National Day of Mourning

I could talk about the bus system all day. The stories are endless and I’m sure there are thousands more to come. Yesterday morning, I got on the Bus #5 as usual that gets me to orientation. Everything is going well, with me standing near the front of the bus since it is jammed (not unlike Japan during rush hour – the subways here during rush hour are just as crowded in Japan too). I’m minding my own business until I see a serious PDA between the bus driver and a chica that just boarded the bus. While we’re moving. I decided to hold on for dear life before my mind finished processing what was going on. There were no near-death experiences, but we were moving faster and the turning a little sharper. She wound up staying on for about 4 or 5 stops. Then this morning I get on the bus around the same time, and lo and behold it’s the same bus driver. His girlfriend (I hope) got on at her usual spot but made the whole trip this time. I’m a little curious as to how they met. Consecutive days of flirting as she rides the bus for a few stops, perhaps? You have to love the 5.

Over the weekend I had my first homework assignment, which was to explore the neighborhood with two other classmates and take some photos to share with the class. It was unfortunate that it was raining; it was great nonetheless to see what is hiding around where I’m staying. The find of the day was an indoor futsal center, with 6 5v5 turf fields. They were organized into two sets of three so you could play on two bigger fields. There was a game going on, with the usual ‘passion,’ or in other words consistent rolling on the ground and pointless yelling at the referee. There were yellow cards galore. I just had to laugh, because such seriousness seemed a little overkill on such a small field inside what seemed like a warehouse. It was a phenomenal find though, and I’m going to investigate it some more and maybe get some game time, I hope.

After class yesterday, a group of us decided to go see a movie. We wandered down one of the main roads (Avenida Santa Fe) to a local theater. The only two options were a romantic drama or a French comedy. We decided to check out another theater that was supposedly reasonably close. So, we continued on our quest to find a movie. We stopped by the Recoleta Cemetery, which is probably the most famous cemetery in Argentina. It houses the coffins and tombs of the rich and famous of years past. Extremely rich. A major reason for going yesterday was it was the 50th anniversary of Evita Perón’s death, and she rests in her family’s tomb there. We passed by, and there were flowers and posters everywhere with probably a dozen people paying their respects. To be honest, I was a little under whelmed by what I saw; I had it in my mind that her tomb would be a little isolated given her national prominence. On the contrary, the tomb is down a narrow alley (most of these tombs are bigger than some houses – it literally feels like you’re walking in a village made of expensive stone) and is relatively small. However, even 50 years later she is still one of the most-talked about figures in Argentina. I have to say walking through the cemetery was a little eerie, as coffins were clearly visible through the open doors of these tombs just a few feet away.

We eventually did find the second theater, but it wasn’t as close as we thought. They didn’t have any movies worth seeing, so we decided to go back to the original theater to see the French comedy (Las Hierbas Salvajes). It had Spanish subtitles, and it was great to try and piece together what was happening in the movie by following the subtitles. Either all 6 of us are the absolute worst at Spanish or the movie just wasn’t funny. No one else was laughing either, so I tend to think it was the later. This award-winning film in a nutshell is about an older man who finds a wallet that was stolen from a lady and subsequent becomes obsessed with her. The police shoo him away and she becomes obsessed with him. They all wind up dying in a plane crash during a flight in a little private prop plane. It was a course of bizarre French humor 101. All of us held it in, but once the movie finished we all burst out laughing just because it was so absurd. Crazy Americans.

Dinner was a family affair, with both sons and the husband taking part. The conversation was dominated by the sons’ lives, such as when Ramiro, the younger son, would stop having multiple novias and get one serious girlfriend. Matias was peppered with questions of when he’ll marry his girlfriend and have kids. My anfitriona (host-mother) wants some grandkids, and she let him know. He’s trying to get his fledgling acting career off the ground though, and I’m supposed to go see him act in 3 weeks. Should be fun. I hope the fact that he had black fingernail polish on all five fingers of his left hand and none on his right had everything to do with his acting.

Looking back, the last week and a half have been great; the hours spent at orientation have been time well spent, with a never-ending supply of useful information, plus being able to explore the city by day and night without the thought of schoolwork hanging over our heads. It’s felt a little like NSO all over again, with over a hundred of new people to meet. It feels like I’ve been here for months, when really it’s only been about three weeks.

Today, I had an hour to kill between the end of orientation and an academic advisor meeting, so I cruised down Santa Fe to El Ateneo, one of the most impressive bookstores I have ever seen. The building used to be an opera house; the stage is still there (it is now home to a café), and the balconies are all covered with lights. It’s absolutely huge. Of course they didn’t have the book I wanted, but it was still a stunning place. It is probably the only bookstore I have ever seen with people taking pictures inside.

Finally, as I turned on the news today I saw that the main headline was the fact that Diego Maradona will not be returning has the head soccer coach of the Argentinean National Soccer team. That was all the news talked about for the 15 minutes of headlines. Apparently Maradona wanted to retain his entire coaching staff, but the AFA had other ideas. Everyone is unhappy with his departure, including the AFA. Although now he’ll be able to spend more time with Hugo Chavez, like when he stood next to Chavez on the podium last week as the Venezuelan broke all formal ties with Colombia and essentially threatened to start a war. That can’t have been good for Maradona’s public image.

