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.