Sunday, June 3, 2007
oops.
Here´s that link to the map. Forgot to include it in that last blog. http://www.argentour.com/mapas/archivosmapas/neuqueng.jpg
Adios for now
Hiking down from the Mapuche village I´d paid an early morning visit to I ran in to a pack of grazing alpaca on the rock face. I think we were all a bit startled at first. The alpaca stared at me, slowly masticating their sticks and grass, sizing me up, and I just stood there bewildered for a moment. "Oh, that´s right...I´m in the Argentine Andes...Ok then, this is fine...funny looking things...they´re in my way...seem friendly..." I walked right at the one blocking the way, he moved aside, and we all went about our business.
I´m leaving civilization tomorrow. I´ll be gone for about six weeks. This is my farewell blog. Here`s the plan. I´m catching a bus to a town north of here called Zapala where I am meeting one of my coworkers who´ll be in a truck that we´ll then drive three or so hours north in to an area called Colipilli wherein sits the ranch that I will be working on until at least mid July. I´ll be learning equestrian skills, grazing goats and sheep, building fences, learning to cook authentic asado and gaucho bread, and much more. I´ll have stories for you all in July. The crew is myself, occasionaly the owner of the place Ashley--an american from ohio--five gauchos who were born onto this ranch, and one girl from Utah who while participating in a project similar to what I`m doing some time back fell in love with the youngest of the gauchos Fabio and now lives there. She is a horse and leatherworks specialist.
Wish me luck. Take care. Come back in July. Adios.
Here´s a link to a map of Neuquen province. I´m just southeast of El Huecù.
A few salutations are also in order:
Mom and Dad, happy 25th anniversary! Well done!
Uncle Mark and Sandy, happy 1st anniversary!
And happy belated birthday to Sandy and my newest cousin Claire.
Take care friends.
I´m leaving civilization tomorrow. I´ll be gone for about six weeks. This is my farewell blog. Here`s the plan. I´m catching a bus to a town north of here called Zapala where I am meeting one of my coworkers who´ll be in a truck that we´ll then drive three or so hours north in to an area called Colipilli wherein sits the ranch that I will be working on until at least mid July. I´ll be learning equestrian skills, grazing goats and sheep, building fences, learning to cook authentic asado and gaucho bread, and much more. I´ll have stories for you all in July. The crew is myself, occasionaly the owner of the place Ashley--an american from ohio--five gauchos who were born onto this ranch, and one girl from Utah who while participating in a project similar to what I`m doing some time back fell in love with the youngest of the gauchos Fabio and now lives there. She is a horse and leatherworks specialist.
Wish me luck. Take care. Come back in July. Adios.
Here´s a link to a map of Neuquen province. I´m just southeast of El Huecù.
A few salutations are also in order:
Mom and Dad, happy 25th anniversary! Well done!
Uncle Mark and Sandy, happy 1st anniversary!
And happy belated birthday to Sandy and my newest cousin Claire.
Take care friends.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Mas photos
Here are some pictures from a couple of the days that passed between Bariloche and the volcano trek on Sunday.
My first stop was in Valdivia, Chile. I took an afternoon bus through the Andes and arrived in Valdivia on an foggy night at about 10:00. After a bit of confusion and aimless wandering I asked for directions from a nice couple and found my hostel in no time. Valdivia ias a small college town that sits a few kilometres inland from the ocean on the banks of two tidal rivers. It is a quite but culturally rich little place with an excellent fish market on the banks of the river every morning. I bought a side of salmon and an assortment of the best vegetables I´ve seen yet down here and cooked myself an excellent meal. These shots are from right outside of the market, first looking south and then to the north where the lazy sea lions pass their time eating the scraps that the fisherman throw in the river.
The hightlight of my short stay in Valdivia was not the market but the the Kunstmann brewery. German immigration has left a positive influence on the city of Valdivia in the form of excellent Beer. I failed to take any pictures because I was to busy tasting all the brews and munching deliciuos cheeses and cured meats. Oh well. If you are ever in Valdivia, don´t miss the Cerveceria.
I was in Valdivia for less than 72 hours when I jumped on a bus to Pucón. Valdivia was a nice stop, and a place I might return to if I ever achieve fluency in the spanish language to pass my time in coffee shops with the local college crowd, but I wanted to get back to the mountains. I didn´t do much on my first couple of days in Pucón do to el gripe (a cold) other than meet some good people and sit in the thermal springs one night with some friends. But by Saturday I´d recovered my health and headed into the countryside on a bicycle. The following are a few pictures from that trip.
I took the main road out of town...
...into the hillside...
...over the bridge...
...beauty. Volcán Villarica. At night it glows red in the distance.
¡Nos vemos!
My first stop was in Valdivia, Chile. I took an afternoon bus through the Andes and arrived in Valdivia on an foggy night at about 10:00. After a bit of confusion and aimless wandering I asked for directions from a nice couple and found my hostel in no time. Valdivia ias a small college town that sits a few kilometres inland from the ocean on the banks of two tidal rivers. It is a quite but culturally rich little place with an excellent fish market on the banks of the river every morning. I bought a side of salmon and an assortment of the best vegetables I´ve seen yet down here and cooked myself an excellent meal. These shots are from right outside of the market, first looking south and then to the north where the lazy sea lions pass their time eating the scraps that the fisherman throw in the river.
The hightlight of my short stay in Valdivia was not the market but the the Kunstmann brewery. German immigration has left a positive influence on the city of Valdivia in the form of excellent Beer. I failed to take any pictures because I was to busy tasting all the brews and munching deliciuos cheeses and cured meats. Oh well. If you are ever in Valdivia, don´t miss the Cerveceria.
I was in Valdivia for less than 72 hours when I jumped on a bus to Pucón. Valdivia was a nice stop, and a place I might return to if I ever achieve fluency in the spanish language to pass my time in coffee shops with the local college crowd, but I wanted to get back to the mountains. I didn´t do much on my first couple of days in Pucón do to el gripe (a cold) other than meet some good people and sit in the thermal springs one night with some friends. But by Saturday I´d recovered my health and headed into the countryside on a bicycle. The following are a few pictures from that trip.
I took the main road out of town...
...into the hillside...
...over the bridge...
...beauty. Volcán Villarica. At night it glows red in the distance.
¡Nos vemos!
Monday, May 28, 2007
El Volcán
I looked down to see the clouds yesterday with my feet on the ground. It was about 12:00 and after close to a six hour journey we had reached the crater at the top of Volcán Quetrupillán. The group consisted of myself, Peter the owner of the hostel here, two of his friends from Pucón Jorge and Marcello, and his old friend from back home in Holland, Boudewijn. Most tourists here take the still difficult but guided tour up Volcán Villarica, the active volcano that I am looking at out my window as I write this. We went for the slightly smaller but more secluded and less traveled volcán. We began the hike in the dark forest an hour and a half before sunrise, following our small path with headlamps until dawn. The forests here are beautiful. An aqua green fungus of some kind hangs from the branches of the massive trees like silly string above the rich green of the forest floor. The streams are a mineral blue and the rabbits are as big as dogs. By the time the sun rose I was more or less awake, and just in time. We had lost our trail and decided to follow a dry riverbed up to the volcán. It was full of huge volcanic rocks, moss and fallen trees. We ascended with our helmets on using tele poles and ice axes to anchor us on the way. About three hours in, at 9:30 we had scaled the first sizable ridge and the Volcán was in site. We sat down to catch our breath and have a bit to eat on a snow patched perch from where we could see both the ground we had covered and what lied ahead. We had all the staples: chocolate, cheese, sausage, bread, fruit and water. The morning was brisk, probably in the upper 30´s to lower 40´s, but not yet even close to the temperatures and winds we´d face on the next leg of the trek. After we finished eating I was given a brief lesson on how to handle my axe and use it catch myself if I lost my footing on the hard snow. About an hour later we had to stop to put on our crampons, claws that we strapped to our boots to scale the peak. At this point the wind had started to blow and we put on all of our clothes and strapped down our helmets and hoods. The views were incredible. Pucón sits on Lake Villarica in a volcanic valley. I saw at least six volcanoes yesterday during the climb. Villarica was active, spouting smoke and flame behind us. The final two hours or so before we reached the top were exhausting. The wind bit my face and froze my fingers as I walked zig zags up the steep summit. But oh the reward when we reached the top. From the top we could see the Volcán Lanin, a huge volcano that sits in both Chile and Argentina, reaching above the clouds. It was spectacular. There was celebration. But we couldn´t stay long because of the wind. The decent was interesting. I was amazed how far we had come on the snow and ice. I had a better sense of my surroundings on the way down because on the one hand I could see the terrain layed out before me and on the other because of the relative ease of the decent I could focus my attention more broadley. I made it up the mountain by not looking too much at the peak. Rather, I would choose a rock 50 or so meters away and think only about it until I got there, where I´d pick another point. Later we were lost in the woods for more than two hours. That, I don´t need to do again. We were following a stream down the mountain and all was well until the waterfall. At some point we lost the stream and the wilderness adventure commenced. We trudged through anything that came in our way which was actually quite fun for maybe an hour. But then it was like being repeatedly smacked in the face and kicked in the shins blind. We were again ecstatic when we found the path and walked the last hour or so in peace on a beauty of an afternoon. On to the pictures.