A Nocturnal City

Things have been kind of a whirlwind the last few days, with 150 new faces to meet and an unfamiliar city to explore. Last Tuesday was El Día del Amigo, a day which is basically an excuse to party with friends. The sons of my host were both over to have an asado, or barbecue. They brought all of their friends with them. Weber needs to come down here and take a lesson in how to build a barbecue. In the kitchen, the barbecue is completely brick, is probably 6 feet across and 2-3 feet deep. It has two parts, a smaller one to the left to heat up the coals and a larger one on the right to get down to business. I wander up to the kitchen around 8 to see what’s going on (no one eats before 9:30-10 here) and the coals were already flaming. Ramiro, one of the sons, didn’t think the fire was big enough, so he took an entire 5kg bag of coals and slapped it down on the fire. Needless to say we had a firework show in a kitchen made almost entirely of wood. Ramiro seemed to know what he was doing, but the orange shooting stars flying all the way across the room weren’t a huge confidence booster.

By the time everyone showed up, there were easily 7 or 8 mid-30s Argentine guys all talking at once and telling 7 or 8 completely different stories. Yours truly had a little trouble keeping up with the rapid-fire Spanish. I’d think of something I could contribute and by the time I was ready they had already talked about how good Boca Juniors will be this year, if Ramiro will ever get married and had moved on to another topic. The beef itself was unbelievable; slow cook some prime cuts over coals for an hour and a half and you have greatness.

My days are spent at what appears to be an ex-residence of the rich and famous in a northern barrio. We discuss everything from classes to which parrilla is the best to the apparent lack of money in Argentina (no one has change, anywhere). At first I had no idea what we were going to talk about for a month, but after a week of orientation I can see it’s possible. Wednesday night I went out with a couple people from the program; we found a great jazz bar to start. Well they found it, I got lost and was almost a good part of the way to Chile. We were given these transit guides to the City called ‘Guia T’ that supposedly tells us what the bus routes are. The only problem is, the going route is different from the coming, there is no schedule, and no real precise location of the stops. Don’t get me wrong, the bus system here is probably the best in the world – there are about 200 bus routes that come every 5 minutes or so (sometimes it backfires when you see three of the same number lined up in a row though) – but figuring out which bus to get on where is always a challenge. Sometimes I think Guia T is really short for guillotine and that’s what will happen if I try to figure out a bus. So Wednesday night I thought I had everything worked out, and I got on a bus. The bus driver had some sixth sense that I was a foreigner and after a quick conversation told me that I was one the bus going the wrong way. Good start. I do make it to where I want to go, and find that the internet address for the bar was wrong, so after making a stop in three different restaurants to ask I finally made it. A 30min trip wound up taking an hour and a half. The music was good though. After, we worked our way to the main nightlife district and spent a few hours there. The nightlife scene here is on a whole other level; first, people don’t actually leave home until about 1:30 on an early night. The first stop is normally a bar for 2 hours or so, and then it’s off to a boliche, or dance club, around 3:30. People eat breakfast in these places when the sun comes up at 7. I’ve heard of people lining up around the block to get into boliches at 5:30am. They finally stumble home at 10. We diiidn’t quite make it that far-

Spending time in the house with the host-family will probably be the most beneficial for my Spanish out of just about everything. It’s normally just me and the host-mom, and we talk about all sorts of things. It’s a great way to get comfortable with the language; they’re patient and know you’re trying. I don’t know what happened, but I was sucked into watching a telenovela the other night, or soap opera, with her- I can’t say they’re my thing, but the conversation is normally a little easier to understand than in other TV series. As a host, she is unbelievable – from preparing food, to squeezing orange juice every morning, to answering (or trying to answer) any question I might have, to putting up with my frequent mistakes with the language she’s really the best you can ask for. It should be a good 5 months!

Mi Casa Su Casa

Today was officially day one of the whole program. I found my way to the IFSA-Butler offices, and met some of the other students taking part in the program. They seem like a good group so far - they were all of the kids that didn't come down on the group flight. So I guess I'll meet the other 120 tomorrow. They must have chartered a 777. I did think that Orientation would last about a week before jumping into classes. Nope. It's going to go on for a month. I don't think that's orientation. Maybe try indoctrination. But it was good to meet the staff.

After the brief meeting I took a cab to my host family's place in the central-western part of the city, in the barrio Almagro. It's a nice part of town - there are actually trees here, which is a plus. It's just me and an older lady who has two kids. At first I thought she said that she was in the middle of getting a divorce from her husband, but then he walked in and sat down to have a coffee for a couple hours so I knew that must be wrong. Good thing I didn't take that subject further. Probably not the best way to start out on day 1. The house itself is great - a lot bigger than I thought it would be. The main room that everyone hangs out in most of the time is up some stairs that are actually outside of the house. So, with it raining today, in order to get to the living/dining room, I had to get wet. A little different, but I like it. Apparently they just had another student staying with them, and his name also happened to be Jake. He was apparently from California as well, and more specifically Berkeley. I thought, you have to be kidding. What can I say. We're a good group, us Jakes from the Bay Area.

Speaking of making a bad first impression, it probably wasn't the best move to drop a tostada straight into my coffee cup this afternoon. All I could do was laugh. They were a little surprised at first and then pretended that it never happened. I thought about eating it so the whole thing would go away, then I figured that might just be more counter-productive than actually helpful. I have to say though, it was a perfect drop. A swish. It didn't touch any clay on the way down. Sign 'im up!

Yosemite's Big Brother

The day started bright and early, as I had to jump in a collectivo to head south to Cafayate. I wound up deciding to tag along with a tour to see Cafayate and all of the rock formations along the way, since I had one day left and so much to do. I thought about taking the bus down and trying to do it on my own, but there were no guarantees that I would see the rocks, which was the whole point. So I played stereotypical tourist for a day and I was reminded how much I hate tours. But no matter, I did get to see some absolutely unbelievable stuff.

