Eat your heart out, Disney

Out of all the bicentennial activities and performances, the most impressive was the light show at Plaza de Mayo.  And while a light show might sound corny (think: Garth from Wayne's World playing with a Lite-Brite), it actually utilized cutting-edge technology.  Using 3-D animation, Argentina's 200 years of history were retold on the face of the Cabildo.  I tried visiting this colonial town hall in early March, but it was closed for renovations, including a fresh paint job to make it the perfect blank canvas for the light show.

Had the news cameras filming this amazing display not cut to President Cristina Kirchner several times (another political ploy if you ask my students), I would have thought that I'd been transported Disney World.  Ghostly figures appearing in the windows look like they came straight out of the Haunted Mansion.

But don't take my word for it.  Check out the bicentario light show for yourself.

Happy 200th, Argentina!

9 de Julio on May 25, 2010

On Tuesday, May 25, 2010 the great country of Argentina celebrated its 200th birthday.  Having missed the United States' bicentennial, I felt quite privileged to be in the capital for such an historic occasion.  I assumed that my Argentine-born-and-bred students would feel the same way.  But by this point I should have known better.  For weeks I had been asking them, "Are you excited about the bicentennial?"  The responses varied somewhat:

"No, not really. You see, it is all political..."

"The amount of money they're spending for the celebration! [Shakes head] That money could go towards..."

"Not many people know this but technically the bicentenario is in 2016 because..."

Even 9 de julio, the world's widest street, could not contain the crowd

Forget I asked.  Something that is equal parts annoying and adorable about the Argentines (or the porteños at least) is their unwavering apathy for anything that is remotely related to the government.  Still, I'm not one to talk.  The bicentennial festivities lasted four days and included concerts, a soccer game, an antique car show, the reopening of the Teatro Colon and even a 200-plus parade of llamas.  And how many of these grand affairs did I attend?

Cero.

Putting on our angry faces after a near-death crowd experience

Chalk it up to my general weekend laziness combined with crowd jitters, but the only event I attempted to take part in was the final May Revolution Parade/Light show/Concert extravaganza.
My friends and I braved the jam-packed subway to 9 de julio avenue with every intention of exploring the remaining exhibits (particularly the regional food sampling area).  One hour, a dozen lost children and several near-brawl eruptions later, we retreated back to quiet Recoleta to watch the festivities on television at a friend's apartment.

I must say, the view was much better.

My first missive from the Fortress

When I decided to pack up my life and move to the Southern Hemisphere, my family and friends offered me more support than my half-baked plan probably deserved.  Still, my mother did make one request of me: "Find the U.S. Embassy, and go introduce yourself."

The American Embassy, or as I like to call it, the Fortress.

Given her instructions and the architectural wonderland that characterizes Embassy Row in Washington, D.C., I imagined the embassy as this charming, neoclassical building amid a neighborhood of chic mansions.  While Buenos Aires does have a lovely grouping of embassies between Av. Del Libertador and Av. Figueroa Alcorta, the American one is not part of this cool crowd.  The U.S. isolationist philosophy holds true for its consulate, which is well removed from all the surrounding buildings.  Behind 12-foot walls is a plain government office that looks like some outstanding eyesore from the 1970s.

Over the course of my five months in Argentina, I've never had to go through as much security as I did to enter the American Embassy (and that includes a few turns through Argentine and Uruguayan customs).  After checking my hand sanitizer, iPod and lipstick at the front, I entered the heart of bureaucracy— it was not the kind of place you "introduce" yourself.

Nevertheless, I appeased my mother by registering on the State Department's website.  By sharing your information with the U.S. government, they promise to alert you of any problems while you are living or traveling in said country.  Today I received my first e-mail alert, which reads as follows:

Dear Wardens: 

The U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires has been informed that a protest group will block Av. Maipu in Vicente Lopez this evening, reportedly beginning at 1900hrs.  The blockage will reportedly be in the 2600 block of Av.Maipu, just north of the Residencia Presidencial. 

U.S. citizens should plan their movements accordingly, take common-sense precautions and expect lengthy transportation delays, if not total gridlock.  The local media will provide additional information about the roadblocks as it becomes available. 

First question: Since when are protests worthy of the State Department's time and resources?  Along with soccer and mate-drinking, protesting is the national pastime in Argentina.