These first two are from our first resting point. The first is where we had come from looking at Volcán Villarica. The second, the view in the other direction, our peak.
Just about to put on the claws and bundle up.
On the way up. That´s me in the distance. Oh, and by the way thanks to Peter for doing all of the photography on this trip.
Victory! Volcán Lanin towers over the clouds in the background. Foreground, me with an axe in one hand and bread in the other on top of Volcán Quetrupillán.
And the happy group atop Quetrupillán with Volcán Villarica in the background. From the left myself, Jorge, Marcello, Boudewijn, Peter.
Headed back down. The picture is cloudy because we are in a cloud.
An hour or so later...
The woods just above the tree line before we lost our trail.
And finally almost back to the truck. That´s Volcán Quetrupillán behind us in the distance.
Tomorrow I am headed back across the Andes to San Martin where I´ll meet up with the gauchos I´ll be living with next month. More on that later. Gotta go. Hope all is well in your worlds. Until next time...
These first two are from our first resting point. The first is where we had come from looking at Volcán Villarica. The second, the view in the other direction, our peak.
Just about to put on the claws and bundle up.
On the way up. That´s me in the distance. Oh, and by the way thanks to Peter for doing all of the photography on this trip.
Victory! Volcán Lanin towers over the clouds in the background. Foreground, me with an axe in one hand and bread in the other on top of Volcán Quetrupillán.
And the happy group atop Quetrupillán with Volcán Villarica in the background. From the left myself, Jorge, Marcello, Boudewijn, Peter.
Headed back down. The picture is cloudy because we are in a cloud.
An hour or so later...
The woods just above the tree line before we lost our trail.
And finally almost back to the truck. That´s Volcán Quetrupillán behind us in the distance.
Tomorrow I am headed back across the Andes to San Martin where I´ll meet up with the gauchos I´ll be living with next month. More on that later. Gotta go. Hope all is well in your worlds. Until next time...
Sunday, May 20, 2007
edit
Oops. At the end of my last entry I wrote the wrong city in Chile. I am going to Valdivia tomorrow. Valdivia.
San Carlos de Bariloche
Hola all! I´ve had an excellent couple of days here in San Carlos de Bariloche. Following a peaceful but tiring 20 hour bus trip from Buenos Aires I dropped my pack off at my hostel and headed out to explore the city. It was too late in the afternoon to venture out of the city itself and I was in the mood to hike so upon wandering across a street that went up up up into the trees I decided to embark on an urban trek. I ended up here.
Beautiful, a nice view of the lake, the town, the surrounding mountains; I was taking it all in untill...bark bark bark. I had the atttention of the neighborhood canine community. So I went on the retreat turning ack toward what I believed to be the way I came. Wrong. Before I knew it I was at a dead end. There was one medium sized dog that looked like a large coyote and behind a flimsy short fence a rottweiler and some other beast who seemed to be following the lead of the coyote, as if if the coyote decided to he could summon them both with one howl. I retreated into a wood and the dog stopped at the edge. He wasn´t going to attack, but neither was he going to leave. He backed down a bit and stopped barking so I decided to go for it. I picked up a large stick and went forth. As soon as I hit the street I turned right back around. I was stuck. Behind me was somewhat of a cliff that dropped into a thick pine forest. I spotted a ledge seven or so feet below me and slid down to it. I spent the next half hour descending into what ended up to be a pine grove so dense that I could hardly see. Long story short, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the light, enraged two other dogs and ended up in someones back yard on a highway that I walked into town. I got to hike after all...
That evening I grabbed a litre of beer and went to the shore to watch the sunset
Later that night I grabbed a bottle of wine and went back to the hostel where I met a guy from Berlin named Nils. We decided to climb a mountain the next day. And that was what we did. We hit the trail at about 8:30 at an elevation of about 700ft.
Behind Nils there is the low mountain that we had to go around and over to get to our destination, a valley at about 6500 feet, four hours away...at least.
Here she is behind me in the distance
Two hours later we were both quite hungry and hadn´t reached our lunch spot yet, a small shelter at the mouth or our valley
We finally got there and had lunch: cheese, sausage, bread and chocolate. It took this shot from the rock we had lunch on.
Beautiful. We then decided to scale those mountains out there in the distance. And though the valley, the lagoon to be more specific doesn´t look that big, it really is. We were pretty sure that up over ridge there in the left of the picture there was another lagoon. There was only one way to find out so off we went. Follow the water...
...and sure enough, we found the second lagoon. It was frozen solid. Here you can see the frozen lagoon on the far left and in the distance the first one where I had lunch.
We went on a ways. Up and towards the center of the mountains as seen from that photo taken from the lunch spot
Then we took another break. While we were relaxing and sharing a chocolate bar I spotted an Andean condor. It was hanging out on the other side of the valley, to our right. I can´t desribe the gracefulness of that bird or the peace that it brought over me that afternoon. Once it disappeared in distance we knew I was time to go. It would take about five hours to get back to the trail head. So down we went
A few thousand feet down we were once again in the forest. An autumn sunset accompanied us on our way back to civilization.
We made it to the bus stop at dusk. I showered, ate a steak and went to sleep. I had climbed my first mountain.
Tomorrow I am off to Chile. Vilicaria, Chile to be precise. Gonna hang out with the sea lions for a couple of days. Cheers!
Beautiful, a nice view of the lake, the town, the surrounding mountains; I was taking it all in untill...bark bark bark. I had the atttention of the neighborhood canine community. So I went on the retreat turning ack toward what I believed to be the way I came. Wrong. Before I knew it I was at a dead end. There was one medium sized dog that looked like a large coyote and behind a flimsy short fence a rottweiler and some other beast who seemed to be following the lead of the coyote, as if if the coyote decided to he could summon them both with one howl. I retreated into a wood and the dog stopped at the edge. He wasn´t going to attack, but neither was he going to leave. He backed down a bit and stopped barking so I decided to go for it. I picked up a large stick and went forth. As soon as I hit the street I turned right back around. I was stuck. Behind me was somewhat of a cliff that dropped into a thick pine forest. I spotted a ledge seven or so feet below me and slid down to it. I spent the next half hour descending into what ended up to be a pine grove so dense that I could hardly see. Long story short, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the light, enraged two other dogs and ended up in someones back yard on a highway that I walked into town. I got to hike after all...
That evening I grabbed a litre of beer and went to the shore to watch the sunset
Later that night I grabbed a bottle of wine and went back to the hostel where I met a guy from Berlin named Nils. We decided to climb a mountain the next day. And that was what we did. We hit the trail at about 8:30 at an elevation of about 700ft.
Behind Nils there is the low mountain that we had to go around and over to get to our destination, a valley at about 6500 feet, four hours away...at least.
