in tango, more for women than men. Men need to guide the dance, which they do largely through one hand on the woman’s back. The woman adds flourish, showing off fancier footwork. A dress that reveals her legs and is slim around the hips seems to show off the finesse of her leg movements well. There was however, one woman dancing in pants.

IV. Día 21: Death

Friday I saw the Recoleta Cemetery. The walled-in cemetery is like a ghost town of tombs, full of grand statues and marbled works. A few tray cats live there. Today it seems creepy to look into a tomb stacked full of your family’s coffins, and note that your own will soon be added, but I suppose in older times it may have been comforting to have a tradition and a sense of order in death. Still, I think this sort of cemetery adds a more personal touch than a gravestone.

V.     Politics

Last Sunday was the primary elections. Cristina had to run to qualify for the final elections, and the opposition candidates had to compete to be the one to run against her. Apparently, it was a huge election. It was a vote for the president, governor, mayor, national congress, provincial congress, and local representative. and you had to vote not just for which party for each seat, but for which candidate from each party. Parties don’t select just one representative, anyone can run, and the Peronist party had 5 candidates for mayor. The majority of the candidates shown on TV were men, but there were a number of women candidates.  One teacher told us that in the vote there were over 30 pages of names of candidates. Argentina also uses a paper vote, but somehow got all the tickets counted an hour after voting closed.

Cristina won in a landside, taking over 50% of the population, but not everyone was happy. Why not vote Cristina? I’ve heard that the upper classes, have complained that Cristina is basically stealing money from citizens in taxes, then using the cash to bribe the poor into voting for her. The issue is not that Cristina gives money directly to the poor, she doesn’t make systems to support those in poverty (or so I’m told).   For instance, Cristina gives money to families for each kid they send to school. This can be seen as helping support families who will have a kid studying instead of working, or it can be seen as a bribe. I’ve also heard rumor of corruption, and claims that while Cristina took 400 million pesos to build houses for the homeless, only 20 were ever constructed (I haven’t fact checked this).

Whether or not Cristina uses the money optimally, one professor tells me, it does save lives, especially now that mass unemployment has hit two generations of Argentineans.  This professor who seemed to respect Cristina Kirchner voted against her, partly because she’s tired of political offices staying in the hands of the city of Buenos Aires, and would prefer a candidate from the interior. In general, Buenos Aires city seems to rule the province of Buenos Aires, and in the past has been compared to a parasite on the larger province.

Voting is required in Buenos Aires, and if people are sick or had work that prevented them from voting, they have to get a certificate officially excusing them. Most shops and businesses are closed on Sunday, for religious reasons, so this should minimize the number of people who need to be excused. Still, on Sunday I saw a line stretching down 2 city blocks or more of people waiting for their certificate.

Día 11-14: Part III: San Isidro

A fancy, very expensive town, named after the builder’s patron saints.  Vivian Ocampo was a radical feminist and patron of authors. She had a nice house:

 And she lived near the Río Plato. It  used to be called the “Sweet Ocean”, because it wasn’t salty. I can’t imagine why people didn’t realize it was just a river:

It used to be at least 10 city blocks wider, before land was reclaimed

Día 11 -14 Part II: Evita

 One of the best museums I’ve been to (and I’ve been to three or four this week) was the Evita Museo. As a side note, Argentinean phones can’t handle rainy weather, something that shocked me in a country so generally modern, and also meant all plans to go together to the museum failed.

A bit about Evita: she’s the most famous woman in Argentina, and was a far more important force than her husband, the president at the time. Evita was born poor, became a mediocre actress and was involved in social activism. She met Colonel Perón, married him, and became the soul of Argentina. She was an incredibly influential first lady in a time when women had no political say.

The museum was extremely positive in its representation of her, but there were occasional hints of a undercurrent of dissent. One display mention briefly that  when Evita used her health as an excuse not to run for vice president, those who hated her would post up the slogan, “Long Live Cancer!” Never did the museum mention why anyone would hate her.