The people were nice enough, and the tour guide seemed knowledgeable, but it all seemed a little fake. Maybe the fact that there were more cracks in the windshield than in a shattered plate didn't help so much. But anyhow, of we went. We stopped for coffee about an hour in, during which time I was pacing the coffee shop calling on Yoda to use the force and make everyone spill their coffee so we could get out of there. Eventually we made it to our first stop, the ghost town of Alemania. We didn't actually get to walk around at all, which was too bad, but even so it was pretty neat. It's nestled into this little mountain valley with a river running through it. The entire place was blanketed with snow, which only added to the beauty. What was pretty neat was seeing cacti everywhere covered with snow. Not the usual combination!

Stop number two was our first venture into the rock formations of the Quebrada las Conchas. You thought Yosemite Valley was breathtaking, you should come to the Quebrada Las Conchas. Think of Yosemite Valley mixed with Bryce Canyon, and you’re starting to get the picture. This would be a great spot to say, ‘see attached,’ but my photos don’t do the area justice. We drove mile after mile through layered red rock covered with snow with the andes towering over them, like the Great Wall of China on some massive steroids. We found our way to La Garganta del Diablo, or 'The Devil's Throat'. It's a extremely deep canyon winding its way back up into the mountainside. It is probably about 15-20 feet across and 4-500 feet high. Really neat stuff. I walked back there as far as I could before it was time to go; this is one spot I'd definitely like to come back to and really see what's back up in there. The tonsils, maybe?

Just down the road is El Amfiteatro, or the 'Ampitheater'. This was either my favorite or second favorite on the day. You walk through another little canyon like La Garganta but this time for only about 100 feet before you come into this cylinder-like area. It's as if someone took a drill and drilled a couple hundred feet into the rock. A guitarist and musician playing the recorder were sharing some tunes inside- the way the sound bounced off the walls was awesome. Better than any concert hall.

We made our way to Cafayate from there. Just before pulling into town we rolled slowly by 'The Titanic'. We got an earful of 'My Heart Will Go On' as we were getting close, so we were all warned. Cafayate is a little mountain town set into a valley after the end of Quebrada las Conchas and before the real Andes start. It felt like Fairplay (CO) in a way, just this town was a little bigger. You still had the same amazing mountain vistas everywhere you looked, however. Cafayate's claim to fame is its wine (and of course being so close to Quebrada las Conchas). We visited two vineyards, and got to try wine at both. It wasn't too bad! The local specialty is a torrentes , which is a white wine. It's good. As soon as lunch hit us though, I bolted. I wolfed down some gnocchi and found a spot to rent a bike. I got one that was probably about 4 sizes too small and reminded me of my first bike with gears. But, the wheels turned, the brakes worked and the gears changed if you asked nicely. I cruised around town for an hour, successfully freezing my fingers off and almost being attacked by a couple stray dogs. I asked one if it wanted to race, but I could an earful of bark instead. Biking is by far the best way to see a town. I cycled past some vineyards, around some local neighborhoods (and had some people staring at me from their windows), and really got a feel for the town. It's pretty much all dirt roads that each look like they go straight to the base of some several-thousand foot mountain.

On the way back to Salta we stopped at a few more spots in Quebrada las Conchas, the first of which was Los Castillos, or 'The Castles.' As you can imagine, this is a formation that looks like a couple castles arranged next to each other. They gave new meaning to the word 'magnificent'. I noticed before that JP posted a quote from Grant who said that 'water is the best artist,' and I couldn't agree more. Water did just about all of this (minor a few formations caused by the wind), and it's just astounding. Los Castillos was followed by a stop at Los Tres Cruces, (The Three Crosses) which is a spot with three crosses on a hill that mark the high point of the valley. The view from here is unbelievable - I would almost go as far as to say that it trumps Yosemite Valley. Down the valley you have the view in the last picture above, and up the valley you have the river, some of the red rock and then some Andes peaks towering above those. I couldn't get enough of it.

I made it back to the hostel (although we did actually hit a guy on the way back - I assume he's alright because the driver hopped out and 2 minutes later he was back and we were driving away. I was dozing off at the time, and the loud bang made me think the world was ending) and went out for dinner to the same spot as last night, just at a different stall this time. The food was good and the atmosphere great. There was a guitarist playing for change to a crowd that seemed to be full of tourists from Buenos Aires. No matter - it became loud fast. Later on I got to talking to a recent grad from Columbia, who just happened to know who Dexter TP is. Small world, huh? After a couple hours I convinced her that early nights were for suckers and we headed uptown with one of the guys I met last night and hit up a bar with some live local music - good times.

Today was a travel day- I decided to fly back to make my stay in Salta as long as possible. Flying is supposed to be easy, right? Well, after being delayed for over 3 hours I finally got in the air in an airplane that won't leave my memory anytime soon. The space between the seats was so small that so much blood was cut off from my feet that I probably have permanent brain damage. Add that to what looked like duct tape holding one of the cockpit windows on, and you've got a memorable flight. I also happened to be sitting next to a recent Stanford grad on her way back to Uruguay where she's working for a not-for-profit to help small business owners. It's interesting - all the people that I've met who have studied abroad or are going to are all from 'upper-tier' schools- Stanford, Columbia, Amherst, Barnard, Pomona. Where's everyone else? I'll meet them tomorrow I bet.

It's too bad I actually have to go to the orientation meeting tomorrow. Who needs class? Maybe I'll go wander back up and raise my flag above Los Castillos , call it Minas Tirith and defend it from all of the tours.