Here she is behind me in the distance
Two hours later we were both quite hungry and hadn´t reached our lunch spot yet, a small shelter at the mouth or our valley
We finally got there and had lunch: cheese, sausage, bread and chocolate. It took this shot from the rock we had lunch on.
Beautiful. We then decided to scale those mountains out there in the distance. And though the valley, the lagoon to be more specific doesn´t look that big, it really is. We were pretty sure that up over ridge there in the left of the picture there was another lagoon. There was only one way to find out so off we went. Follow the water...
...and sure enough, we found the second lagoon. It was frozen solid. Here you can see the frozen lagoon on the far left and in the distance the first one where I had lunch.
We went on a ways. Up and towards the center of the mountains as seen from that photo taken from the lunch spot
Then we took another break. While we were relaxing and sharing a chocolate bar I spotted an Andean condor. It was hanging out on the other side of the valley, to our right. I can´t desribe the gracefulness of that bird or the peace that it brought over me that afternoon. Once it disappeared in distance we knew I was time to go. It would take about five hours to get back to the trail head. So down we went
A few thousand feet down we were once again in the forest. An autumn sunset accompanied us on our way back to civilization.
We made it to the bus stop at dusk. I showered, ate a steak and went to sleep. I had climbed my first mountain.
Tomorrow I am off to Chile. Vilicaria, Chile to be precise. Gonna hang out with the sea lions for a couple of days. Cheers!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Adios Buenos Aires
I arrived in San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina this morning at about 10, after a twenty hour bus ride across the breadth of Argentina. I woke up to moonscape, predawn light just bright enough to make silhouettes of the few landforms on the horizon, most of them puffs of papmpa grasses. When I opened my eyes again the sun had peeked above the horizon and we were winding around dark lakes and the beginnings of the andes. I write this from my hostel surrounded by towering snow capped peaks, The Andes. The city itself sits on Lago Nahuel Haupi. I sat on the bank this morning and watched the waves wash the stones...the most cristal clear grey blue water I've ever seen. I watched the surging water rise and bend my vision of the colored stones it rushed over, I could see the bottom clearly through a four foot wave. I don't know what I'll do today, when I'll leave this place, or where I'm going next... But it is nice to be away from the city.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Chris Anton et. all
This one is for my friend chris anton and anyone else whose contacts I don´t have and vice verse. My email address is johndcooley@yahoo.com
Get a hold of me there. I don´t and won´t have a phone number until I get back home, and then it will be the one you all already have.
Chris, the argentines have convinced me beyond a doubt that Maradona was indeed the best soccer play ever. i watched a highlight film of every goal he ever scored at a bar a couple of weeks ago. incredible. check it out. Hello to all. take care. later.
john
Get a hold of me there. I don´t and won´t have a phone number until I get back home, and then it will be the one you all already have.
Chris, the argentines have convinced me beyond a doubt that Maradona was indeed the best soccer play ever. i watched a highlight film of every goal he ever scored at a bar a couple of weeks ago. incredible. check it out. Hello to all. take care. later.
john
Saturday, April 28, 2007
La tarde en mi barrio
Yesterday was a beautiful day in Buenos Aires. The air was crisp and the sun was shining. I noticed the leaves begining to change their colors. Remember, it is fall in this hemisphere. The southern hemisphere, water the water in the toilet does indeed spin the other way. After class I headed home, grabed m camera and went out for a walk. I headed north through my barrio Almagro into Palmermo Viejo for lunch, and then up to the Plaza Italia for the 33 Annual Buenos Aires International Book Festival. Lunch was unbelievable. I ate lama at a restauant called La Paila on the corner of Calles Costa Rica and Jorge Luis Borges. The fare at La Paila is traditional northern Argentinia, food from Juyjuy province which shares a border with Bolivia.
I enjoyed myself at the Feria del Libros despite the fact that I couldn´t read hardly any of the books. I spent a lot of time purusing childrens literature, but there I was still lost. Surely I´m too advanced for Pablo´s Mala Día, but Los Brujas by Rahl Dahl is too much. Is my Argentine mind more like an eight year olds or am I a pre teen? I settled on a copy of Macbeth and read for the rest of the night under a street light in the Plaza Italia.
These are pictures I took along the way. I tried to shoot scenes typical of my daily walks and my neighborhood.
This one I took a couple of days ago. This is the street I walk from class to the subway home.
I typical east to west main road in Almagro. Calle Corrientes.
Verduleria. I stop at one of these a couple of times a day.
A house in northern Almagro. About 4 blocks from my apartment.
Good weather grafiti
I forgot my notebook this morning so I can´t give you the name of the dish right now. It is a delicious lama stew, with bith tender chunks of carrot, and quinoa the grain of the gods. The lama was tender and succulent. It is served in a delicious bread bowl made from purple corn flower, hot and crusty. The stew didn´t turn it to mush. Topped with fresh green oninon and lots of paprika. I started the meal with the best carne empanada I´ve had yet and a glass of wine. Muy rica!
The neighnorhood dogs too were enjoying the afternoon.
A shot from near Plaza Cortazar in Palermo. La Paila is down the street to the right.
Hasta luego!
I enjoyed myself at the Feria del Libros despite the fact that I couldn´t read hardly any of the books. I spent a lot of time purusing childrens literature, but there I was still lost. Surely I´m too advanced for Pablo´s Mala Día, but Los Brujas by Rahl Dahl is too much. Is my Argentine mind more like an eight year olds or am I a pre teen? I settled on a copy of Macbeth and read for the rest of the night under a street light in the Plaza Italia.
These are pictures I took along the way. I tried to shoot scenes typical of my daily walks and my neighborhood.
This one I took a couple of days ago. This is the street I walk from class to the subway home.
I typical east to west main road in Almagro. Calle Corrientes.
Verduleria. I stop at one of these a couple of times a day.
A house in northern Almagro. About 4 blocks from my apartment.
Good weather grafiti
I forgot my notebook this morning so I can´t give you the name of the dish right now. It is a delicious lama stew, with bith tender chunks of carrot, and quinoa the grain of the gods. The lama was tender and succulent. It is served in a delicious bread bowl made from purple corn flower, hot and crusty. The stew didn´t turn it to mush. Topped with fresh green oninon and lots of paprika. I started the meal with the best carne empanada I´ve had yet and a glass of wine. Muy rica!
The neighnorhood dogs too were enjoying the afternoon.
A shot from near Plaza Cortazar in Palermo. La Paila is down the street to the right.
Hasta luego!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
subway serenades and patagonian possibility
A blind man poked me with his guitar on the subway. I was on my way home from San Telmo. His red-tipped staff swayed with the shifting train. He had hung it on the head of his guitar. Bumping into me he knew he had found his crowd. He paused for a moment and walked a sharp scale up the neck of the battered classical instument before stumming latin triplets with his open hand. And then he broke into song. It was a love song. Long and pained vocals hovered over the syncopated accoustic rhythm and I realized I had forgotten for a moment that I was in Buenos Aires. The man sung from experience, blind, and I felt the storried history of this city in my bones.
I have been busy lately; even here so far away from home, so distant from the routines and obligations that creep up on me and cloud my days, it is easy to get caught up and forget to look around and really take it in.
I begun to make plans for this summer. I´ll be leaving BA around the 20th of May. I´ve been sending resumes and writing letters most nights recently. Things are looking good. I am 95% sure that I will be living and working on a large estancia outside of a small town in nothern Patagonia for most of June and July. "Estancia" translates roughly to "ranch" in english. It´ll be myself and a gaucho named Rodrigo (a gaucho is an argentine cowboy) working in the pristine wilderness at the base of the Andes. I´ll be learning to ride ride and tend horses, care for the chickens and sheep, build fences and ready the land for planting in the spring. It sounds like my primary mode of transportation will be horseback; this place is so big that fences aren´t required necessary to reign in the horses. I´ll have a little cabin with a wood burning stove to myself. Sounds good.
From there I hope to go to Asunción, the capital of Paraguay to work with Fundación Paraguaya, a Non Government Organization working with the mostly poor rural community. They are running a high school that teaches the kids how to farm productively and organicaly. They are also helping, by doing research in microfinancing and developement economics, small businesses across the country establish themselves in new markets. Lots of interesting things. It is an incredible organization. Internships are competative. I´m just past phase one. So we´ll find out.
