Un día en el centro

So... I gave in. With so much prodding from both friends (Tamara) and Richi--one of the family who continually makes jokes about me that I only partly understand--I finally decided to make a significant trip beyond the walls of the house. Another reason I hadn't ventured out is because the metro is so far away, and therefore requires using the very complicated bus system (there are over 300 lines). However, when I asked they said I could take a train that had a stop only 4 blocks away that would get me to the downtown metro. Juli had been a little scared to use this form of public transportation, but I guess they felt I was up to it. For the most part it went fine, except on the way back when I got lost amongst the three separate train stations at my destination, not remembering at which I had arrived (and no help from the ticket-taker, who just said "That doesn't work here" and tore up my pass).

I got off the metro near the Plaza de Mayo, walking by the famous Cafe Tortoni and through the street performer and vendor-laden business district of Avenida Florida. As per usual, there was a tango fusion type group with a great accordionist, and a smaller, traditional Andean band with panflutes. Also added to the mix was a group of dreadlocked reggae-ers (singing "listen to mother earth" and "in my home I have a dog, not a gun"), a subculture which seems to be taking a greater hold now more than it was a year ago. I also passed by the Obelisk (pictured above), which is probably the most famous structure in the city (it's in the middle of a 15 lane road!).

After awhile I felt like going over to the art museums of Recoleta, but remembered from my Lonely Planet guide that Thursday afternoons are when the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo march in front of the Casa Rosada (our equivalent of the White House, but pink). This was an event I had wanted to see since I read about them in Naomi Klein's The Shock Doctrine. There is a

fascinating history behind these women, who continue to plead for a full investigation into the "disappearance" of approximately 30,000 individuals during Argentina's military dictatorship from 1976-1983 ("The Dirty War"), some of which were their own children. The Madres are now a significant grassroots organization, supporting a variety of left-leaning political positions. It really was amazing to watch them and the veterans from the Maldives War (the Falkland War), despite the presence of street vendors trying to capitalize on the spectacle.

After catching part of an evensong by some local catholic school kids at the National Cathedral, I hopped on the metro towards Palermo, an upscale region of Buenos Aires that is peppered with parks, monuments, and museums. I spent a lot of time walking, seeing small groups talking and drinking their afternoon mate, playing soccer, and even a few skateboarding. Eventually I landed at the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA), a modern/contemporary art museum that on the outside looks a lot like the East Wing of the National Gallery in D.C., and inside feels like the archetypal modern art museum. They had a Warhol exhibition opening the next day called "Mr. America", of which I was unfortunately only able to see a very small part.

After I left, I was about halfway to Recoleta, a bordering barrio that houses a super-upscale mall, the famous "aristocrat-only" Recoleta Cemetary, and my favorite place in Buenos Aires, the Fine Arts Museum. If there was one thing I was going to go back to see, it was going to be that. The museum was just as great as I remembered, and the upstairs--which I missed before--had a great collection of Argentinian modern works. Still, their European modern selections trumped all, and I was really moved by this small-but-interesting Pollock (clearly this photo cannot do it justice!).

By far the most interesting part of my journey, however, was the sculpture garden behind the museum which I had somehow missed last year. It holds a massive--it must be at least 50 ft. tall--flower sculpture that moves according to how much light is hitting it, mimicking its biological counterpart. It was really fascinating to see it at different points in its movement during sunset, which allowed me to mostly overlook the fact that it was engineered by Lockheed Martin.

It was getting late and I was tired, so I stopped by a cafe on the way back to the train station to have a mocha and "medialunas" (literally half-moon, i.e. croissants). Clearly they knew I was going to drop by, because they were blasting a mix of the remastered Beatles albums. How could I resist? I almost considered buying the albums earlier in the day, but looking at the prices I realized why pirating is the norm here. Each album was about 75 pesos, and the new Mika album was nearly 90! With the exchange that only made them about $5 more than what I assume is the average for a CD in the US, but with salaries here being about the same (in number, not in value), I couldn't imagine spending that much on a single CD.

And that is the reality of Argentina: the image of prosperity despite significant poverty. Billions of dollars have obviously been poured into beautiful shopping centers and the restoration of it's European center, but for the most part it is an illusion. Certainly there is a sector of Argentinian society that somewhat corresponds to the super-rich of the states, but the majority seem to be in a class that roughly mirrors our lower-middle-class. I say seem because you can see it when you walk down the street: businessmen wearing cheap suits and worn-down loafers, women with old purses and unshined heels, and teenagers with imitation jerseys and Adidas futsal shoes aged to perfection. And poverty is never far away. On the trains the impoverished make long speeches asking for money in return for a variety of cheap goods/food (harmonicas and socks, mostly), outside the station they casually pick through the trash, and at every stoplight they juggle balls or attempt to wash your windshield. This is only, of course, what you see; there are places where even locals don't go--villas ("slums") that creep relatively close to the center of BA--much less an American tourist.

Still, the situation has improved immensely since the 2001 crash. Obviously more needs to be done, but I won't bore you with my perspective on how that should be done, and you probably already have a general idea of what it would be :). At any rate, I had a great day, but it was also extremely long (like this entry?) so my feet hurt a lot, and I'm still trying to apologize for giving the family a bit of a scare for arriving later than they expected. Chau chau for now.