I’ve been asking others for their opinions on Evita. One host person very diplomatically noted that she was an interesting person who pioneered women’s rights. The doorsman from earlier admired Evita’s work to alleviate poverty and felt porteños, tending to be rich, disliked Evita for her emphasis on the poor. A fellow (U.S.) student told me Evita organized police squads to ruthlessly repress anyone who spoke out against her or her husband, Perón, and perhaps that’s why she’s disliked.

But now, the museum. Before he was president, Perón was a colonel and head of a governmental department involved with workers, among other areas. However, for reasons the museum stayed vague on, he annoyed many people in the government and was arrested. Workers, terrified that their support systems would be lost, rallied in mass to demand his release. It’s an interesting parallel to current fears of losing the support systems Cristina has made. When in office, Perón transformed October 17^th, the day he was freed from prison, into a holiday called Loyalty Day, on which he and Evita would give speeches to the masses.

                                                     People kind of liked Evita

 Despite this, Evita was what made Perón stand out. She was beloved to the point of near sainthood, and it’s her policies his terms are known for. Around 1948 or 1949, Evita made many social rights part of the Constitution for the first time. This included rights for children, the elderly, workers, education, and health. It was also the first time social aid had been extended to all areas of the country.

In addition the classic orphanages and schools, Evita had several very novel creations. One included a children’s touristy program that organized and funded visits to the ocean or other areas, allowing poor children, orphans, and abandoned kids to see new sites. Evita also created a foundation dedicated to aid to other countries, an interesting choice for someone already trying to make many changes to her own country. The museum had several book displays explaining what rights people deserve. The elderly have a right to moral health (the picture showed an old folks home with a library), and kids have a right to love, because “children are of God and are the fruit of love”. I don’t know what of these actually translated to law, because it certainly sounds impossible to enforce and hard to support.

                                      Her actual quote on feminism (yes, I was officially allowed to take photos)

In regards to feminism, Evita struck the perfect note. One of Evita’s causes was winning voting rights for women (she succeeded). In discussing it, she said, we women aren’t in a fight for dominance with men, we just want the chance to help our country too.

Among the museum’s odd displays were a selection of photos of Evita’s hands in different positions and several propaganda filled children’s books. I’ll translate two for you:

1.

“In an old book of stamps, Magarita admired marvelous landscapes. Mountain ranges, woods, beaches, snow. How beautiful it would be to have a vacation in one of these places! Enthusiastically, she showed the book to her mom, and asked when they would visit these sites; the woman, saddened, responded, “Workers can’t travel because we don’t have money.”

            Fortunately, this occurred a long time ago, because now, since Evita created the Foundation, all Argentinean workers have holiday camps in mountain ranges and beaches where they can have fun, together with their families, on their well deserved vacations.”

2. My favorite, it’s titled “Love Is Repaid With Love.”

            “How tenderly the mother rocks the baby” commented Miss Clara.

            “And how lovingly the child holds out its arms!” responded Lucia.

            “Love is repaid with love!”

            Our homeland also had a mommy that rocked with her unlimited kindness: Evita!

            She completely sacrificed for and loved her town, and her town returned her love.   

            Love is repaid with love!”

In the years after her death, Evita’s body was moved four or more times, in attempts to keep it safe from those who hated her. In 1957  her body was interred in Italy under the false name “Maria Maggi de Magish” and now it resides in Recoleta, my neighborhood.

Día 11-14: Part I The Air is Alive with the Sound of Politics

Buenos Aires’ presidential election system is much more involved than the U.S’s, allowing for more candidate options, requiring more participation by the citizens, and does more to prevent split votes. Right now, there are 8 candidates for president, excluding the incumbent, Cristina Krichner. Tomorrow, the (native-born) citizens vote to pare it down to 4, and will keep voting until they have only one opposition candidate in October, when they finally choose their new leader (citing one of my apartment’s doorsmen here). All stores are closed tomorrow for the vote, and bars were closed today so no one ends up drunk voting.