The links to the websites of both Estancia Ranquilco and Fundación Paraguay here anyone interested in checking them out: http://ranquilco.com , http://www.fundacionparaguaya.org.py/ (note, there is an english language version of this page)
Take tare everyone. I´ll try to get something interesting up here on the blog sometime soon. Later.
I have been busy lately; even here so far away from home, so distant from the routines and obligations that creep up on me and cloud my days, it is easy to get caught up and forget to look around and really take it in.
I begun to make plans for this summer. I´ll be leaving BA around the 20th of May. I´ve been sending resumes and writing letters most nights recently. Things are looking good. I am 95% sure that I will be living and working on a large estancia outside of a small town in nothern Patagonia for most of June and July. "Estancia" translates roughly to "ranch" in english. It´ll be myself and a gaucho named Rodrigo (a gaucho is an argentine cowboy) working in the pristine wilderness at the base of the Andes. I´ll be learning to ride ride and tend horses, care for the chickens and sheep, build fences and ready the land for planting in the spring. It sounds like my primary mode of transportation will be horseback; this place is so big that fences aren´t required necessary to reign in the horses. I´ll have a little cabin with a wood burning stove to myself. Sounds good.
From there I hope to go to Asunción, the capital of Paraguay to work with Fundación Paraguaya, a Non Government Organization working with the mostly poor rural community. They are running a high school that teaches the kids how to farm productively and organicaly. They are also helping, by doing research in microfinancing and developement economics, small businesses across the country establish themselves in new markets. Lots of interesting things. It is an incredible organization. Internships are competative. I´m just past phase one. So we´ll find out.
The links to the websites of both Estancia Ranquilco and Fundación Paraguay here anyone interested in checking them out: http://ranquilco.com , http://www.fundacionparaguaya.org.py/ (note, there is an english language version of this page)
Take tare everyone. I´ll try to get something interesting up here on the blog sometime soon. Later.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Tang?
"What do you mean you don´t understand? What´s not to understand? What I said couldn´t have been more direct. I can only speak in one tense!" This is one token example of an expression I cannot yet put together in Spanish that would be useful in my daily life. I am pretty sure however that my facial expressions get this particular point across ust fine.
I have been easily aggrevated this weekend in conversational situations. Sometimes I feel as though my having learned so much this wek in class made the general situation worse. My first week here, when I was totaly aware and accepting of my status as a bumbling linguistically ignorant gringo, anything other than utter failure to communicate was a victory and an exception to the norm. But now I catch actually patch together a coherent thought or two. I grasp the grammer. I know enough to believe that I am saying something correctly and therefore able to become disolusioned under the blank stare of a baffled porteño.
It´s really not so bad after breakfast. On the streets the language has started to sing. Mornings are tough. I truly like the folks I stay with, Jorge and Racquel. But they share a number of similarities with George´s parents on Seinfeld. Racquel especially. She even looks similar. Now imagine: 8am; I´ve had neither coffee nor a bite to eat; I stumble out of my room, "Que tal John? Como andás? Dormiste bien? Bueno!" etc. I start groping for a complete sentence betwen bites of dulce, draining an entire thermos of hot water into my mate. Again, don´t take any of this to mean I don´t ejoy breakfast or the company of either of these two. It´s just that communication breakfast at desayuno--before mate for god sakes!--can wear a guy down.
Many mornings, probably as some sort of defense mechanism against the foreign barrage, I hold an inner dialogue in my native tongue. The entertainments and topics vary: what I plan to do that day; rocking to a mental recording of The Rolling Stones´"Lov´n Cup"; pondering the orange beverage that I drink every morning and seem to be acquiring a dependence for. As a kid my mom would serve my brother and I a "glass of sunshine" with breakfast in the morning. Now, if OJ is sunshine this stuff is light at the grocery store. After much field observation I believe it to be of the genus Tang, but I can´t be sure. I have gone so far as to search the cupboards while Jorge and Racquel are away, and turned up nothing. I have begun to crave it in the afternoon. Not good.
This afternoon I´ll be heading up north to the barrio Recoleta to watch soccer ar a bar called Total Fútbol. This afternoons game, Boca v. River Plata, is probaly thebiggest match in Argentine fútbol. The rivalry is deep and intense. I tried to buy a ticket but didn´t act fast enough. So I´ll be screaming and yelling at a bar instead. For any other game I would go to a small neighorhood joint. But unlike in the US where decent TV´s are the norm, most places here have one or two if any and today they will be packed with die hard regulars. I´m likely to be ejected if I try to push forward to a decent vantage point in one of these places. So I´ll go to Total Fútbol. TV´s everywhere I hear. If I can find a seat I´m good to go. I´ll be wearing blue. Go Boca!
These are a couple pictures I shot last week at the Recoleta Cemetary down the way from the bar I´ll be at today. Beautiful, historical place. Look it up. And I apologize that they aren´t right side up. I haven´t got to figuring out how to fix that yet. Stay tuned.
A call for emails: Any of you whose emails I don´t have--limit individuals I like--drop me a line so I know how to get a hold of you. The only emails I do have are from those of you who attended the party in Iowa and wrote it down. Ciao.
I have been easily aggrevated this weekend in conversational situations. Sometimes I feel as though my having learned so much this wek in class made the general situation worse. My first week here, when I was totaly aware and accepting of my status as a bumbling linguistically ignorant gringo, anything other than utter failure to communicate was a victory and an exception to the norm. But now I catch actually patch together a coherent thought or two. I grasp the grammer. I know enough to believe that I am saying something correctly and therefore able to become disolusioned under the blank stare of a baffled porteño.
It´s really not so bad after breakfast. On the streets the language has started to sing. Mornings are tough. I truly like the folks I stay with, Jorge and Racquel. But they share a number of similarities with George´s parents on Seinfeld. Racquel especially. She even looks similar. Now imagine: 8am; I´ve had neither coffee nor a bite to eat; I stumble out of my room, "Que tal John? Como andás? Dormiste bien? Bueno!" etc. I start groping for a complete sentence betwen bites of dulce, draining an entire thermos of hot water into my mate. Again, don´t take any of this to mean I don´t ejoy breakfast or the company of either of these two. It´s just that communication breakfast at desayuno--before mate for god sakes!--can wear a guy down.
Many mornings, probably as some sort of defense mechanism against the foreign barrage, I hold an inner dialogue in my native tongue. The entertainments and topics vary: what I plan to do that day; rocking to a mental recording of The Rolling Stones´"Lov´n Cup"; pondering the orange beverage that I drink every morning and seem to be acquiring a dependence for. As a kid my mom would serve my brother and I a "glass of sunshine" with breakfast in the morning. Now, if OJ is sunshine this stuff is light at the grocery store. After much field observation I believe it to be of the genus Tang, but I can´t be sure. I have gone so far as to search the cupboards while Jorge and Racquel are away, and turned up nothing. I have begun to crave it in the afternoon. Not good.
This afternoon I´ll be heading up north to the barrio Recoleta to watch soccer ar a bar called Total Fútbol. This afternoons game, Boca v. River Plata, is probaly thebiggest match in Argentine fútbol. The rivalry is deep and intense. I tried to buy a ticket but didn´t act fast enough. So I´ll be screaming and yelling at a bar instead. For any other game I would go to a small neighorhood joint. But unlike in the US where decent TV´s are the norm, most places here have one or two if any and today they will be packed with die hard regulars. I´m likely to be ejected if I try to push forward to a decent vantage point in one of these places. So I´ll go to Total Fútbol. TV´s everywhere I hear. If I can find a seat I´m good to go. I´ll be wearing blue. Go Boca!
These are a couple pictures I shot last week at the Recoleta Cemetary down the way from the bar I´ll be at today. Beautiful, historical place. Look it up. And I apologize that they aren´t right side up. I haven´t got to figuring out how to fix that yet. Stay tuned.
