It’s that time again. Christmas Break is over, and I’m back down south. I’ve been having a lot of crazy adventures just getting back to Buenos Aires. As I write this I’m still not even there yet. I’ve still got a few more days of vagrant college student backpacker life ahead of me.
Rest assured though, as soon as I get back to B.A. and have time, I’ll relate everything back in a one-time Ian in Argentina prime time special. Tune in for,
Going insane on long flights
Intense tropical heat
Dividing bodies of water between continents
The ghettoest ghetto I’ve ever seen
Flight delays
Train delays
Bad ideas
Good ideas
Roasted Guinea Pig
Rain
More rain
Even more rain
Sunshine
Inca Ruins
The rain comes back
Three hours of sleep a day
Landslides
And more!
Check back within the next week to read all about it. Peace.
Posted December 2, 2009 by shiochain Categories:Travel
Despite the fact that they don’t actually celebrate Thanksgiving in Argentina, we got the weekend off just like we would’ve in the U.S. That means a 4 day weekend for travel. For the sake of having the least amount of planning possible, I signed up for a trip to the Province of Córdoba.
The trip there was an overnight bus ride over the Pampas. Being completely flat for thousands of kilometres in all directions, the pampas are usually boring. However, on this particular night, the geographical features of the area proved useful. The thunderstorms to the south of us produced some of the best lightning I’ve ever seen, and I could see all of it. I stayed up for several hours just watching the lightning out of the window. It didn’t matter how far away it was, because of the terrain, It looked like it could have been right next to us.
We arrived at around 8:00 A.M. the next morning. We all (about 14 of us) squished into a van and took off. After a few minutes on the highway, we turned off down a dirt road. Usually these kind of roads don’t go on for long. But this one went on for miles. Another hour of driving later, we arrived at La Estancia Ongamira. It took it’s name from the valley it was located in. I reveled in how far away from civilization we were. It was especially awesome when we got on our horses and took off through the valley.
My horse was a large, white, and slow stud. I named him Shadowfax. On top of being the slowest horse of the group, he was also slightly stupid, and very unresponsive. I loved him anyway. It did get annoying after awhile however. Having to constantly prod him to keep him from randomly stopping or going off the trail wasn’t exactly fun. Horse problems aside, the ride through the wilderness was incredible. While I’m making LOTR references, I must mention that the section we rode through looked exactly like Rohan.
In the middle of it though was a giant rock formation known as “Cerro Colchici.”
We rode the horses up as high as they could go, and then dismounted to continue on foot. Everyone else went the long way around. I climbed the almost vertical rock face. There were lots of holds and parapets, so it wasn’t that technically difficult. It was however the first time I’d ever attempted to climb something that would result in death (or something near it) if I fell. In hindsight… I’d totally do it again. The top of anything is so much more rewarding when you kick death in the face and scale it the hard way. Our guides later informed us that the natives of the area had used this hill for a mass suicide centuries ago. When the Spanish conquistadors had taken out the majority of their forces, and they realized that defeat was inevitable, the remaining people all climbed to the top and jumped off, choosing death over subjugation. Take notice of how cloudy it is. You see that? Yeah, that’s prime sunburn weather right there. Every single one of us. Doesn’t make a lick of sense.
All of the workers at the Estancia were European of some kind (I saw a Swedish flag somewhere.) All of them spoke fluent English and Spanish though. The head cook was a really cool Australian dude. They knew we were American, and that it was thanksgiving, so on top of our regular meal, they made us pumpkin pie. (The best I’ve ever had.)
The next day, we all crowded back in the van and drove even deeper into the wilderness for 3 hours to see Las Salinas. (Salt Flats) It wasn’t until this point that I wished I hadn’t forgotten my camera. It had recently rained, and large stretches of water only about an inch deep covered them for miles. Also, the sun was setting. The results were seven kinds of spectacular.
I really don’t know what else I can say that isn’t better seen. I suppose I could mention how cool it was that it looked like we were walking on water, but you probably already noticed that.