Snowday

I have to backtrack a little bit, because some stuff happened after I wrote the post last night. I decided to head out to the best parrilla , otherwise known as a steakhouse, according to the locals. En route I passed by the town square, and there was a huge commotion going on behind a tow truck. I thought maybe someone had gotten into an accident (I would not have been surprised, with the way people drive here. I saw a stop sign for the first time in Salta, and I almost took a picture just to prove they exist), but no instead it was a corvette being unloaded off the pickup. Brand-spanking-new. It was the biggest tourist attraction in town. You would have though Michael Schumacher pulled up in his F-1 car, judging by how many cameras were flashing. I guess corvettes are a little rare in this part of the 'hood.

I made it to Viejo Jack's, the locals' favorite steakhouse. Or I thought I did. I kind of drifted past where I thought it was but didn't see any signs. Then a waiter comes out and asks, are you looking for Viejo Jack's? Thinking this could now either be a great place or a very bad place, I walk on in. Prices are reasonable (8$ for what I imagined at that point to be a phenomenal steak) and after deciding it was worth splurging a little bit, I tell him OK and he asks that I find a spot to sit. I start wandering over to a table, and there is someone from the hostel sitting at the window table. She asks if I want to join and I say sure. She's then joined by two more hostel guests. 3 girls and me - I'm diggin' it so far! The two girls that showed up are both American, and had been here for 6 months. That's awesome - what were you up to? Well, we were here studying abroad. No kidding! What program? IFSA-Butler. You can't be serious. So they had just finished the program I'm about to start. Ice broken. The original girl was also studying here, but on her own from Germany. The steaks that showed up a little while later definitely did not disappoint - although I would find out later that Salta is known for undercooking steaks. Medium is more like double rare. It was extremely good nonetheless. So here's the final bill - the biggest steak you've ever seen, a salad and some wine for 11 bucks. You know where to find me if you want in on it.

This morning I had great plans to rent a bike and cruise around the city. Those dreams were shattered when I saw little white stuff floating down out of the sky. Snowing. Any hope of wishing away the winter in July was shot at this point. Bike around? Good plan if I wanted to lose some fingers. So instead I walked to the main plaza and did the tourist thing for a few hours. I visited a museum where they have a mummy found high up a local volcano that's 500+ years old. The girl was 15 when she was sacrificed as part of an Incan ceremony. Seeing the actual mummy, still clothed and veins still visible was honestly kind of disturbing. I didn't know what to think about seeing it and I still don't. All in all though I was glad I did. For lunch I tried locro again, and this time it was much better. The meat was not frozen, and it was much more tasty. Fantastic. I'm going to miss it in BA - apparently it's a local specialty that is extremely rare in BA. As I walked around I noticed more and more cars with new hood ornaments. People here were building snowmen on top of their cars, sometimes covering the entire roof, and then driving around. Personally, I thought that building snowmen on top of cars is like trying to build snowmen over a fire. Cars do warm up, especially the hood, and eventually I was watching mounds of snow with a stick or two sticking out driving around Salta. Pretty funny stuff, but I thought the whole idea of driving around with snowmen on the car to be awesome. If you only get snow once every 10 years, you have to live it up!

Somewhat lost as to what to do with the rest of the afternoon, I talked to the hostel staff and they suggested I head up to San Lorenzo to see the scenery in the snow, since it would have dumped more up there. Great. Go where it's colder. So I wound up going, after flagging down a taxi on the street (I'm really not learning, but it did look the most legitimate with all of it's license stickers) to what turned out to appear to be the Beverly Hills of Salta. Lots of big(ger) houses and newer cars. I don't know if it was something I said, but I don't think I've ever gone slower in a taxi. Even little mopeds with three people on them were passing us. You could have rolled the bottom section of a snowman faster than we were going. When we finally reached San Lorenzo, I walked up into the hills. As I passed a driveway, I saw a couple guys my aged holding a bunch of snowballs and I smiled. I knew what they were up to. As soon as I was out of eyesight a couple snowballs hit the ground right next to me. I turned around, built one of my own and fired it back. I thought about starting a snowball fight with them, but I think I would have destroyed them too quickly for it to have been a fair fight. I eventually got to the much-advertised forest area only to discover it's a private forest area (private? come on now...) and after paying 15 pesos I was off onto a little circuit where I could admire trees and bushes, according to the pamphlet. I had no idea forests had trees and bushes. It was a beautiful area though, and I thoroughly enjoyed getting away from all of the cigarette smoke and car exhaust for a few hours. There was a great viewpoint towards the end of the trail, and I had a very white view of the valley. All in all a great few hours spent. It definitely was the local hotspot to come play in the snow; when I left the forest area half the population of Salta must have been taking pictures and having a snowball fight.

I had the same cab driver on the way back, and we chatted about food, the world cup, when I'll be back in Salta, the local nightlife scene, just about everything under the sun. A great guy- very proud of his city and eager to talk about it. Dinner found me at a local food court-type deal with two other guys from the hostel; one who also had just finished studying (through Middlebury, not Butler) and an Aussie traveling through. We sampled some of the local food (fantastic) and local beer (super - if you ever find the beer called 'Salta,' either cerveza rubia or cerveza negra give it a try). Good stories were shared and a great night was had. I have several new spots I want to hit before I leave South America!