A call for emails: Any of you whose emails I don´t have--limit individuals I like--drop me a line so I know how to get a hold of you. The only emails I do have are from those of you who attended the party in Iowa and wrote it down. Ciao.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Pictures
The picture above is of the empanada stand I eat at Daily. I Have befriended the owner, Hugo. My favorites are the carne suaves. I have three empanadas and a beer for either lunch or dinner almost daily.
This next one is of myself, as shot by Jorge, eating breakfast. Tostadas, dulce de leche, queso blanco, peach marmelade, a couple pieces of fruit and most importantly mate. I´m holding the borrilla (not sure about the spelling, forgot my dictionary) to my mouth. It´s a metal straw with a filter on it for suckling morning mate.
This shot is in the Plaza Congresso where my school is located. The statue is Rodins "Thinker". It has always been a favorite of mine. There are two in the Americas: one at the Nelson Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, the other here across the street from school in BA.
Another from you know where.
A Uruguayan fisherman at sunset. Thats all for now. Chao.
This next one is of myself, as shot by Jorge, eating breakfast. Tostadas, dulce de leche, queso blanco, peach marmelade, a couple pieces of fruit and most importantly mate. I´m holding the borrilla (not sure about the spelling, forgot my dictionary) to my mouth. It´s a metal straw with a filter on it for suckling morning mate.
This shot is in the Plaza Congresso where my school is located. The statue is Rodins "Thinker". It has always been a favorite of mine. There are two in the Americas: one at the Nelson Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, the other here across the street from school in BA.
Another from you know where.
A Uruguayan fisherman at sunset. Thats all for now. Chao.
Monday, April 9, 2007
first day of class
Hola amigos. My first day at school was a good one. I went in with a mission. To inpress my teacher and get myself on track for quick advancement. I did it. I crammed both Saturday night and Sunday and went in this morning well ahead of the other beginners. So beginning tomorrow I´ll be taking individual lessons. By the end of the week I should be able to join the intermedios a few lessons in to the section thus effectively completing in four-five days what was scheduled to take 4-5 weeks. If I pass the test I should be an "advanced" student by the time I leave Buenos Aires...so long as a pass the test. The problem with me spanish education at the moment is that I understand the concepts, the grammar, well into the intermediate level, but because I haven´t spoken the language in years and never spoke it frequently my vocabulary is relatively small compare to the other intermedios. Thus the one-on-one program this week. I´m to beef up my vocab and master los articulos by friday. I think it can be done. My brain hurts right now though. After four hours of class this morning I took about a two hour break and have spent the last three or so in my room studying vocab; when I get home, another hour or two. Sorry this entry is a bit boring. I needed to string together some english sentences for peace of mind and I don´t have the brainpower to be interesting.
The rest of my life is going well right now. The brief vacation to Colonia last week was perfect. After a week in the big city, my solitary stay in Colonia really helped my settle my mind. When I returned to BA I was ready to settle into daily life here. The small things are empowering. I´m a functional citizen now. I do my laundry at the lavaderia. I know where to find cheap quality food. I frequent the neighborhood verdurias (veggie stands), fruterias (fruit stands), and carnicerias. I ride the packed subway all over town. I shop at he market, and most nights have a beer and an empanada or two with Hugo the owner of the empanada shop across the street from my apartment. Normalcy is rewarding. I have a sense of my surroundings that is growing every day. Coming into a knowledge of the language too is extemely rewarding. I´ll work hard this week and hopefully for the rest of my stay here. There are many interesting things to see and do here. But I´ll be back in September. I want to spend the next six weeks here in the city living simply and working hard. At the moment that idea is more exciting than eating at the finest resaurants and learning to tango. Take care my friends.
The rest of my life is going well right now. The brief vacation to Colonia last week was perfect. After a week in the big city, my solitary stay in Colonia really helped my settle my mind. When I returned to BA I was ready to settle into daily life here. The small things are empowering. I´m a functional citizen now. I do my laundry at the lavaderia. I know where to find cheap quality food. I frequent the neighborhood verdurias (veggie stands), fruterias (fruit stands), and carnicerias. I ride the packed subway all over town. I shop at he market, and most nights have a beer and an empanada or two with Hugo the owner of the empanada shop across the street from my apartment. Normalcy is rewarding. I have a sense of my surroundings that is growing every day. Coming into a knowledge of the language too is extemely rewarding. I´ll work hard this week and hopefully for the rest of my stay here. There are many interesting things to see and do here. But I´ll be back in September. I want to spend the next six weeks here in the city living simply and working hard. At the moment that idea is more exciting than eating at the finest resaurants and learning to tango. Take care my friends.
Friday, April 6, 2007
quiet night, tart juice, fast bird
A peaceful morning in my dormitorio. I shared the room last night with fave Brazilians and all five left together this morning. I woke up to a commotion typical of a youth hostel but that I am not at all use to yet. Not beginning the day with a chip on my shoulder took willpower. The Brazilians were fine nice enough, doing nothing more than packing their bags. The horde of Swedes gathered in the common space outside of my room were up too early and had too much energy than is ok for anyone to have prior to 8:00 in the morning. I threw on my flip flops and went out for air, juice, and caffiene. The Swedes with all showered and dressed, eating breakfast, running around, laughing. I with my birds nest of hair bidden them a short buenas dias as I passed without a pause.
The streets of Colonia were almost vacant this morning. At 8:30 there were none but myself, fishermen, and a few café employees sweeping the waks and cleaning up after what must have been a late night. I wouldn´t know. I was back at the hostel by 11:00. Once I realized that my roommates were ready for bed I couldn´t resist making the most of the opportune moment: a roomfull of peaceful, quiet travellers, a chance to get a good nights sleep in this raucus hostel. All for the best. Morning and evening are my favorite times to be out in Colonia. I´ll sleep at night.
My skin is especially keen to that schedule today. Yesterday morning I rented a vespa like motor scooter for the day. Everyone here rides one of these or a small motorcycle and I thought it would be a good way to explore my new surroundings. I rode all day: first though the city, then up the coast along the beach, and finally out into the countryside--the fringe of the Uruguayan pampa. As I write this my face and the tops of my arms are a flesh-toned hot pink.
The cool air coming in from the Atlantic over the Río de la Plata and into Colonia soothed my charred face and calmed the redidual clatter in my head left from the rude awakening this morning. I walked down to a little water front café that was just opening, there too the only people present held brooms. One of them took my order: un café doble y una jugo de naranja. The coffee was jet black with a rich brown head, the juice tall, tart and fresh squeezed. They must have used a dozen oranges. Excellent.
The fruit and vegetables have been on a whole much better that those in Buenos Aires. I was in need of some good veggies when I got off the boat. Sometimes I feel like all I´ve eaten in the last week is cheese, meat, and bread. Don´t get me wrong, these are three of my favorite things but I am use to a degree of balance in my diet or don´t feel right. Porteños don´t seem to have high standards when it comes to salads or veggies. Order a salad at almost any restaurant and what comes to the table is a bowl of semi-ripe tomatoes, white onion, and lettuce in about equal proportions dressed with a bit of olive oil and vinegar. Meat is the absolute center of their gastronomic world. I mentioned eating raw carrots and celery and celery to Racquel the other day and she looked at me like I was insane. Anyway, every specimen here has been excellent here. About five doors down from the hostel is a café that caters to veggetarians. They serve a lunch buffet. I gorged myself yesterday, an act of repentance to my digestive system for the piles of cheese and dough I´ve consumed this past week. It must be said however that this place, along with Buenos Aires, have more pizza joints per capita than anywhere I´ve been before. And...despite all of this veggie talk I had a pizza last night. I washed it down with a litre of Pilsen, the home brew here in Uruguay. It´s not bad but I prefer Argentina´s Quilmes. I´ll surely down one as soon as I step off the boat in Buenos Aires.
My resolution for the day: not to miss the hummingbird. I do mean this literally, but being that it is unlikely that I´ll have another chance, I resolve to play it out figuratively. "what is he talking about?" you ask. Pause for a poem.
Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new clolors
Which it passes to a row of ancient trees.