Terms are also 4 years , but the Krichners have been in power for a long time. Nestor Krichner ran the country before his wife, and according to the secretaries at UMSA (a local university) it’s likely Cristina will win again. One secretary told me that Cristina created a lot of support systems (or at least maintained them), and many people who rely on them are afraid that they will disappear under a new president. The secretary thought that everyone in the U.S. tends to support their current president, because we always know we can just change president in 4 years.  Here, there is a greater sense of being stuck.

It is true that in the U.S. many of our support systems like Medicare and Social Security are a pretty ingrained part of our system, regardless of the president, but I’m sure voters are swayed by how much money they believe a candidate will dedicate to these services. As for presidential support, here in Argentina, everyone tells me that all the porteños hate any president of theirs currently in office, but I have never heard anyone actually complain about Cristina. In fact, people tend to panic less over economics and political problems here, because they’re much more used to it. Where Europe riots, Argentina says, “oh that again?”.  (On this one, I’ll site the secretaries and my Spanish teacher’s response to a discussion on the London riots).

I also talked to the doorsman about racism. In Buenos Aires, there’s a prejudice against Indians in particular, dark skin, people who haven’t been to college, and people who are shorter. He said blond and tall was an ideal. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear about racism against Uruguayans or Peruvians because many poor immigrants come from there, but he didn’t mention that as one.

This doorsman was a bit disappointed that the U.S. doesn’t talk about Argentina at all, and tends to see South America as a unit, not separate countries. In Argentina, there’s an emphasis on learning about other countries, and, if I understood him correctly, study abroad is mandatory. Countries like England and Brazil have been sending students to study Argentinean politics. Argentina does have many economic slumps, but it is also known for quick recoveries, something Europe would love to get in on.

However, he’d quite like South America to become one political force, united under a single ruler. Uruguay and Paraguay both used to be part of Argentina, and he believes that many of the people would like a united South America, because it be a much more powerful force. However, he admitted it’s very unlikely any  South American president will volunteer to give up power to another leader. A side note: he felt that Buenos Aires didn’t really want to be part of Argentina. In fact, the city of Buenos Aires is separate from the province of Buenos Aires. I’m wondering if  B.A. is the Quebec of the South.

Argentina has only been a democracy for 25 years, before that it was a military dictatorship. To put this on a time line, the military overthrew Isabel Perón, President Perón’s wife after Evita. when the military failed to regain the Falkland/Malivinas Islands from Britain, they crumbled, and the democracy began. (British people live on the islands, but Argentina believes this is an unjust occupation of their land). It was terrifying to realize I was talking to a man who had grown up under a dictatorship. All that he mentioned about it was there aren’t curfews anymore.

Día 10: La Boca and the other Palermo

(Día 9 just wasn’t interesting enough)

La Boca is both poorer and very touristy. It’s an area of town known for the La Bombonera stadium, home of the Boca Juniors (I asked why “Juniors” as opposed to “Seniors” or any other age, apparently it refers to the players being the children of La Boca). The stadium was painted in Boca blue and gold, and several stores around it matched vividly. La Boca’s quirk is having a stadium with a large number 12 painted on it, to celebrate the “12^th member” of the soccer team, the fans. Rivals of La Boca call them “manure people” because there is rumor that when the river floods, “everyone is covered in crap”, as our guide put it.

Caminata, in La Boca region, consists of one or two pedestrian streets lined with art work and restaurants. It’s a highly touristy area where artists sell their works, and dancers tango in the street and offer to pose in photos for money. The houses here are straight from Buenos Aires postcards, despite the fact that the distinctive houses are actually only found this short street. The houses often have aluminum wall sections, giving an interesting texture and fell, but most of all they are all in a brilliant collection of colors. Each house is painted with areas of solid colors - a several foot wide strip of pink, a huge rectangle of blue or green, etc. This is because workers in the docks would take the left over paint used on boats and slap it on to their houses to weatherproof them. It’s not a nice neighborhood to wander alone, all the tour guides and guidebooks says, and we were told to stay in pairs, even just for wandering within three streets for 15 minutes.