Stairway to Heaven

Day whatever-this-is-now saw me cruising around parts of Cordoba that I missed out on the day before. Ferdinando said that most of the museums were free on Wednesdays, so I headed up to a couple of them to see if any looked good. After weaving through hundreds of 8 year old kids I decided it was time for something else. I wound up in the Jesuit square, which is where the old Jesuit cathedral is as well as the University of Cordoba. The cathedral was probably one of the most amazing that I have ever seen. The outside wall was an old stone wall, kind of what you would imagine dividing fields in rural Europe. The inside was dominated by an architectural masterpiece of a ceiling. It looks like the inside of a cylinder, covered in gold. It probably only took them a couple hundred years to build, but hey, it was amazing. I've started to realize that nothing in Argentina is open very late- a couple of the places I wanted to go were already closed by the time I came knocking around 4:30. But I did manage to get into one of the University of Cordoba buildings. It's been around since the late 16th century, which, oh, is only about 200 years older than the good ol' US of A. It was pretty neat to think about how many people had sat where I saw students sitting with textbooks out. Their library, albeit small, was what I would think of at a university like this; floor to ceiling shelves with a sliding ladder.

For dinner I tried the local favorite called locro which is a stew mixed with just about everything, from maize to potato to pumpkin to beef (of course) to chorizo (sausage). It was really tasty, except for the part that the meat was still rock-solid frozen. I'm guessing that's not part of the job description. I don't seem to be doing all that well on first-rounders with the local cuisine. I'm sure my next bowl of locro will be better; when I told some people about my frozen meat edition they just gaped at me. Note to self: frozen meat in soup not normal.

My day ended with another bus ride, this time to Salta. The first time around, when I handed my bag to the luggage guy at the rear he put it in and off I went. This time, it was as if I said I'd never heard of Maradona when I started to walk away. I got the dirtiest look, a couple fingers shaped into a circle and some sort of indescribable noise. I held back from saying Pele was the most talented guy to walk this earth as I threw him a coin. I got on thinking that I would have a bit of a better seat, but no it was exactly the same. Although THIS time we did get the dinner and drink on board, which was pretty cool. They also played 'Bounty Hunter,' which was impressive because it's a movie that has just come out pretty recently in the US. They brought their 'A' game on this bus ride.

I got into Salta at the more reasonable hour of 7:30, and looked at my instructions on how to get to the hostel. INSTRUCTIONS: take a taxi and we'll pay you back. OK, great. The only thing is that everyone I have talked to about taxis tell me not to flag one down off the street. So, either I walk, hoping the sign 'Al Centro' means to the Plaza and follow a different set of directions from there, or throw caution to the wind and get into one of these cabs and hope that I don't go to Bolivia and back before getting to the hostel. These taxis don't have meters, which doesn't help. Watching them push their cars up the line didn't add to my confidence level. What I wound up doing was telling one of the cabbies that I had 15 pesos (about $3.50) and asked if that would get me to where I wanted to go. They said sure, no problem.

This is the part where I say that I wound up in some deserted estancia with nothing but my backpack and a mouthful of exhaust. But no, the taxi turned out to be just fine. Salta itself is a great little town nestled up in the northwest part of the country near the border with Chile. It's known for its more cultural image, with a more indigenous influence. So far it's lived up to its name- the architecture is clearly different, as well as the people. My afternoon was marked by climbing one of the mountains bordering the town to reach a viewpoint of the valley. I could either take a gondola up (that's for sissies) or take the stairs. All 1,070 of them. After climbing the 1070th stair (the sign lied. I counted 10,000), I was met with a pretty astounding view of the valley, with the beginnings of the Andes on the other side.

All in all, Salta has been pretty impressive so far. I haven't figured out what I'm doing for dinner tonight, but I think I'll be having beef. Just a guess.

An Excursion into the Interior

The day after all of the world cup fun was spent running around trying to buy a camera. Going around shopping for a camera really made me angry. I did not want to be doing that, but here I was wandering through a store looking at little point-and-shoots. I eventually settled on one- the price was outrageous, as it is for all cameras here (poop lady made bank the other day) with an obscene markup for a model a couple years old. Whatever. I have a camera.

Later on I made my way to the bus station to get on the bus to Cordoba. I found my bus parking spot number in the middle of probably about 70 berths. No joke. Every bus that pulls in is a fancy double-decker outfitted with seats of different levels of comfort. For this leg of the trip to Salta I was on the bottom rung, or semi-cama. Basically a United Business Class seat, without the warm cashews and glass of whatever as you board. I made the mistake of passing out as soon as I got on board, without fully getting settled- I paid for that later. I did wake back up and essentially became one with my backpack before trying to sleep again. I tried for about 3 hours before I finally caught some z's. We pulled into Cordoba at 6am, about 30 minutes ahead of schedule. This was probably the one time I wished we were running late, but oh no. It was still pitch black out and about as cold as it can be as I wandered up to the hostel. As I got there I looked through the window I saw the guy manning the front desk passed out on the couch so I figured I would retreat back to a cafe and wait for a more of a reasonable hour before showing up.

It didn't get light out until 7:30am - I started to wonder if it ever would - as I sat having my café con leche and mystery pastries (I asked for three croissants and got 2 round biscuit things. I promise, I can speak spanish). Finally I rolled in and Ferdinando gave me the dime tour before I went to bed and finished off a full night's sleep.