You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you,
One part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth...
leaving you (impossibly to untangle)
your own life, timid and standing high and growing,
so that sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,
one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star. --Rilke.
Amidst one of the most inviting and beautiful settings I have ever taken part in, I felt like stone. I´de returned my moto early and walked down to the city center by the lighthouse, on the coast, out on the cobbled 300 year old port, facing west. Flat and restless. Around me, natural beauty. In the air, the sound of the ocean clapping the rocks, keeping time for the spanish guitarist beside me. And I, fidgety, lonely, and self-critical. Moments like these, moments on the banks of the sea cast in orange and in purple are supposed to reach into you, to pull you out of yourself, wake the spirit and all that, right? Right? But as the sun began to set I was left, ¨timid and standing high and growing", but blocken in. And unconscious. I can think about it now, pepaint the pictur, but at the time I was blank and my instinct to took over. My instint for flight. I wouldn´t sit still and enjoy it and instead I ran out and ahead of myself and tried to capture it. First by trying to write, but the only words that came were conceited, cliché. Then I went out for pictures and it was here that I missed the hummingbird.
It was emerald green with flecks of ruby and ice. It squaked, which I didn´t expect. The sound was definitely not a chirp that drew my attention to the tiny bird. I believe the only other time time I´de seen one it was humming around a pea blossom in the garden when I was about 4, that memory now so old and vague that I can´t be sure if the bird was real or if if it was my imagination that I´ve come to believe to be true through the years. This green bird was surely real. And what did I do? Turned on the camera, set it to high speed "action shot" setting and atrie to take a picture. For those who haven´t seen one, hummingbirds are incredibly fast, for those who don´t know me, I am not a great photographer. I chased it and missed it.
Today I will stay out of the sun and try not to miss the hummingbirds.
The streets of Colonia were almost vacant this morning. At 8:30 there were none but myself, fishermen, and a few café employees sweeping the waks and cleaning up after what must have been a late night. I wouldn´t know. I was back at the hostel by 11:00. Once I realized that my roommates were ready for bed I couldn´t resist making the most of the opportune moment: a roomfull of peaceful, quiet travellers, a chance to get a good nights sleep in this raucus hostel. All for the best. Morning and evening are my favorite times to be out in Colonia. I´ll sleep at night.
My skin is especially keen to that schedule today. Yesterday morning I rented a vespa like motor scooter for the day. Everyone here rides one of these or a small motorcycle and I thought it would be a good way to explore my new surroundings. I rode all day: first though the city, then up the coast along the beach, and finally out into the countryside--the fringe of the Uruguayan pampa. As I write this my face and the tops of my arms are a flesh-toned hot pink.
The cool air coming in from the Atlantic over the Río de la Plata and into Colonia soothed my charred face and calmed the redidual clatter in my head left from the rude awakening this morning. I walked down to a little water front café that was just opening, there too the only people present held brooms. One of them took my order: un café doble y una jugo de naranja. The coffee was jet black with a rich brown head, the juice tall, tart and fresh squeezed. They must have used a dozen oranges. Excellent.
The fruit and vegetables have been on a whole much better that those in Buenos Aires. I was in need of some good veggies when I got off the boat. Sometimes I feel like all I´ve eaten in the last week is cheese, meat, and bread. Don´t get me wrong, these are three of my favorite things but I am use to a degree of balance in my diet or don´t feel right. Porteños don´t seem to have high standards when it comes to salads or veggies. Order a salad at almost any restaurant and what comes to the table is a bowl of semi-ripe tomatoes, white onion, and lettuce in about equal proportions dressed with a bit of olive oil and vinegar. Meat is the absolute center of their gastronomic world. I mentioned eating raw carrots and celery and celery to Racquel the other day and she looked at me like I was insane. Anyway, every specimen here has been excellent here. About five doors down from the hostel is a café that caters to veggetarians. They serve a lunch buffet. I gorged myself yesterday, an act of repentance to my digestive system for the piles of cheese and dough I´ve consumed this past week. It must be said however that this place, along with Buenos Aires, have more pizza joints per capita than anywhere I´ve been before. And...despite all of this veggie talk I had a pizza last night. I washed it down with a litre of Pilsen, the home brew here in Uruguay. It´s not bad but I prefer Argentina´s Quilmes. I´ll surely down one as soon as I step off the boat in Buenos Aires.
My resolution for the day: not to miss the hummingbird. I do mean this literally, but being that it is unlikely that I´ll have another chance, I resolve to play it out figuratively. "what is he talking about?" you ask. Pause for a poem.
Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new clolors
Which it passes to a row of ancient trees.
You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you,
One part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth...
leaving you (impossibly to untangle)
your own life, timid and standing high and growing,
so that sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,
one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star. --Rilke.
Amidst one of the most inviting and beautiful settings I have ever taken part in, I felt like stone. I´de returned my moto early and walked down to the city center by the lighthouse, on the coast, out on the cobbled 300 year old port, facing west. Flat and restless. Around me, natural beauty. In the air, the sound of the ocean clapping the rocks, keeping time for the spanish guitarist beside me. And I, fidgety, lonely, and self-critical. Moments like these, moments on the banks of the sea cast in orange and in purple are supposed to reach into you, to pull you out of yourself, wake the spirit and all that, right? Right? But as the sun began to set I was left, ¨timid and standing high and growing", but blocken in. And unconscious. I can think about it now, pepaint the pictur, but at the time I was blank and my instinct to took over. My instint for flight. I wouldn´t sit still and enjoy it and instead I ran out and ahead of myself and tried to capture it. First by trying to write, but the only words that came were conceited, cliché. Then I went out for pictures and it was here that I missed the hummingbird.
It was emerald green with flecks of ruby and ice. It squaked, which I didn´t expect. The sound was definitely not a chirp that drew my attention to the tiny bird. I believe the only other time time I´de seen one it was humming around a pea blossom in the garden when I was about 4, that memory now so old and vague that I can´t be sure if the bird was real or if if it was my imagination that I´ve come to believe to be true through the years. This green bird was surely real. And what did I do? Turned on the camera, set it to high speed "action shot" setting and atrie to take a picture. For those who haven´t seen one, hummingbirds are incredibly fast, for those who don´t know me, I am not a great photographer. I chased it and missed it.
Today I will stay out of the sun and try not to miss the hummingbirds.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
A quick note
I believe I have enabled comments on the old blog here, so you all can say a word without having to email me. But I can´t be sure. I don´t have my dictionary on me at the moment and I kind of guessed on "la pagina de opciones". No se.
Also, I just skimmed over that last ong blog. My apologies for the complete lack of editing. Hang with me. Things are getting better all the time. I must go now. My boat for Uruguay leaves at 4:00 and I stil have to clear customs.
Also, I just skimmed over that last ong blog. My apologies for the complete lack of editing. Hang with me. Things are getting better all the time. I must go now. My boat for Uruguay leaves at 4:00 and I stil have to clear customs.
Semana Santa
I am off to Colonia, Uruguay for the holiday weekend. It is a quiet colonial town just on the other side of the Río de la Plata. I´m going to kick back on the beach and take it easy. Hasta luego!
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Primero Saturday
It was only 11:00 am and I was already heading back north, walking Avenida Patricias out of La Boca, one of the most eccentric and southernmost barrios (neighborhood) in Buenas Aires. The sun was burning through the clouds for the first time since I arrived in Almargo, the barrio I am calling home for the next 7 weeks. But it has been no different here in La Boca, no in the rest of the region. Sante Fe Province, to the northwest, in fighting through a mass inundación: 40,000 people have been evacuated from their homes. The rains washed up so much garbage in the streets of Almagro last week that the people took to the streets banging pots and pans in a mass call for public services. They were clean by the time I arrived, but the rain poured on. Perhaps residents of Kansas City should take some notes from the porteños on how to get things done. Next time you crash into a pothole on 39th St. gather your friends and make some noise.