¿Qué estas haciendo en Buenos Aires?

Some of you might have noticed that this is my current profile picture on Facebook. Ironically, this photo was taken over a year ago and I have not even been to the Boca barrio of Buenos Aires this trip--the jacket might have been a hint :)

In fact, I have not been much of anywhere since I got here. Most people would probably think that it's ridiculous that I am here in this great big city, known for its colorful combination of neo-European cosmopolitanism and working-class grittiness, and not going out to soak it in. The simple fact of the matter, though, is that "lo vi todo" (I've seen it all). Over the course of the two weeks I stayed here last summer, Juli and I really made a significant effort to hit all the tourist spots, and we did. I've probably seen more of downtown Buenos Aires than I have seen of any other city in the U.S., with the exceptions of Washington, D.C. and San Francisco.

And that's the point: those two cities have basically been my home, and Buenos Aires is so familiar to me that it feels a little like that. I don't really feel the need to go out to "see the sights", especially not by myself. But there's a hitch: at home you typically have school or work, neither of which I have had for the last two weeks I have been here. It is a strange limbo, looking forward to something but having literally nothing to do in the meantime.

Still, while most of my days have been filled with a shameful amount of perusing the web, watching movies on TV, and playing Worms, Scrabble, and poker over the internet, I have done some things of interest. For example, I have been able to cheer for my 2nd favorite national soccer team, Argentina, in the early qualification rounds for the 2010 World Cup. Watching soccer in a country where soccer matters is really refreshing, even if you aren't at the game. Argentina has been playing uncharacteristically terrible soccer, so it was exciting to being in room full of people rooting for the "underdog" for two must-win games that took place last week.

The week before last I went to a Sunday market--which are never really my thing--and was pleasantly surprised to find the most interesting variety of artistic jewelry and clothing I have ever seen (I kept thinking my Mom would have enjoyed it a lot!). Afterwards we hung out at a cafe and I had an "Iced Coffee", which actually ended up being an ice cream coffee, another pleasant surprise. A different night I went out to dinner with Juli's cousin and a few of his friends. Although we ordered salad, our main course was quite possibly the most calorific, heart-attack inducing food I have ever consumed, and it was therefore extremely delicious. It was called a Pizzanesa, a pizza where the doughy bread is replaced by a huge milanesa (only click that if you really want to know how unhealthy it was!). I recommend a pairing with Coca-Cola and a dessert of extremely chocolaty crepes.

Another day I went to an uber-modern mall with the husband of one of the cousins to find a present for "Dia de la Madre" (Mother's Day). I basically ended up picking out the present (a shirt and sweater which were a little overpriced--about US$150), which thankfully was very well received when we celebrated the holiday last Sunday. Argentinians really know how to make a great day out of very simple pleasures: food, company, and of course, mate, the oft-imbued national tea drink. It was a beautiful day out and we had "asado" (barbeque) with a dulce de leche ice cream cake for dessert (the most important part, right?). I also tried to set up my slackline, but that failed so we just kicked a soccer ball back-and-forth over it for fun.

Probably the most exciting thing I did, however, was to go to a local church league of 5-on-5 soccer ("futsal"). One of the cousin's friends was on the team, and it was fun to witness the passion of "streetball", even for such an inconsequential league. What was really great about the game, though, was afterwards when we celebrated their loss at the local McDonald's. We got there a little too late, so since we had already gotten out of the car we ordered standing outside the drive-thru window. It was a little cold and windy, but the humor of the situation made it great. At the register one of the team members tried sweet talking the attendant for me, calling me a "Yankee, but a good one"; a glowing compliment, considering that in Argentina "Yankee" still retains its status as a rather derogatory term for U.S. citizens. She wasn't amused, but she wasn't upset either: this is typical behavior for the lamentably large Argentine machismo, which I saw in vivo multiple times that night. Anyways, with the currency conversion (nearly 4 to 1), the not-so-tasty food cost me about the same as it would have in the states, which means for Argentinians McDonald's has gone from being a cheap eat to almost a luxury item (about 25 pesos for a meal). Leave it to the Yankees to bait and switch, right? I mean, the quality of the place was astounding, and people were wearing clothes more appropriate for a night on the town than sitting in Mickey D's. It was almost as if I was at a Taco Bell in Demolition Man.

And certainly, all the other time has not been a waste. For one, I have been reading more. I'm starting Three Cups of Tea, which is okay so far besides the author's insistence on 3rd person narrative, and I finished How Soccer Explains the World, which was, as expected, more interesting for its history than its theory of globalization. Also, I don't think developing relationships is ever a waste of time, and while I'm not chatting with new and old friends on the web, I'm entertaining 4-year-old Emma and learning Spanish and growing closer with the rest of the Gambettas (even though they do talk with incredible rapidity). Luisa even trusted me enough to drive when her daughter's baby didn't seem content to make the trip in my arms. She was amazed to find out that I could drive "cambios" (stickshift), and in such an old car. I tried to explain to her my first car, but it defies description, even in English.