After a delicious lunch of a massive steak sandwich for about 6 dollars, I started seein' the sights. First on the list was a viewpoint that Ferdinando recommended to get a decent view of the city. He warned it wasn't that great, but I checked it out anyway. It wound up being a great view of 6 tall apartment blocks with something of the city in between. Postcard stuff, you know what I mean? A few minutes later found me walking into the main town square, and it's a great spot. It's what you would think of when you think town square of a medium-sized town: statue of a famous military figure in the middle (San Martín), benches, grass, old buildings, people, and lots of pigeons. It might be the safest spot in town though, because the plaza was bordered by a Church, el Cabildo, a tourist office and about 10 banks. I have yet to see any banks anywhere else. Walking into the cathedral gave me a few flashbacks, but I didn't turn around to find soap on my leg and instead wandered through a beautiful cathedral. Next door is El Cabildo. While Argentina was under the control of military dictatorships, it was a detention/torture facility. Now it's a community cultural center. Go figure. It was architecturally pretty fascinating, though. There was no trace of any of its recent darker history anywhere, in case you were wondering.

After walking around town a little longer, I headed back to the hostel to pick up my laundry from the lavandería (you can't do it yourself in Argentina, but I don't mind. For 4$ they wash, dry and fold it for you. Not bad!) and chill out until the barbecue, or asado, that the hostel was putting on. There were several others at the hostel, and by the time dinner rolled around I had talked to some recent UCLA grads, an LA teacher, a surfer from Lima, a guy traveling on his own from Ireland, two recent West Point grads traveling before their posting in Germany, an Aussie volunteer, and some med students from England. Now that I think of it, it was quite a mix. The UCLA fellas are headed up to Salta later this week, so I'll probably see them again. Unfortunately they're both Lakers fans, but we all agreed that Miami's recent jaunt into the Free Agent market was just ridiculous. The barbecue, despite not getting rolling until the local dinner of time of 9:30, was unbelievable. It was like a Brazilian restaurant right here in the common room of the hostel. Salad for starters (first real salad since I've been here, I gave a silent Tiger fist-pump) followed by meat. And more meat. I tried some of the mythical Fernet, which is the Argentinian beverage of choice. It's some sort of herbal alcoholic concoction that is alright - it'll have to grow on me. You're supposed to mix it with coca-cola (surprise? They drink coke like it's water). As the night wore on, and the drinks were flowing, the Brazilians at the table got into a debate with the Argentinians over the best and worst club soccer teams in their respective countries. It swiftly devolved into a debate between Pele and Maradona, and I just had to laugh. It had to come to that at some point.

Frommer (yes, I had to reload on a guidebook too) said that Cordoba is not worth visiting, but I think today has been pretty solid. So give me your plate of bbq beef, Frommer. I'll eat it.

A Nederlander!

The early part of today was spent trying to figure out what I'm going to do for the next week. I have decided to go to Salta, Argentina which is in the northwest part of the country. Since the bus ride is about 21 hours, I'm going to stop in Cordoba which is about halfway for a day or so to see the sights. Should be a good time! But I needed to get the bus tickets, which was something all in itself. I talked to one of the hostel staff about how to purchase tickets, and because this entire city shuts down on Sunday (seriously, between the holiday on friday, everything being semi-closed on saturday and the full-on closed of today, I haven't really seen the city at its fullest yet) I had to go to the station itself to buy the tickets. I thought, based on the seemingly clear instructions from the hostel staff, that buying tickets would be easy. Why would I ever think such a thing.

First, I had actually had to find the bus terminal. Estación Retiro is one of the biggest stations I've ever seen. You think Tokyo Station or Penn Station is big. Come to Retiro and New York will feel like the suburbs. Picture Paris' du Nord station plus Yokohama station plus Daly City BART and you have an idea of the TRAIN part of the station. I'm just getting started. The bus network is bigger and more sophisticated in Argentina than the trains. I'll leave it at that. Once I found the bus terminal, I still actually had to buy the tickets. The hostel guy told me that the windows to buy tickets were organized by where you want to go. I thought, great. That's a really good idea. Little did I know that a) there are about 20 bus companies per region and b) no one bus company goes to Cordoba then Salta from Buenos Aires. After jumping back and forth between windows, I finally got a ticket from BA to Cordoba then one from Cordoba to Salta. Knock on wood it all goes to plan.

This afternoon was taken up by the extremely important event of the World Cup Final. After misreading the game time start, I rushed up to Palermo (a northern barrio) to find Van Koning, a dutch bar. I wound up showing up at the door at 3:30, the kick-off time. I should have known that there would be a line out the door. The bouncer (yes, a bouncer at 3:30 in the afternoon) wasn't letting anyone in. So I retreated down the block to a different spot which was full of both Spanish and Dutch fans (I felt a little safer rooting for the Spanish) with people spilling out onto the street to watch the game. There were no seats left, so I had the VIP seat of standing on the sidewalk. No prob. I'll trade discomfort for atmosphere any day. As I'm sure most or all of you know, it wasn't an incredibly exciting game (unless you were keeping a running tally of yellow cards, then you might as well not watch a soccer game ever again), but everyone was really into the game, which was great. After Spain converted in the 115th minute pretty much the entire street went quiet - as the final whistle blew I wandered down towards Van Koning to watch all the dejected Dutch fans silently file out. Viva España!

After, I wandered around looking for a dinner joint before heading back into the center of town. This being Sunday, pretty much everywhere was closed. I found a great looking place though and decided to have my first beef in Argentina. A group of Dutch fans at the table next to me saw me sitting by myself and asked if I wanted to join them. I thought 6 rowdy Dutch and Argentinian soccer fans would be much better company than a water glass, so I pulled up a chair. They were surprised when I said I was from the US - they thought I was Dutch and that was the reason why they invited me over. That's weird, I could have sworn it was for the magazine-cover good looks. Anyhow, I did wind up ordering beef, and that's exactly what I got. In the states, you might expect some sort of side, like potato, mini-salad, something. Nope. Just. Beef. Two slabs of beef on a plate. It was pretty funny. They pretty much charred the beef, probably beyond well done, as well - all in all a disappointing experience with Argentinian beef, but I'm sure there will be many more.