But protest wasn´t yet on my mind, a mantra lifted from the pages of the holy text ''Roughguide Phrasebook: Latin American Spanish'' was: ''¿podria decirlo despacio? ¿podria decirlo despacio?...'' En inglés: could you say it slowly? could you say it slowly? Words are tools; in my world right now I am not well equipped. My feet churn, the mantra rolls on and my eyes keep close watch. The terrain in this barrio is nothing like home. Of primary concern at that moment were the elevated sidewalks--sporadically elevated sidewalks. Cement flats four feet or so off the ground stretch out from various storefronts in no coherent pattern. Up the stairs...walk aways...down. This next polatform is low enough to jump to...the sun is shining, up I go. Now I have a tendency to take things in with an ewith what I´ll call an engineers perspective: what´s it here for? it´s function, it´s role? what does it do? how well? --To give you a little slice of what it is to be me--since I´ve been a small child I´ve been in the habit of evaluating and citiqueing the efficiency of streetslights as it relates to city planning. I´ve been known to get pretty caught up. Cool.-- On this day though I became bored very quickly with the why´s of the walks and admired instead the seeming like of purpose for these things and expanded the thought to my surroundings as a whole. I held the idea in contrast to the American imperative of uniformity and efficiency at the expense of character, of individuality. I swept myself away and as my mantral rolled on and I focused on these exotic caminos de gentes I nearly fell of one. Slow down.
Achieving balance is the most pressing dillema in my life here. At home the rhythm of my feet is therapeudic. Walking is often the only way I can think clearly. Somehow the physical contract between the earth and myself calms the mind and brings semblence to my all too often chaotic mental life. But here it´s hard to find my stride. I´ve remembered my compass today; I am northbound; but I´ve forgotten how to walk.
Regardless, I put one foot in front of the other and tredge on. The near fall wakes me...and I am back in La Boca two hours previous.
The dogs here are not so well behaved as they are in Almagro. My entry into the barrio was down a barren street, wild grass growing helter skelter to my left--a blank spot on my city map--weeds I´ve never seen before pushing through cracks in the cobbled Calle Irala. I knew I was heading in the right direction when I saw La Bombedera five or six blocks ahead. La Bombedera is the home stadium of the Boca Juniors, arguably the best soccer club in all of Argentina. But my mind wasn´t on fútbol. La Boca has a reputation for eccentricity and barrio pride. At various times in its history its residents attempted to cede from Buenos Aires. It never happened for the people, but in my wandering mind the dogs might have won their own battle.
I met the representatives of the canine community before those of the human. They were free but civil, not wholly domesticated, but not ferral. As I walked this barren stretch of land I imagined--in true porteño fashion--a canine revolution, a battle for four legged independence; and I imagined their revolutionary leader: a noble welsch corgie. Based on the physique of these muts, his valor ensured the success of his progeny for generations. But enough of dogs and my strange imagination.
La Boca is a beautiful place. Look it up. I haven´t the endurance nor the ability to lay it out in words right now. But I saw it. I knew it, sitting there on that wall watching a man and a woman dance an awkward tango at 10:00am. It was an engaging scene: clotheslines strung from pink apartment to orange, women hanging clothes and sweeping stoops, children shrieking as they cahed each other through a tangle of people and trees, tourists aimless and old, men holding numbered signs to keep the respective herds together , both deterring and encouraging these lucrative wanderers to puruse the boothes chalked full of commemerative La Boca handicarafts, peruvian woven goods and emblematic tango figurines, while the well dressed but entirely mediocre dancers slide along an ancient cobbled square in slick shoes and high heels...a real amalgam of life. Oh, and I, legs swinging from the ancient wall, crashing back into myself as the speakers crack, the CD skips and the dance fizzles and stops.
Back on the Avenida Patricias, Northbound, my boots clap firmly on the tiled sidewalk and I too stop. A line from the book I was reading the night before creeps into my mind: ''We are confused and brilliant and stupid, lost clumps of living ash.'' I disgard my mantra, reserving only the last word, ''despacio'', and shake off the resin of disillusionment that lingers from the square in La Boca.
It is easy to fall into the trap of classifying everyone and everything one sees meandering in unfamiliar places, too easy to partition the ¨real¨ the other, ¨tourists¨ and self, ''authentic'' from ''inauthentic'' experience. But while it may be the case that these divisions do have a place in the world they cannot now in mine. I am in a sea of people and symbols I cannot read. Experience is all I have. And though I continued to move through Buenos Aires alone late into the night, and though my legs and mind throbbed by sunset, I drove forward with ease and didn´t fall until I hit the bed that night.
That really only brings me up to about 11:00am that first Sasturday. I don't have it in me to write well about the rest but I can offer a quick synopsis. The northbound trip led to the South America explorers club--I'm a member so I decided to check it out and introduce myself. It's a great place. English speaking internationals all over, food on the stove, books, computers. Good stuff. I'll make some friends here for sure. After that I walked though El Centro, the city center and on my way to school where I was to meet a woman that was going too take me Palermo Viejo. On the way a ran into a political demostration on Av. 9 de Julio. Hundreds of Peronists banging drums, waving flags, yelling into megaphones. Elections are coming up. I hung around awhile and checked it out. My school is located in the Plaza de Congresso, I have pictures on the way. So I walked there and walked around there. Hugo Chavez was here about one month ago and his presence is still felt. Pictures. Then I was off to Palermo Viejo with Marianna. She's a former teacher at the school. She was fresh off the plane from Brazil. Very nice lady, probably late twenties. She spoke slow spanish and I actually understood most of it. This part of toen is one of the most historic and inportant in Buenos Aires. The Argentine design movement is located here. Artists, performers, actors, architects. This is the place to be. Again, too much to tell in detail now. But long story short, I got a three hour history lesson, one on one as we walked the crowded streets drinking coffee and wine. After a long walk home I decided to finishh this big day with a big meal. Parrilla--Argentine cuisine. Parrilla is meat-centric, slow roasted goodness. I ordered Parrilla libre y ensalada completa and a bottle of red wine, a multi-course experience. It went as follows: empenada carne, chorizo, blood sausage, papas fritas, chinchurones, liver, mollejas (sweetbreads),asado costillo (a type of beef ribs), bontiola (roast pork), and matambre (delicate, slow roasted skirt steak. Good stuff. I slept well
My photo plans have been foiled again. I'll keep trying.
Take care friends!
But protest wasn´t yet on my mind, a mantra lifted from the pages of the holy text ''Roughguide Phrasebook: Latin American Spanish'' was: ''¿podria decirlo despacio? ¿podria decirlo despacio?...'' En inglés: could you say it slowly? could you say it slowly? Words are tools; in my world right now I am not well equipped. My feet churn, the mantra rolls on and my eyes keep close watch. The terrain in this barrio is nothing like home. Of primary concern at that moment were the elevated sidewalks--sporadically elevated sidewalks. Cement flats four feet or so off the ground stretch out from various storefronts in no coherent pattern. Up the stairs...walk aways...down. This next polatform is low enough to jump to...the sun is shining, up I go. Now I have a tendency to take things in with an ewith what I´ll call an engineers perspective: what´s it here for? it´s function, it´s role? what does it do? how well? --To give you a little slice of what it is to be me--since I´ve been a small child I´ve been in the habit of evaluating and citiqueing the efficiency of streetslights as it relates to city planning. I´ve been known to get pretty caught up. Cool.-- On this day though I became bored very quickly with the why´s of the walks and admired instead the seeming like of purpose for these things and expanded the thought to my surroundings as a whole. I held the idea in contrast to the American imperative of uniformity and efficiency at the expense of character, of individuality. I swept myself away and as my mantral rolled on and I focused on these exotic caminos de gentes I nearly fell of one. Slow down.
Achieving balance is the most pressing dillema in my life here. At home the rhythm of my feet is therapeudic. Walking is often the only way I can think clearly. Somehow the physical contract between the earth and myself calms the mind and brings semblence to my all too often chaotic mental life. But here it´s hard to find my stride. I´ve remembered my compass today; I am northbound; but I´ve forgotten how to walk.
Regardless, I put one foot in front of the other and tredge on. The near fall wakes me...and I am back in La Boca two hours previous.