After the sun set, we returned to a dry area and set up a campfire. We sat around and had dinner and just took in the place. Like the pampas, the the salinas are flat as far as the eye can see. Leading to yet another awesome night of lightning watching sans rain. We stayed way too late and didn’t get back until 3:00 A.M. I slept most of the way back but whenever I did wake up, I looked out the front as we drove. It was dark and the only light was the headlights of the van. As we sped over the dirt road through the jungle-esque foliage the shadows and speed of our return felt surreal. Given how tired and delirious I was, It was no surprise that this felt like the most exotic trip of my life.
The next day after much sleep, we went off hiking in the opposite direction. This part of the valley was more akin to Jurrasic Park scenery. We hiked for about an hour before stopping for lunch and swimming in the creek. When we returned to the Estancia, we had one last incredible meal, and hit the road for the bus station back home.
And that was that. It was nothing flashy (give or take the lightning we kept seeing.) but it was probably one of the best vacations I’d ever had. It was a perfect mix of downtime with activity. I got to do and see things I’d never done or seen before. And most importantly, it got me out of the city.
Photos courtesy of Tyler Arrington, and Niles Geran.
Posted November 14, 2009 by shiochain Categories:Weather
“Write while the heat is in you.”
-Henry David Thoreau
Technically, Buenos Aires isn’t actually tropical. Located at 34º S, it’s about 11 degrees south of the Tropic of Capricorn. However, like Florida (Also not located in the tropics), that doesn’t prevent it from being barraged by tropic weather.
Today. was. miserable. 30ºC with 90% humidity. For those of you that don’t speak meteorology, that means extremely hot, and extremely muggy. Even now, at midnight, the temperature has only dropped 8 degrees with the humidity remaining stable. It is sweltering. I feel like I’m in a Faulkner novel.
If that wasn’t fun enough. About 2:00 p.m. this afternoon, the clouds rolled in. A severe tropic thunderstorm hit B.A. like hammer to nail. At one point we couldn’t see more than 10 feet through the torrential downpour. The rain was thick and abundant, and warm. By 4:00 p.m. our pools were overflowing, the lower sectors of B.A. were flooded waist high, and the sun was completely blotted out. It was virtual nightfall. The sunlight returned when the storm subsided around 5:30 p.m. Returning to daylight after darkness within a matter of hours was experience of surrealistic proportions. As if the tempest wasn’t content to merely ravage our climate, it also felt compelled to screw with our very minds.
And of course, throughout all of this not once did the heat decrease. And as the night continues on, I doubt it will. Welcome to summer.
Posted November 9, 2009 by shiochain Categories:Food
I thought I would share with you the newest contender for title of “best thing ever.”
There is a Starbucks only a minute’s walk from the casa, however the prices, remain the same as they are in the U.S. (when you account for exchange rates) In Buenos Aires, finding another café to replace Starbucks with is simply a matter of finding another street corner. The problem however, is finding one that fills much of the same purposes. Our rough criteria was as follows:
A) Walking distance from the casa
B) Relatively inexpensive
C) Coffee oriented (Not restaurant)
D) Quick service (Surprisingly hard to find in B.A.
The best one was called Havanna. It’s known for being one of the finest alfajores brands, it’s café is top notch as well.
However, this post is not about Havanna. Havanna is merely the tool for which greatness was revealed to us. The true carrier of our infinite happiness is a drink called “El Submarino.”
El Submarino is made from two basic components. First, you have your tall glass of steaming-hot milk. Then you have your bar of rich, delicious chocolate. You drop your bar of chocolate in the milk, it melts, and then you stir it in. The result is a South American Hot Chocolate that tastes so good is should be illegal.
May this be a comfort to you who are currently shivering through Autumn and Winter in the Northern Hemisphere. Alas, for me, Submarino season is coming to an end.
Posted November 6, 2009 by shiochain Categories:Photos, Travel
Because you can never have too much education, or field trips, this past Thursday, we all headed off to Colonia, Uruguay. We hopped on a ferry and cruised fora little over an hour before we arrived. This EFT was only a day trip, but served the purpose of getting us out of the country and back in so that those who hadn’t already done so could get their visas approved for another 90 days upon reentry.