Later, riding a bus back from playing soccer in Palermo, I got my first glimpse of prostitutes. At night, one of the parks I had biked through this Sunday transforms into a red light hot spot. Even in the day the ground is littered with condoms. At night, women (I saw two) stand by the side of the road, shaking themselves at cars. They looked just like they do in movies . The one I remember most clearly had short dress, tights, and heavy make up. Her dress had a white off the shoulders top cut tantalizingly low. Prostitution is illegal here, but very obvious. Buenos Aires features special 1-hr hotels for lovers.

The other day, I was telling Raquel about Arizona’s law to let police demand to see documents from anyone who might be a immigrant. I felt it was really racist, but Raquel pointed out that here she has to carry her papers always, and she’s lived in Argentina for 8 years. I, too, need my passport number for everything. There’s a  difference, I think, making Arizona’s policy more racist, and that is the inequality. In Arizona, anyone Hispanic looking is targeted, but here, it’s equal over anyone who wasn’t born here.  

On related note, as a Peruvian taxi driver told me (and Raquel confirmed) you must be born in Argentina to vote for president.  They both are citizens here, and while that has afforded them many rights, this one is reserved. Immigrants may, however, vote for governor. Argentina’s political system is a bit different from the U.S.’s. Here, it’s easier for many political parties to exist, and there seem to be about 4 people challenging President Cristina Krichner. Instead of each party selecting a candidate to run, all of the people vote for one opposition candidate to run against Cristina, then months later, vote between the two. I know very little about the parties. Many people are in the poorer classes here, and Cristina is a peronist, or a populist, and supports the lower class. Many of her ads connect her to the youth, saying she helps students or represents the strength of the youth. A more radical candidate is an advocate for the middle class.

Right now, one of Argentina’s biggest problems is lack of jobs. Many people are leaving Buenos Aires, though it’s by now means under populated. Immigrants come from the surrounding South American countries  like Uruguay and Peru and, finding no work, end up on the streets. Unlike the U.S., there’s no strict immigration policy. Anyone can come, but it may be better for them that they don’t.

This makes an interesting point about whether or not it’s cruel for the U.S. to block and send back so many immigrants – often I feel anyone should be allowed to try their hand at a better life, but it’s true that there are only so many people that one country can take care of. . I can understand a government not wanting to bite off more than they can chew.  It was pointed out to me that in Buenos Aires, for instance, if people come, they will live on the streets; If Buenos Aires builds more homeless shelters, then more immigrants will come, then they will live on the streets.

On a lighter note, here in photos they say “Whiskey” instead of “Cheese”.

Día 6-8: Pretty Places

Today Kiki and I found a beautiful café/bookstore in Sur Palermo, one of my new favorite neighborhoods. A lot of restaurants have newspapers and magazines you can borrow, which is an awesome idea. The area here is older, with cobblestone roads, and is full of huge parks. We went with the group on a bike tour for a few hours. On Friday, I went to an estancia (a farm) out in the country. They had bikes for us there, too. The bikes had wide curving handlebars and simple construction (backpedal to break, none of this fancy 21speed nonsense). The simplicity of the bikes and the sunny countryside was so whimsical, it was like being in a movie. I felt like I should be bringing a baguette to a picnic or having a charming adventure.

Sometimes Argentina feels like it has the advertisements and energy of New York, but with much more greenery, space, and calmer people. No one is ever on time.