We had a great time. We pretended it was someone's birthday and got a free round of champagne plus cake that we all shared. Funny stuff. Afterwards we found ourselves back in Von Koning, having a drink and pizza for dessert. Several hours later, we left and headed home. Little did I know that the subway ends service at 10pm on Sundays (and I was about to say that it is better than Philly's SEPTA, which it pretty much is), and here I was walking out of Van Koning at a quarter to 11. Not to worry, there was apparently, according to the Argentinians in the group, a bus that could get me back to the Hostel. Awesome. As soon as we get to the bus stop the bus in question appears, and the shove me on it and tell me to look for the big obelisk. Great. Here I go. I could be off to Uruguay for all I know.

My support of Spain never made it into the conversation, otherwise I might have actually found myself in Uruguay. Or off of Cape Horn in a dinghy.

A New Day, A Fresh Start

When I say Fresh Start, I mean when the night ended. The night actually didn't end for quite some time. As I was writing the post for yesterday, I got to talking with some of the staff who said they were going out that night. They invited me along, and, a few hours later at 2am, 11 of us were on our way to a reggaeton club around the corner. It was quite the experience. As a description of the music, picture the song 'gasolina' in your head then put it on repeat. No one really showed up until 2:45, and the few people who were there before weren't really moving around a whole lot. I thought we were getting there a little late at 2am, but it was in fact early. Whenever anyone tried to talk to me, all I could do was nod and smile - it's hard enough to understand people in english at these places - Spanish was a lost cause. That was downstairs. Upstairs was a little more what I'm used to, in terms of music - although when 'Funkytown' came on I had to smile. It's a whole different music world here! I should mention that before we left there was kind of a mini-fiesta at the hostel; Fabio was obsessed with music from Grease and ABBA, and kept wanting to play it. I think he's representative of the majority - if John Travolta came down here and performed Grease Lightning for a little while he would never have to work again.

After a 4:30 bed time, my day started around 12:30 with me wandering over to one of the more famous cafes of the hundred thousand cafes in the city: The Gran Cafe Tortoni. Established in 1858, its been one of the premier cafes for a large portion of Buenos Aires' history. Unfortunately it really has become a tourist trap, but still it's pretty cool nonetheless. The coffee was good; if I ordered anything else though I would have had to sell my remaining possessions that survived yesterday. In any case, the ambience of the place made me feel like I was in a cafe version of the Long Bar in Singapore. Wood panelling everywhere, a couple busts here and there and a dark, old feel. Pretty neat stuff - if only the walls could talk. In the back was a TV showing the warmup for the Uruguay-Germany game. In Argentina, there is no place too fancy for football. It was almost game time, so I jumped ship to go find a local place to watch.

On my way every TV I passed was showing the game. I stopped in front of a TV store with 10 TVs in the window just so I could say that I've watched something in the window of a TV store - it definitely lives up to the hype. I wound up at another cafe (there is seriously a cafe every 10 feet - I don't know how some stay in business, a lot of them serve the exact same stuff) and watched a great match between the two countries. The TV said 'live' but either the guys upstairs took lessons from Gandalf or my TV lied because a few seconds before every Uruguayan goal there was a loud cheer. It was noticeably silent when German shots found the back of the net, however. The Mercosur bonds are strong!

Tomorrow is the big day, though, and I've been told about a Dutch bar where I can go watch the game. I better not tell anyone I'm pulling for Spain, or bird poop might be the least of my problems.

A Day to Forget

This morning I woke up to what sounded like a freight train. Across the room the guy sleeping in the top bunk was definitely snoring the loudest I have ever heard in my life. Earplugs would have taken the edge off, but I still think I would have gone crazy. Needless to say, once I woke up I didn't take long to get up.

I decided to spend today wandering through the south section of the city, San Telmo and La Boca - both places that are quite old and full of a lot of culture. As soon as I walked outside, though, I knew something was up. It was 11am (late start, no judging please) and everything was closed. On a Friday. It didn't make sense. Either I had date and time completely wrong (which is entirely possible, because the fact that it is 45 degrees out is not helping me get my bearings), or it was some sort of National Holiday or impromptu siesta. Or maybe it was a national holiday honoring the siesta, so everyone was taking a siesta.

I discovered that today is actually the Argentinian Declaration of Independence Day; basically the equivalent of our July 4. I figured this out as I was walking through the empty streets of San Telmo (empty except for the two drunk guys singing to the huge audience of an empty alley at 11:30am), so I decided to head back to the main square to see if there were any kind of celebrations going on.

And then, my day just about became the worst day imaginable. I was maybe two blocks away from the square and I noticed a beautiful church on my right, so I decided to stop and check it out. I was about to enter when I get tapped on my shoulder. I turn around, and here is this short, middle-aged lady talking about how I have bird guano all over me. I remember thinking, oh this is going to be fun to write about. I turn around, and sure enough there is white stuff on my pack and all down my leg. As kind as she is, she offers me a tissue and leads me back outside to clean it up. She starts to wipe my pack and suggests I put it on the ground. I had my camera slung on my shoulder, and she says I should put it back in my bag so as not to get it dirty while we wipe all the poop up. As I begin taking apart my camera I notice an elderly woman, probably in her mid- to late-sixties, point up at a telephone wire and say the bird was up there. So, laughing to myself that I was pooped on by a bird, I put the camera and lens in their various cases and put it back in my bag. The lady gives me a new tissue to wipe my leg, and I gratefully take it and turn around to do just that. No more than half a minute later, figuring a tissue isn't going to do a whole lot and I might as well just walk back to the hostel, I turn back around to pick up my bag and thank the lady for her kind help. CUT. Take 2. This scene is an entire scam to make off with the stupid naive tourist's nice camera and backpack. Not to mention the cash inside it. I took so much care in putting my camera equipment away I suppose I could have gift wrapped it. My bad. To continue: I turn around and she's gone. With my bag. And my camera. I saw someone out of the corner of my eye walking quickly towards the front gate, but someone yells as I start to move after that person, 'she went inside the church!' So of course, I run frantically into the Church and of course there's no one in the small room with a blue backpack. So I run back outside and figure that was probably a third person messing with me. Any more people and their split wasn't going to buy them a big mac.