The settlement of Colonia del Sacramento, founded in 1680 was the first settlement in Uruguay. It’s historic quarter is still mostly intact and is preserved as a UNESCO world heritage site. (My third so far in South America) While it was founded by the Portuguese, control changed back and forth with the Spanish 8 times plus twice more between Brazil and Argentina before Uruguayan independence in 1828.
Down on the waterfront, sectioned off by the still standing original walls, the historic quarter is still filled with mostly original colonial buildings.
Everyone who lives here is contractually obligated to maintain the original structure as best as possible. From place to place you can tell what timeframe things were built in based on the roads. Portuguese roads have more sporadic and jagged stone placement and look different than the well-ordered Spanish ones.
The Portuguese sucked at road building
It’s also a functioning sea port, that was the main entryway to the Rio de la Plata basin before Buenos Aires.
My mother would appreciate the presence of a historic lighthouse
Being the oldest settlement in the country, virtually everything is “the oldest.” That lighthouse: the oldest, this church: the oldest…
You’ll see many bikes and mopeds zooming around, but full-sized cars aren’t allowed into the old town. (Except this one.)
We got a good dose of Uruguayan cuisine at “The Colonia Rock” restaurant, where we all got a “Chivito,” a giant sandwich piled high with steak, ham, bacon, cheese, fried egg, mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato. It was the best thing I’d eaten in days. I virtually inhaled it. We then got a couple hours to just soak in the city. I loved the atmosphere. The whole place was just chill and easy going. All the people were incredibly nice, and friendly. They all wanted to practice their English on us, and we all wanted to practice our Spanish on them. Somehow, we met halfway. The crime rate is virtually non-existent, and and everyone smiles and greets you. All the quaint cobblestone streets lead to either a serene park or boardwalk looking out to sea. As the day wound down, we all supported the local economy and bought as much stuff as we could carry. (Uruguayan pesos go 20 for a dollar, and 5 for an Argentine peso.) We said goodbye to Uruguay and hit the open seas back home to B.A.
Once again, I found myself marveling in the laid-back and easy-going atmosphere, and wishing it was here that we could live instead of the big city. This was the kind of place where your soul could breathe. Definitely a return trip.
Last week was our Educational Field Trip (EFT) to the north of Argentina, specifically, the provinces of Salta & Jujuy. (Pronounced “hoo-hooy”) While living in Buenos Aires is great, it’s just another city. Not to shortchange the undeniably unique culture and flair of la vida Porteño, but I long for something different. This trip was the perfect remedy for my metropolitan overload.
Posted October 13, 2009 by shiochain Categories:Sports
There is nothing in America that I can use to adequately compare the excitement and passion with which Argentina regards soccer. Multiply the national enthusiasm for NASCAR by the amount of laps they do and you won’t come close.
The Argentine passion is best accurately described as a microcosm of the global fanaticism of the sport. To put it in perspective of viewers, lets look at the quintessential America mega-event; the Super Bowl. The last four have broken the 90 Million viewers mark, with XLIII (Steelers vs. Cardinals) topping the list with 98 Million. It was estimated by various sources that the average viewership of a World Cup Finals match was 95 Million, and an estimated 260 million watching the Championship match. Meaning virtually every day for a month more people watched soccer than watched the final episodes of M*A*S*H* and Dallas combined. *
Last saturday, I got a firsthand taste of the Argentine fútbol fervor. Some of us got tickets to an Argentina vs. Perú World Cup Qualifier match. It’s something I doubt I will ever forget, for multiple reasons.
Just getting to the stadium gave us a glimpse into just how seriously they take it. The roads were all closed up to seven blocks away from the stadium. Giant mobs of people all shuffling in the same direction through the crowded streets. We had to pass through three ticket checkpoints complete with Armed Police in Riot Gear before we even got to the stadium. At the stadium we queued up to get patted down before entering. They must’ve only been checking for guns because it was the easiest security check I’ve seen. Once past the checkpoint, and up the stairs, the stadium opened before us.