Later today, I tried the famed Argentinean pizza. It’s quite tasty and not greasy. One type I tried had a thick corn-based crust, which was interesting. After the tour, I went with a friend to see the Centro Cultural Recoleta, an art museum. One awesome thing about Argentineans’ nightlife is that museums are still open at 9pm. In front was a crafts fair in the Recoleta neighborhood, where we bought mate (gourds for drinking yerba mate, a immensely popular drink here). I’ve heard even gas stations advertise hot water for refilling your mate; everyone seems to drink it (museum guards, our staff, etc.) but no cafes or restaurants seem to serve it. I tried it at the estancia. It tastes like strong green tea. 

                                                                        Mate

Yesterday I went on a city bus tour, and tried a tango class. They broke the steps down immensely for us, so while what we’re doing looks nothing like tango, we’re also not crying at how hard it is. Not yet.

One interesting thing here is pub/club culture. I was again at the Irish Pub on Friday, and I begin to get the feeling people go to bars mainly to flirt. Clubs certainly are ridiculous that way. I’ve heard about men at clubs trying to make out with girls after one dance or using rather blatant pick up lines like, “What’s your favorite sex position?” Men here certainly push more and more obviously, because women dismiss them much more easily, and I think it’s just a more sexual culture. PDA is big here. People make out in parks, on the street, on the bus, and are generally more touchy. There were two Americans near me at the bar, and the Argentinean I was talking to told that the man must be gay, because it had been a whole hour and he hadn’t kissed the girl. I tried to explain it was a cultural difference . . ..

Día 4 +5: Part 2: Politics and Philosophy (aka this post is a social faux pas)

4. Political Places

Today a friend and I wandered around and discovered the capital. We found the Casa Rosada, (the “Pink House”, Argentina’s version of the White House). I read in a guide book that there are two theories for why it’s pink. One says there were two main political groups at the time, one with white for its symbol, the other with red, and that the Casa Rosada symbolizes a compromise. The other theory says that there was a tradition of painting a new house with bull’s blood (for good luck, I suppose) and that’s where the color originally came from. Come to think of it, I have no idea why the White House is white. To look pure? To match stone buildings nearby? Because the paint was cheap?

                                           Casa Rosada

                                           Another view of the plaza

In this plaza, there are many protests about the people who have been disappeared in the past few decades. In the late 1900s, up until the 1980s, the government kidnapped and murdered people it deemed traitors or dissidents, people who spoke out against the government. The idea here was that if people were not officially arrested or officially executed, there was no crime. You could ask the government, “Where is my wife?” and they could answer, “Well, where did you leave her?” or “Do you think she ran off? Were you having marriage problems?” The government admitted nothing, and so was unstoppable; you cannot work against a crime that does not exist. Another reason for the disappearances was international outcry. I listened to a radio channel, in which someone said there had been a huge outcry over another South American country executing 5 people by firing squad. Argentina wanted to execute thousands. They couldn’t do it in the public eye without getting the world involved. The fear caused by the ambiguity also helped to make the disappearances a powerful tool, of course. Often bodies were weighted down and dropped in the ocean, to make the killings untraceable. It wasn’t until bodies started washing up on shore that people realized what was going on. (I’m taking my information from a Lonely Planet guide book, a radio show, and a movie). 

                                          Police vehicle at the plaza.

Mothers started protesting in this plaza, and still do. South America values families and the role of a mother deeply. By appealing to this, the mothers could protest the disappearances with impunity, or at least less risk than one who is not a symbol of nurturing. The mothers would demand to know where their children were, and now, I believe, are still now calling for a record of what happened to their (and others’) children and for accountability of the officers involved. As of 2007, I think that  many of the smaller officers involved – prison guards and the like – had not been tried.

5. Flutes and Philosophy

Here’s my summary: I met a man who makes flutes and believes that everyone has masculine and feminine energy, and that your energy expresses who you are/what you will do and also has connections to the universe. 2012 will bring many changes, and, as I’m sure may of you have thought, society is not real.

I ended up talking for an hour or more with a man who makes traditional Andean flutes and a dance student who is traveling from Uruguay to Brazil. It was mostly in Spanish, so my understanding of his philosophy may be a bit vague.