Second question: Why are they addressing the expat and travel community as "wardens"?  Did I accidentally register as a law enforcement officer on the State Department page?

Just another of life's mysteries ...

'Bitter like life'

When half the classes you teach take place between the hours of 8:30 a.m. and noon, the topic of coffee is bound to come up at some point.  In many offices, espresso vending machines serve up just about every Argentine hot drink you can imagine: cafe con leche (coffee with milk), cafe cortado (small shot of coffee with a touch of milk), lagrima (hot milk with just a "teardrop" of coffee), cappuccino, tea with lemon, hot chocolate, etc.

"Cafe con Leche" by Reina Resto

Overall I find Argentina's coffee quality disappointing— a sin considering that the country is a next-door neighbor to Brazil and on the same continent as Colombia.  But for some reason, I love these vending-machine brews that pop out at the perfect temperature with just the right amount of caffeinated fluff on top to soothe your taste buds into the sweet-but-not-sugared, bold flavor.

My students, who mostly take their coffee with at least a little milk or sugar, were surprised to learn that despite my sweet and chipper personality (laugh if you must, but I actually am a rather peppy teacher), I like my coffee plain and dark, or simply, cafe solo.  To drive this point home, I even recounted a long-running family anecdote.  My Aunt Natalie, who would love lagrimas, once quipped that her coffee was, "light and sweet just like me," to which I replied, "That makes sense.  Mine is dark and bitter."

The students enjoyed this story enough that they took it upon themselves to teach me a little Argentine Spanish.  When ordering a plain coffee with no milk or sugar, one can say, "Amargo como la vida," or "Bitter like life."

And now it's my new favorite catchphrase.  I still haven't worked up the courage to actually say it when ordering for fear that the barista will A. not understand, forcing me to repeat myself and causing my Spanish-speaking confidence to drop faster than the peso's value or B. cock a dark eyebrow, chuckle and then begin talking to her coworkers in rapid-fire castellano about the crazy gringa.  After all, wouldn't you laugh if someone said they took their coffee bitter like life?

In the meantime I'm content to share this wonderful phrase with other expats, who find it as entertaining as I do.  One of my friends even asked, "So can you order coffee dulce como la vida if you like it sweet?"  We all glanced at each other, considering the possibility.  The quick, unanimous answer: Nah!

It's not like we're in Italy.

April in photos

And so another month comes to an end!  April was particularly lovely in Argentina with cooler temperatures finally taking the place of hot, sticky days.  Here are some pictures from around the city, particularly the Recoleta neighborhood, which is long overdue for a blog post of its own.

An old Fiat on the cobblestone streets of Palermo Hollywood retains its charm despite a recent downpour

Palacio del Congreso, like its American counterpart, houses the federal government's legislative branch.

Unlike the San Telmo Market,  la Feria Artisinal in Recoleta is more tranquil with family picnics and lawn-loungers relaxing nearby

Angels and demons are omnipresent in the massive Recoleta Cemetery

Thanks to parents and care packages, our expat Easter was complete with jelly beans and egg-painting

The famous Cafe Tortoni offers history and ambiance but at the expense of quality food

The sky is aglow on Avenida General Las Heras at dusk

Magnificent Mendoza Pt. 2: The Great Outdoors calls; I lose my lunch

Following the marathon tasting, we decided to give ourselves (and our livers) a break on Saturday and journeyed to the wilder parts of Mendoza.  We arranged a full day worth of outdoor activities with a company called Argentina Rafting: Whitewater rafting in the morning followed by mountain trekking and cliff-rappeling in the afternoon.

In less than an hour, the city and vineyards of Mendoza had receded behind us and a landscape of rough mountains and a cerulean-blue river took their place.  Unlike the snow-capped Andes farther south in Bariloche, the range around Mendoza is, for the most part, comprised of older mountains that are smaller and dustier.  One of the exceptions to this generalization is Aconcaugua, the tallest mountain in the Americas (and the highest peak outside of the Himalayas), which is just a few hours north of Mendoza.

Relaxing before braving the icy waters of the Mendoza River

Our guide/rafting leader was charming, albeit unintelligible.  I personally think we would have had better luck understanding him if he had spoken in Spanish rather than a thickly accented English.  "Okay, it is possible that you grab the raft like this if you fall over.  But guys, it is possible you put your legs first if you fall over.  And it is possible that you breathe under the raft if it flips."  After a 20-minute pep talk, we had gleaned a litany of possible actions but hadn't the slightest idea which were recommended and which were not.