65 Thousand people crammed into that stadium, many with standing room only. The aisles on either side of our seats were full of people for the duration of the match. After the slightly long national anthem that none of us knew the words too, we sat down… well, at least some of us did. In the midst of the big city, it’s easy to forget that you live in a third-world country. The stadium seats left no doubt as to that fact. Rickety wooden boards rotting from years of use with rusty bars for armrests. This posed two problems for me. First off, my friend Channing and I were the two tallest people there, and both of us didn’t fit into our seats. Our legs sticking out at odd angles had no room to move in the space between our seats and the ones in front of us. I had another problem in that my bootylicious backside was wider than the space between the armrests. Once I finally got seated, I was pretty much stuck there. Thanks to my Dad’s legs, and my Mom’s butt, I am genetically designed to not fit in those seats.
For the first half, the Argentine goal was on the opposite side of the pitch from us. It mattered little considering the first half was scoreless. 10 minutes into the second half, after they had switched sides, Argentina scored. I actually missed the goal because everyone around me stood up, and It took me a good 20 seconds to free myself from the seat. The celebrations went on for a good minute. The only thing that was conspicuously missing was the announcer screaming “gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool” for as long as his breath could last. In fact, there was no announcer at all. No announcer, no scoreboard, and no time clock. Everyone there was expected to keep track of events, time left, and score for themselves.
Around the 70th minute, it started to rain. I remember with a crisp precision the first drop that fell. I remember it so vividly because it was big. It was a solitary thick wet drop sent as a warning of things to come. In under a minute, his friends showed up, each of them just as big. By the time the match got to stoppage time, every soul was drenched. Many fled to the dry security of the entrance gates, most, stayed, completely unfazed. It didn’t take long for Perú to score, coming right out of the gate to tie the game 1-1.
Argentina needed to win this match. Losing would’ve been a disaster of cataclysmic proportions. Perú is in last place in the South American pool. Argentina has been struggling, even getting booed off the field after a tie against Paraguay. Their World Cup chances and by proxy, their national pride rested on scoring again in the next five minutes. The intensity of the weather reflected that of the match. The rain, by now a full-fledged thunderstorm fell by the bucketload. The wind mixed with the constraints of the stadium created a maelstrom of water. It was a fishbowl, the only time I’ve ever gone to a soccer game only to leave it a water polo match. Everyone was standing (fine by me) and soaked. We didn’t even bother with hoods anymore at this point.
Nobody in this photo was dry
The rain was so thick, we couldn’t see the opposite side of the field. Then in the last minute, off a corner kick, the ball was lost in the mess, bouncing from player to player like a pinball game, when it found it’s way outside to Martin Palermo, a local player in as a substitute, who kicked it in for the winning goal, 2-1.
What happened after that goal can only be described as an explosion of communal euphoria. Everyone was jumping up and down in the rain chanting “PALERMO!” and Singing the club song “Vamos Vamos Argentina” Diego Maradona was sliding through the wet grass in ecstasy, Palermo himself was circling the field shirtless in a “Shawshank Redemption” pose.
It was just mass chaotic excitement. Everyone was soaked to the bone, but nobody cared. Even after the game as they streamed out into the streets, singing and chanting that much harder, by now having to compete with the thunder and lighting. The electricity from the lighting that lit up the sky was seemingly channeled into the passion of the crowd as they surged through the city. Argentina still must defeat Uruguay on wednesday, but the ending of that match, as close to a buzzer beater as you get in soccer, made it more memorable than the most dramatic championship.
* My American Pride dictates that I must make the caveat that the Superbowl pulls roughly the same viewership as World Cup Matches with an audience of only Americans. Also not counting how many people watch the Big game globally. The 4% that is America puts up proportionally better numbers than the other 96% of the world? Given, the rest of the world doesn’t have quite as many televisions as the U.S. does. (Furthermore, Princess Diana’s Funeral was watched by 2.5 Billion people, kicking the crap out of anybody’s sporting event.)