The man’s name sounds like “Iguayki”, which means “friend” in a native language. When he heard me play one of his wooden flute/clarinets strongly and clearly, he said I have a energy to me that is expressed in music. Iguayki found a significance to my purple scarf; he says there are “indigo” people who are more connected with the world. My best guess is that he meant that these people have an indigo aurora  and the colors I wore were a symbol of this.

Iguayki told me that there is energy in the relationship of your body to the world, and that everyone’s energy is always growing or waning, it fluctuates constantly. The other student’s energy was decreasing he said, but she didn’t seem upset about it. She had already been sitting with him (she was buying a few flutes) and seemed to agree with his ideas. There are also energy vampires, he told me, that you have to look out for. But it seems that good things can sap energy, too, as he says making his flutes is exhausting.

Iguayki used a blue painting of the universe as a diagram to explain his theories of the world. The moon is feminine and the sun is masculine and each person has a mix of both energies. Because I like men, he says that signifies that my feminine side is stronger, if I was a lesbian, it would mean that I had more masculine energy (presumably bisexuals have a balance). Based on my birth date he said my feminine energy is the 13^th moon. There are 13 moons, and each one corresponds to a connection point of the body: the neck, 2 shoulders, 2 elbows, 2 hips,  2 wrist, 2 knees, 2 ankles.

My masculine side is the red dragon. It means that I will give to and help the world. The “red” signifies that I start things. I am the sort of person who gets things in motion (he did not say I followed through). The dragon means I will give food to “stomachaches”, or to the “heart” or the “mind”. (that’s how he worded it). He suggested this could manifest literally or metaphorically, but seemed to focus on tangible food. (This idea is especially interesting, because a fortune teller in Miami told me she saw my spirit walking and giving food to people along the way. I have yet to be worthy of any of these predictions). Iguayki told me I don’t need to actively do anything, I just need to be, to be open, to open my energy. Iguayki’s masculine energy is a blue shaman and relates to him imparting knowledge.

Iguayki also said 2012 is an important date of much change. Unlike the Mayans, he didn’t seem to think the world will end, just that we need to be ready and be flexible for a large shift. All the planets will be in the same place.

In our conversation, Iguayki also told me about how time is an illusion. I think much of society is an illusion or a game we trick ourselves into believing in because it makes life meaningful. An advertising company desperately cares if this phone sells or that, a D and D player might be furious if their imaginary character dies in an imaginary dungeon, and children would cry if Simba didn’t get to be the lion king. In reality, these don’t really matter very much, or really affect much. Survival matters, at least to the person trying to survive. But if we take this “rationality” and seeing things in perspective too far, nothing matters, and life dissolves into apathy. All of humanity can be rendered without point by noting that we cannot impact the greater galaxy we live on the edge of. But life is not fun without a point, so we must make molehills into mountains to give ourselves the fun of climbing them. The joy of life includes hating that there is a mountain in our way and relishing conquering it or being devastated if we have to walk around it or go another route. We need to believe in the illusions we make.

Sorry if all that sounded really pretentious.

 Even my graffiti for the day is political. It's all about the right to free speech or not being persecuted, I believe.

Día 4 +5: Part 1: Eat, Drink, and Check your Watch

This one turned out to be a long entry so I’ll give you section titles, in case you don’t want to read it all. (But you guys love everything I write, right? right??)

1. Time:

Yesterday, I bought a phone, a very slow process, but then, time is different in Buenos Aires. Today, some friends waited almost half an hour for the waiter to bring them tea (first he brought them cups, then when reminded brought them cold water instead of tea). He wasn’t apologetic at all, but sort of found the mistake funny. (We were at Gran Café Tortoni, it’s very fancy and culturally important, I’m told). There’s no word for procrastinating in Spanish, or so a native tells me. I almost went to an art show today, but it started half an hour late, and I had to go home to dinner. Thus is life here, a mix of relaxed and chaotic. There’s less stress over time, and less order.