The dogs here are not so well behaved as they are in Almagro. My entry into the barrio was down a barren street, wild grass growing helter skelter to my left--a blank spot on my city map--weeds I´ve never seen before pushing through cracks in the cobbled Calle Irala. I knew I was heading in the right direction when I saw La Bombedera five or six blocks ahead. La Bombedera is the home stadium of the Boca Juniors, arguably the best soccer club in all of Argentina. But my mind wasn´t on fútbol. La Boca has a reputation for eccentricity and barrio pride. At various times in its history its residents attempted to cede from Buenos Aires. It never happened for the people, but in my wandering mind the dogs might have won their own battle.
I met the representatives of the canine community before those of the human. They were free but civil, not wholly domesticated, but not ferral. As I walked this barren stretch of land I imagined--in true porteño fashion--a canine revolution, a battle for four legged independence; and I imagined their revolutionary leader: a noble welsch corgie. Based on the physique of these muts, his valor ensured the success of his progeny for generations. But enough of dogs and my strange imagination.
La Boca is a beautiful place. Look it up. I haven´t the endurance nor the ability to lay it out in words right now. But I saw it. I knew it, sitting there on that wall watching a man and a woman dance an awkward tango at 10:00am. It was an engaging scene: clotheslines strung from pink apartment to orange, women hanging clothes and sweeping stoops, children shrieking as they cahed each other through a tangle of people and trees, tourists aimless and old, men holding numbered signs to keep the respective herds together , both deterring and encouraging these lucrative wanderers to puruse the boothes chalked full of commemerative La Boca handicarafts, peruvian woven goods and emblematic tango figurines, while the well dressed but entirely mediocre dancers slide along an ancient cobbled square in slick shoes and high heels...a real amalgam of life. Oh, and I, legs swinging from the ancient wall, crashing back into myself as the speakers crack, the CD skips and the dance fizzles and stops.
Back on the Avenida Patricias, Northbound, my boots clap firmly on the tiled sidewalk and I too stop. A line from the book I was reading the night before creeps into my mind: ''We are confused and brilliant and stupid, lost clumps of living ash.'' I disgard my mantra, reserving only the last word, ''despacio'', and shake off the resin of disillusionment that lingers from the square in La Boca.
It is easy to fall into the trap of classifying everyone and everything one sees meandering in unfamiliar places, too easy to partition the ¨real¨ the other, ¨tourists¨ and self, ''authentic'' from ''inauthentic'' experience. But while it may be the case that these divisions do have a place in the world they cannot now in mine. I am in a sea of people and symbols I cannot read. Experience is all I have. And though I continued to move through Buenos Aires alone late into the night, and though my legs and mind throbbed by sunset, I drove forward with ease and didn´t fall until I hit the bed that night.
That really only brings me up to about 11:00am that first Sasturday. I don't have it in me to write well about the rest but I can offer a quick synopsis. The northbound trip led to the South America explorers club--I'm a member so I decided to check it out and introduce myself. It's a great place. English speaking internationals all over, food on the stove, books, computers. Good stuff. I'll make some friends here for sure. After that I walked though El Centro, the city center and on my way to school where I was to meet a woman that was going too take me Palermo Viejo. On the way a ran into a political demostration on Av. 9 de Julio. Hundreds of Peronists banging drums, waving flags, yelling into megaphones. Elections are coming up. I hung around awhile and checked it out. My school is located in the Plaza de Congresso, I have pictures on the way. So I walked there and walked around there. Hugo Chavez was here about one month ago and his presence is still felt. Pictures. Then I was off to Palermo Viejo with Marianna. She's a former teacher at the school. She was fresh off the plane from Brazil. Very nice lady, probably late twenties. She spoke slow spanish and I actually understood most of it. This part of toen is one of the most historic and inportant in Buenos Aires. The Argentine design movement is located here. Artists, performers, actors, architects. This is the place to be. Again, too much to tell in detail now. But long story short, I got a three hour history lesson, one on one as we walked the crowded streets drinking coffee and wine. After a long walk home I decided to finishh this big day with a big meal. Parrilla--Argentine cuisine. Parrilla is meat-centric, slow roasted goodness. I ordered Parrilla libre y ensalada completa and a bottle of red wine, a multi-course experience. It went as follows: empenada carne, chorizo, blood sausage, papas fritas, chinchurones, liver, mollejas (sweetbreads),asado costillo (a type of beef ribs), bontiola (roast pork), and matambre (delicate, slow roasted skirt steak. Good stuff. I slept well
My photo plans have been foiled again. I'll keep trying.
Take care friends!
Friday, March 30, 2007
Greetings from Almagro, Buenos Aires
My apologies in advance. I have been struggling for over half an hour now to first, relay my need for a functional computer--´computadora cinco no functiona!...computadora diez no functiona!¿puede devolverme el dinero?¨.... Frustrating. And as to that last part in espanol, no they would not return my money. So here I sit.
I am well. With the exception of the unending rain and this particular locutario life is moving happily along. I live in the barrio (neighborhood) of Almagro in central Buenos Aires. The folks that I am staying with, Racquel y Jorge Knobel, are friendly and accomodating. Racquel speaks enough english to keep our exchanges from descending into confused silence and Jorge, though he speaks no english is always nearby to offer encouragement and fine tune my patchwork locutions.
Since my arrival yesterday afternoon I have spent most of my time wandering the streets and riding the subways: tuning my body in
to its new environment. I generally have an above average sense of direction but after being picked up in a boeing 676 and dropped on the other side of the world I have begun to think that my aptitude for cardinal orientation is less a factor of an internal compass than a large conglomeration of senses tied firmly in the earth and sky of the midwest. But we´ll find out. Perhaps I am just tired.
Tire I am. It is about 9:00pm here so the restaurants have just opened. I have been ready for dinner since about 6:00. Tonight I dine at El Mosquito, a neighborhood parrilla and must end this first blog short. But before I close, a few comments and observations: comments regarding the blog, observations of Buenos Aires.
As of the moment I do not forsee myself being able to post any pictures; while locutarios are everywhere here, the computers they provide are quite primitive. Also, as time goes on I intend to reign in my writing a bit; my writings should become less disjointed as I slowly collect and acclomate myself. As of now my state swings from excitement to fatigue, neither good for conscious expression. So thank you for your patience.
As for Buenos Aires. The dogs are well behaved, very few requiring leashes. The women are indeed beautiful. And Pizza and icecream are surprisingly popular though I´m yet to see anyone eat either. Buenas Noches!
I am well. With the exception of the unending rain and this particular locutario life is moving happily along. I live in the barrio (neighborhood) of Almagro in central Buenos Aires. The folks that I am staying with, Racquel y Jorge Knobel, are friendly and accomodating. Racquel speaks enough english to keep our exchanges from descending into confused silence and Jorge, though he speaks no english is always nearby to offer encouragement and fine tune my patchwork locutions.
Since my arrival yesterday afternoon I have spent most of my time wandering the streets and riding the subways: tuning my body in
to its new environment. I generally have an above average sense of direction but after being picked up in a boeing 676 and dropped on the other side of the world I have begun to think that my aptitude for cardinal orientation is less a factor of an internal compass than a large conglomeration of senses tied firmly in the earth and sky of the midwest. But we´ll find out. Perhaps I am just tired.
Tire I am. It is about 9:00pm here so the restaurants have just opened. I have been ready for dinner since about 6:00. Tonight I dine at El Mosquito, a neighborhood parrilla and must end this first blog short. But before I close, a few comments and observations: comments regarding the blog, observations of Buenos Aires.
As of the moment I do not forsee myself being able to post any pictures; while locutarios are everywhere here, the computers they provide are quite primitive. Also, as time goes on I intend to reign in my writing a bit; my writings should become less disjointed as I slowly collect and acclomate myself. As of now my state swings from excitement to fatigue, neither good for conscious expression. So thank you for your patience.
As for Buenos Aires. The dogs are well behaved, very few requiring leashes. The women are indeed beautiful. And Pizza and icecream are surprisingly popular though I´m yet to see anyone eat either. Buenas Noches!
Thursday, March 8, 2007
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