Posted October 12, 2009 by shiochain Categories:Photos, Recap, Travel
There is a word in spanish that I feel is very important for you to know. “Cerro.” It means “hill.” And that is what Chile is composed of. Hills. A successive series of them.
Tonight, we went to the Tango Porteño, a dinner and show kinda joint. The entire place was decked out like an Art Deco theatre from the glory days of tango. Even the sign and menu font fit in with the aesthetic. (because I’m a nerd and notice that kind of thing.)
The dinner was ok, nothing to special, spectacular, or otherwise outstandingly noteworthy; It was good enough. The dining room was spread out before the giant stage where rows of seats normally would be. Everyone got their picture taken with the dancers, and could even keep them for around 60 pesos. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this was a MAJOR tourist trap. The clientele was composed of the usual suspects: American, British, and Japanese globe trotters rounded out the majority of the customers of this establishment, conveniently located right on the main boulevard of the city, only a few hundred feet from the Obelisk. (Basically the “Time’s Square” of Buenos Aires.) Furthermore, the waiters all spoke perfect english to complement the bi-lingual menu.
I didn’t pay for any of it myself, so I really wouldn’t know how much it cost to hit up this place, but however much we payed would’ve been worth it just for the tango, even if it would’ve been in a crumbling rundown warehouse. The dancing was incredible. I haven’t seen that much spinning and kicking since the last Bruce Lee movie I rented. But this was awesome to watch. Each partner moving gracefully in sync with the other across the stage and back. Tango is like visual dulce de leche. I could explain it to you ’till my keyboard breaks, but you would never truly understand it unless you saw it.
It was such an absolute treat to watch, especially in a grand production like this was. The scale of the show matched, if not exceeded that of it’s housing. The band, consisting of a piano, upright bass, cello, two violas, three violins, and 4 accordians was placed on a second stage higher up and behind the main one. The show began with a large group number of people dressed in classic city suits and dresses, dancing in and around an artistic backdrop of nostalgic B.A. (very reminiscent of Guys & Dolls) From there it would alternate between group numbers, sung interludes, one-on-one dances, and musical interludes. All of it was incredible. Some of the highlights.
The second one-on-one dance, performed through scenery designed to look like a park, including around a tree and over a bench.
A dance evocative of a dream where the female was blindfolded for it’s duration, including some of the most daring moves I saw all night.
A woman who with puppetry, and sleight of hand appeared to be dancing with an otherwise empty frame of a person covered in a suit and fedora. (As in she essentially tangoed with herself, and made it look good.)
All of it was nothing short of amazing. Professional tango is without a doubt the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I wont learn how to dance it until next semester, but it’ll be worth the wait.
Tango, just another way Buenos Aires never ceases to amaze me.
It’s approximately 2:00 Am UTC-3. Most Argentines are hitting the clubs right about now. Yeah, they start that late. I’m used to being up this late, however I’m usually on the internet on my couch, and not out and about.
I just got off the bus a few minutes ago. The last time I rode a 1:30 Bus it contained about 9 sombre people, most of which couldn’t have been more than a few nods away from sleep. This bus ride felt like the middle of the day. The bus was full to the point of standing room only. It even had all the characteristics of a midday bus. Businessmen with their suits and briefcases, Old Ladies with their groceries, sleeping homeless people, and constant jabbering in Spanish. The biggest difference though was the large populace of young adults all in total Latin fashionista mode. This is how you know you’re on a Buenos Aires Bus at 1:30 in the morning. They had all finished dinner, and were now, they were going dancing. For months leading up to this trip, I had read multiple accounts of how Argentines were very fashion conscious and liked to dress up, and for the past week, as far I observed, they were wrong. What all the guidebooks fail to mention is that the real show of Argentine vanity happens after normal people should be asleep.
At this point you might wonder why I was on a bus at such a time. The short answer is that because the subway was closed. And now for the long one…