2. Bar

Last night Gia, Kelly, Victoria and I went to a bar called Shamrock. (Apparently the only bars I go to are Irish pubs in foreign countries; this was my second bar experience). It was crowded, and an odd place to be. All the tables had long been taken, and people stood in masses, a fair mix of men and women, probably in their 30’s or late 20’s. To get a drink we had to maneuver our way against crowd at the bar and call a waiter, which did take a bit. If you wanted more than one drink, the waiter gave you a ticket to use with your drink written on it. Happy hour seemed to be at 11pm, or at least, it was still going on then. I ordered a Tía Santa María: it turned out to be nice, and tasted like Irish cream with a tickle of alcohol that made me want to cough. To be honest, the bar wasn’t overly fun. It was too loud to hear people well, and too crowded to sit and chat or to dance. Bar and club culture do seem to be a big theme I hear mentioned in Buenos Aires, but that may just be because it tends to be a big theme with kids of that age anywhere.

3. Food

I feel like all I talk about is food, so let me write a list:

Submarino: a drink popular with students in my program. It consists of a glass of warm, possibly steamed milk, and a piece of chocolate you drop in. Tastes like hot chocolate. You can add sugar if you like.

Marquise: I have no idea if this is especially Argentinean, but it is especially tasty. A brownie then a layer of dulce de leche, then thick marshmallow.

A type of almond ice cream dessert (not yet it’s official name, but surely it’ll catch on soon): Guide books celebrate the ice cream here. Argentina is larger Italian and Spanish immigrants, and the Italian side brings all the power of gelato. What I ordered looked like a slice of coffee cake. Its center was ice cream and the border was crushed almonds. It was very creamy, and I liked it, but my one ice cream experience was not the stuff of guide books.

Empanadas: I had these for dinner tonight.  Essentially a dough pouch of ground or chopped beef, and possibly egg or other filling. We had them with ketchup, but the interesting thing is my host mom eats them with sugar on top.

Medialunes: These look like croissants but are really sweet. They taste like donuts, more or less, with a definite sweet crust, and their name comes from their shape, like a crescent moon. (“luna” is “moon”). These were everywhere today – at the university we visited, at the café  .  . . I will get diabetes if I stay here for long.  

                                             Marquis and Submarino

Día Tres: Day for the Day

                                            Soap on a stick, it's the happening thing.

Graffiti for the day: “Hip hop changed my life. I am a new man.”

Lessons for the day: If arms are not broken, you did not really want to leave the train.

I went to see Universidad de Buenos Aires. The place looks like a large high school, in that it’s not especially nice looking and has those high school chairs with the attached mini-desks. There are pigeons inside, and some graffiti, but it’s a very good school. UBA is a public school, so free, and thus competition is huge, meaning that the quality of the students is top notch. I might not take a classes there, because I’ve been warned that if I do so, I ought to be close to bilingual.  Getting back by subway was an experience. We missed our stop for changing lines, so had to go back. I got separated from the group later because I couldn’t get through the masses. One passenger advised me to shove and push my way out, but it was a sheer wall of bodies. I soon gave up on the subway and walked the rest of way. The air is like late autumn or early winter, it’s a nice night for walking. 

Food for the day: Spinach ravioli, especially tasty because I managed the restaurant (and the Spanish) alone (yes, pride is very tasty. You should try sprinkling it on all your dishes). I got a chance to read a newspaper – there’s a lot on the presidential elections, and a little on the USA. I feel comics, and generally sense of humor, says a lot about a country. Mostly the comics were like those in the USA: jokes about government debt, about TV, about romantically interested people being awkward.

Stereotype for the day: Raquel's English textbook has a few photos and mentions of USA stuff: hamburgers and other fast food, blue jeans, the movie Pretty Woman, NY taxis. I'd be cool if I had a point to make about this, but I really just like seeing how the world views us. The constant stream of hamburgers is pretty in holding with Hetalia's view, and sadly, I can't say the representations are too unfounded.