Despite the Caribbean-like color of the Mendoza River, the temperature was less than tropical; our guide estimated between 8 and 10 degrees Celsius (45 and 50 Fahrenheit).  Somehow Jackie and I ended up at the front of the raft with two older Canadian couples seated behind us.  Jackie is from New York City and went to school in Buffalo, so I think it's safe to assume that I was the worst person to put in the splash zone.

We threaded through the mountains in the translucent water for about an hour, traveling 10 kilometers in all.  The rapids, with names like, "Rock 'n' Roll," had us reeling and rowing, but there was little fear that we might actually capsize.  Drenched at least a dozen times with the water trickling inside my wetsuit, I was proud of myself for staying strong through the end, even though my feet and fingers were starting to go numb.

Jackie rappelling down the cliff

A hot, buffet meal with an Andes-brand cerveza was the perfect antidote for my chilled bones, although it wasn't the wisest move in hindsight.  After lunch we began hiking in the mountains, and the trek was not at all what I expected.  The Appalachian trails of the Southeast with their subtle inclines and wide paths were nothing like these rocky, shrub-filled trails that looked fit for only goats to climb.  My lunch and beer rollicked in my satiated stomach until I had to excuse myself a few times to clear the contents.  Luckily I felt better after the fact and didn't miss out on rappelling down a cliff adjacent to a waterfall.  Before this, my only experience rappelling had been on a rock wall during a 7th-grade field trip.  Of course it was a bit disconcerting at first, but once I found a steady pace it was fun.  Rappelling is an activity that it definitely helps to have long legs.  Perhaps runway models and basketball players are fans of it?

After everyone in our group descended the cliff, we made our way back down the trail.  The sun was starting to dip between the mountains, creating some spectacular views that would inspire the likes of Ansel Adams.  All in all, a wonderful conclusion to an intrepid day.

A view that was worth the trek

Magnificent Mendoza Pt. 1: El vino anima...

Jackie and I with our new friend Stephan, after stop #2.

On the western edge of Argentina is an affluent province known as Mendoza.  Located at the base of the Andes and a short seven-hour bus ride from Santiago, it has a rugged feel that is reminiscent of the American Southwest.  In recent decades, the area has boomed as a wine hotspot: dry air, consistent weather and varying altitudes make Mendoza ideal for the tender grapes.  The relatively cheap cost of land (especially if you're converting from dollars, euros or pounds) make it tempting real estate for would-be winemakers.

We had multiple toasts

My friend Jacqueline and I— both self-professed winos— were eager to visit wine country and sample Argentina's best, including the famous Malbecs and Bornardos.  Our first night in the city of Mendoza (capital of the region of the same name), we visited the swanky Vines of Mendoza wine bar to begin our marathon tasting (and no, we did not spit, we swallowed).  Our sommelier, Julian, proceeded to educate us on wine analysis: how to tell if it's full-bodied or medium-bodied; how to swirl it to check the "legs;" and how to smell it before sipping.  It might sound like we were well on our way to becoming snobs, but our ongoing competition to guess the notes (imagine two girls sticking their noses in the wineglass and then shouting out flavors like tobacco and cheese) kept us humble.  My nose still has much to learn...

Delicious and fresh from the vine

The second day we met some friends who are students in Buenos Aires for a biking tour in Maipú, a vineyard-filled town just 45 minutes from Mendoza.  As we made our way around tasting rooms and outdoor terraces— even plucking grapes straight from the vine at one point— the words of my great-grandfather Sancho echoed in my mind: "El vino anima, pero no ayuda."  Wine livens you up, but it doesn't help.  Perhaps he wrote that after riding a bike while slightly inebriated.

The day was perfect: sunny skies, mild temperatures, excellent wine and wonderful company.  And despite the large amount of wine consumption, none of us fell off our bikes or got hit by a car.  Pedaling back to the rental shop that evening, we couldn't help but break out into Queen's "Bicycle."

One hundred barrels of wine...

Should anyone wonder about our exuberance, they need only look at our purple-stained teeth to know how we'd spent the day.