So, that has basically been my two weeks in Buenos Aires, and it has given me a healthy reminder of the fact that a life without work is one that is largely purposeless and vapid. In a couple of weeks, however, I have a feeling I'll be on the opposite end of things, and have to call on one of the many important life lessons I originally learned from the Simpsons: "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".

A New Life

I know it's not the most clever of blog names, but I couldn't really think of anything that would encapsulate what I am doing. I am living a totally new life. Sure, I'm still "me", but as much as the psychologists love to rant about how much genetics affect your personality, I feel totally different in my new surroundings. I think the separation from your friend and family networks and your typical behavior patterns seriously alters who you are. Certainly I still like the same things and operate from the same philosophical foundations, but I don't think I felt the weight of the world turning upside down when I hugged Priscilla goodbye (thanks for the ride again!) at SFO Int'l. But it did.

Why didn't I feel it? Maybe it's because I was too upset about the internet I paid for at SFO not working in the Mexico City airport while I sat there for 10 hours on an hour of sleep, playing Worms until my eyes hurt and eating less than stellar food from "Chili's" (it was only during the last 3 hours that I remembered the existence of 2 films on my computer which I thoroughly enjoyed: Corpse Bride and Milk). Maybe it's because I was too happy about having three seats to myself on my flight to Buenos Aires, and actually getting real sleep on a plane for the first time. Most likely, though, it was because I was freaking out about my Spanish skills being adequate enough to get me from the airport to barrio (neighborhood) "Florida" without costing me a fortune in the pesos I wasn't sure I'd be able to get out of an ATM.

Fortunately, according to "plan" (I'm never 100% sure of plans made in Spanish), someone from ADRA was there, and I got to experience for the first time the joy of having a placard with my name on it. My fumbling Spanish was enough to not make me look like a complete idiot (I think), as we conversed about politics, my previous visit to Argentina, and of course, futbol. Interestingly, he was for neither Boca nor River, but a lesser team (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superclásico, if you don't know what I'm talking about). We went to the offices of the SDA Austral Conference, which looks more like a prison hold than an office, and I met the ADRA director whom I had been e-mailing. I think I only embarrassed myself once, by answering "si" to a question/statement that clearly had a response set more complicated than "si" or "no" (a common occurrence). We went over logistics (more "plans"), and then he dropped me off at the Gambetta's--Juli's (my ex-girlfriend) cousins--who have been extremely gracious to have me in their home for these two weeks. Even though Juli and I are not together, after our trip here last year they still feel like my 2nd family, and it is great to be with them again.

As for right now, most of my days are pretty empty. It is ironic that right now, while I have an excess of free time in the longest summer I will ever have (both literally and figuratively), I probably have the least interesting things to say. But that will all change very, very soon. This Sunday I am travelling to the place so great they named it 4 ways: Puigari, Libertador San Martin Entre Rios, la villa, la UAP (Universidad Adventista del Plata). I'll be attending an ADRA conference (which I'll probably understand 20% of), along with meeting up with my ACA (Adventist Colleges Abroad) friends, over the week, and then taking an incredibly long bus trip to Salta, the beautiful city to the north where I will be doing my work. My world is turned upside down right now, but I think by the time I get there I won't even recognize my world at all.

A blog?! Noooooo

I don't like blogs. While I do, from time to time, enjoy reading up a little on my brother Andrew's or my former roommate Peter Han's, I think they are basically pointless. The main issue for me is that I think they most often exist solely for the purpose of narcissistic fulfillment on the part of the writer, rather than providing real insight into a given subject (Andrew excepted, since all he's written about since his first entry is "boring computer stuff"). But perhaps one is not possible without the other. After all, I tend to think that the most important philosophies we have are those which we can actually tie to life experience. Holding on to an idea that cannot be changed by your experiences is extremely dangerous (e.g. certain people I know who have gay friends and family yet still maintain that homosexuality is sinful and wrong), and not being able to tie your life events to an overarching philosophy essentially reduces you to an animal or a very sad human (i.e. the anomie of nihilism).

Anyways, the original reason why I was hesitant to make a blog about my Argentina experience is because it is just so cliche. White middle-class post-grad idealist decides to go to foreign country to offer a helping hand because he has no better plan for his life. Seriously. Get over it. You're not that special. Secondly, I didn't feel the need to give people one more reason to label me as the narcissistic person they already think I am--yes I'm looking at you Cara and Priscilla. Add to that the reality that many people I love and cherish will probably not read the material I slave over (Jaylene!)... it's just too much to bear!

Over the last week, however, I have come to the realization that this blog will allow me to answer the question, "How are things in Argentina?" to an indefinite amount of people in one simple location. Since so many people clearly want to live vicariously through me, I thought it best to feed their fancy, and it conveniently prevents myself from answering the same question hundreds of times instead of having interesting conversations. Now when people ask, I can guilt trip them and say "Didn't you read my blog?! What kind of friend are you?!" It will be great.

So there you have it, my esoteric rant on doing something I didn't really want to do, the first entry in my egotistical enterprise. I hope you'll join me for the ride and be changed by my words as much as I am changed by the experiences that inspire them.