Día Dos: The Argentineans are curious

Today was the first official day of orientation. Breakfast was a traditional toast with coffee. My housemate, Gia, really confused our host maid/peer when she said she just wanted a glass of water. Raquel, the maid, couldn’t believe it was a real meal if she didn’t have coffee or tea or at least juice. The toast is covered with a type of cream, and on top of that, dulce de leche, a dark spread that looks like nutella and tastes a bit like caramel. There was also a sweet jelly for the bread. So far, almost everything I’ve had in Argentina has been very sweet.

At lunch there was more coffee, which I’m beginning to love. No doubt they need it – Argentineans tend to be up late, having dinner at 9 and going to clubs from 2am-7am. There are a surprising number of vegetarians and vegans on the trip, visiting a province known for beef. I’ve seen precious few vegetables, and Buenos Aires had so much meat that in the older times, even slaves ate beef.

Me and Kiki at a church in San Telmo

We had a tour of the San Telmo neighborhood and orientation informational sessions today.  One of our advisors lectured us on pick pocketing, which is apparently incredibly common. You should always keep your bag on you, and between your legs or on your lap at restaurants, and in front of you when walking around or on the subway. If your bag’s zippers are not covered by an arm or a hand, they will be opened. “The Argentineans are very curious”, was how Adrianna put it. Also, apparently Starbucks is an American trap. It is visited by American tourists looking for the familiar, and pickpockets and bag thieves looking for American tourists.

some grafitti

Día Uno - Tango

Argentina . . . everyone looks like a Caucasian, more or less. At the airport I couldn’t tell what language to use, even trying English on blondes wasn’t a sure strategy.

I arrived first of my group, at 6:30 am. It was the day of the governmental elections for Buenos Aires, and everywhere there was political graffiti. So far, I’ve only seen one offensive graffiti; most is just phrases like “For the left” or “Cristina forever more” (referring in this case to the presidential elections in October), or “beloved Cristina.. One bit of graffiti even read “I Love My Mother’; not quite the “FU World” or “I will be consumed by darkness” sort of graffiti I’ve seen in the US.  Posters were plastered up reminding people to vote. I’ve heard that everyone is legally required to vote, but that the law is easy to shirk.

I am living with an elderly woman, her live-in maid (a few years older than me), a housemate in my abroad program, and another abroad student who’s been here for two months. Apparently English is rather important in Argentina. Most people seem to speak a little, and my host maid? (host helper? host peer? I’m not sure what to call her) is studying it, because it’s a requirement for being a secretary.

So far, the much rumored of deadly traffic is a no-show. They’re not jaywalking friendly, but it’s no New York. The most dangerous thing was that one of our taxi drivers had a TV attached to his windshield, playing the news. (Come to think of it, Heather mentioned seeing a more improvised version of this in Japan . . . apparently the rest of the world does not need to see to drive.)

We went out to a tango show in Puerto Madera. First they served  us wine and a meal – the best thing I tasted there was gnocchi. There’s a strong Italian heritage in Argentina, along with a love of beef. We later tried a type of black caramel flan, also very rico. “Rico” and “linda” seemed to be the words of the night, perhaps because they were the positive adjectives that we knew and were easy to apply to most things.

Gia (my housemate) and Raquel (the host maid) in Puerto Madero

The tango show consisted of many acts, either men dancing solo, together, or with women, and singing. In general, it’s a very flashy, very flirty dance. The dancers get inches away from each other’s faces, lift and spin women, and toss so many quick, high kicks around the back or between the legs that they seem on the edge of injury. Immigrants and prostitutes created the dance, which no doubt explains the sexy atmosphere.  One man in the show danced solo, and he turned the moves into something that granted an air of power, not flirtation. The men all had slicked back black hair, and all the plots (when there was one) generally consisted of a man taking a piece of clothing from a woman who was minding her own business. The woman willingly tries to retrieve her umbrella/apron/shawl, and in the process, they being to dance.