It was gone. Without a doubt. I hung around just to make sure she didn't duck inside the Church and wait for me to walk away, but of course that was wishful thinking. If I only I did see her walk away, because if it was a foot race it would have been over in the first 500m. Too bad big stupid American tourist fell for the play. I wound up talking to a cop about it- he asked if I lost my passport, and I said no, to which he replied, 'lo siento, y buen suerte,' which some might think means 'I'm sorry and good luck' but in reality it actually means 'ha sucks to be you suckaaaaaah!'.

So the rest of my day was pretty much shot. I tried to use a phone at a convenience store, but the guy said no. I don't know if they were broken or what, but after what had just happened, I felt like giving him the finger. As you can see, my day was going real well at that point.

I wandered over to starbucks to have a chai and get my head out of the city for a while and decompress. Everyone takes pictures of the starbucks queen and if you're over 25 you aren't allowed in. It seemed like quite the tourist attraction.

In the end, they didn't get my wallet, passport or phone, so I guess that's a plus. No violence either. Not even here for 24 hours though and I already get nailed. How am I doing so far?

So I've come up with a few guidelines for all of you-

1. Don't EVER trust ladies who are over 60. They can lie. If they offer you milk, make them drink it first.
2. Bird shit is never real. It apparently smells really bad. I wouldn't know though, I was hit with the extremely rare strain called showerius soapus.
3. If you're taller than everyone else, wearing a homing beacon built by the classified government firm Canon and are alone, the general idea is that you're a target. A big fat juicy one.
4. Only carry enough money to get you through the day. No need to carry Fort Knox around.
5. Pickpockets are amateurs. The pros throw soap.
6. Don't carry an adapter with you if you're not going to charge anything.
7. The bag never leaves the body. Ever. End of story.
8. Getting pooped on is like getting hit by lightning - it rarely ever happens twice. So don't put your nice camera BACK into your bag.

I know it's time to regroup and start fresh, but that was a very expensive way to learn about the con artists of Buenos Aires. I have to admit, it was an extremely well-run con. Now I know. I thought I was ready for the likes of pick pockets, but they got me like the veteran gets the rookie after his first game. I didn't have a prayer.

I don't know if I've ever been that pissed off.

Day 2

Game Over.

First Day on the Job

After having to suffer through an entire row to myself on the flight down, I finally made it south to Buenos Aires. After the slightly awkward immigration process - hi! welcome to Buenos Aires. Now pay us $140 and make sure to go to two windows - I exited into the chaos of the arrival terminal. The chaos was pretty much all personal since I had no idea what I was going to do. I spent probably 30 minutes figuring out how to follow the broken-english instructions to get to the hostel. The debate was between a $35 taxi ride or a sketch bus then an even more sketch taxi ride from there. I decided to go with the sketch option.

The bus was any typical limousine style bus, just most buses nowadays probably aren't blasting Christian Rock and ABBA. Jumping straight into spanish mode is something I'm still trying to get used to. Of course, often the first words I think of are Japanese. Go figure. In Japan the first words that come to mind are Spanish. Hopefully I'll get that straightened out over the next 6 months.

I finally made it to this hole-in-the-wall hostel and got the tour from Fabio, the check-in guy. It's a pretty solid hostel - complimentary bfast and wifi, plus a locker, communal bath and bunk that makes me glad I brought a sleeping bag liner. Hey, when you're paying $8 a night you can't expect a whole lot. I was disappointed there was no chocolate waiting on my pillow though.

I dropped my stuff and headed out to explore, since I figured I would pass out if I hung around the hostel. Which would have been pretty boring anyway. I read somewhere that Buenos Aires is known as a "most civilized anthill." That's a pretty good description - it seems like all 12 million people are going everywhere at once. The entire place is one big traffic jam. Rarely there are lines on the road, and where they are they don't matter. People just go where they like. I thought my taxi was going to take out at least 5 motorcyclists on the way to the hostel. Pedestrians don't get a whole lot of leeway either - the drivers here make Philly drivers look like saints.

I made my way to the heart of the city - Plaza de Mayo. There were a few demonstrations going on (I think that's the norm). It has a monument dedicated to the founding of the city way back in the early 16th Century. The 'Pink House' (Casa Rosada, home of the executive branch of gov't) borders one side of the Plaza, with I believe the legislature on another side among other things.

After walking around I had some dinner at a pizza joint right around the corner from the hostel, in the middle of what appears to be Bs. As.' version of Broadway. The place was awesome - you order your pizza, pick it up and eat it at a standup bar in the middle of the room Japanese Ramen Shop-style. Great stuff. Pizza wasn't bad either.

Tomorrow is still up in the air - I might head down to the La Boca barrio, home of the Boca Juniors and some of the most colorful houses anywhere. Day 1 is in the books, and so far it's great.