The 10th Time is Not a Charm

Today was the 10th time I went to the Registro Civil to get my DNI citizenship card for Argentina. But you know, I like the place so much that I think I'll be going back two or three more times. This was time different in that one of my bosses came with me to help do the talking. While my Spanish is very good, I lack certain words, phrases, and general intonation to clearly get what I want sometimes. This is where knowing locals comes in handy. To try and increase my odds I wore a tie, which in retrospect was as useful as trying in the first place.

We got there right on time, 1:30 pm, and cued up with the rest of the city. After sitting there for just a half hour, Matias told me that the woman at the desk trying to get her DNI was Brazilian and the staff was making fun of her and not helping. I explained that the exact same thing happened to me the last time I was there, and that's why he was there. Just then my name was called and we went up. It should have been cut and dry, right?

Matias explained that I'm the son of an Argentine, I have all of my papers in order, and I have the right to citizenship and need my DNI. Immediately the girl behind the counter (the same from last time I think) looked at my inscriptions papers and said she had no idea. My boss then answered back explaining again when suddenly the girl raised her voice to yell. He yelled back explaining that they discriminated against the Brazilian and were doing the same to me and it was unfair. This is how having the local to help me really added an edge, because suddenly they realized that we weren't going to just walk away with our tails between our legs.

They had no interest in dealing with it so they sent us to their boss, a woman who I recognized from one of my visits in January. I remembered her being helpful and considerate, a rarity at the Registro. She listened to Matias and then went through the steps as I showed all of the necessary documents. She went behind a door, coming back to ask if I was the son of a diplomat. For a second I considered whether or not this would jump me to the front of the line, but realized there was no point. Sorry, just a regular shmo.

She came back 5 minutes later, but with bad news. Here's what I now needed. My original birth certificate with an official stamp (the copy I had was not sufficient). That birth certificate from New York state will have to be requested and mailed to me as soon as possible. I also needed the birth certificate translated into Spanish by an agency in Argentina (wouldn't matter that I'm a translator, obviously). A copy of residency, which means I'll need to take my apartment contract to the police station to get "certified." On top of that, it's recommended that I ask the Argentine Consulate in New York for a new copy of my inscription papers, as the ones that I received over a year ago are starting to fade after so much use. And hey, since I might have aged a few decades since I took those 4x4 photos in August, it might not hurt to get those updated, just to be safe.

On top of that, the copy of my mom's birth certificate that I went through such a struggle to get in January is only valid for 6 months. Why? I guess there's the possibility of being born again. Since that will be expired by the time of my next appointment in June (one week late), I need to go in 10 business days to pick up a new, exactly the same photocopy of her birth certificate. A lot changes on a birth certificate from the 1950's in 6 months, after all.

This is a headache, but at the very least I had the help of someone who can understand this system a bit better than I can. On top of that we got a no bullshit answer to exactly what I need that I no longer have. Now, if it all falls together perfectly in the next month (fingers crossed) and I don't have my DNI being processed after the 12th visit, we'll have a serious beef with the Registro that might requite local TV news.

Most importantly, what is needed above all else, is PATIENCE.

Anuva Wine Tasting Review

I'm happy to announce that my article on the Anuva Wine Tasting from a few weeks back is now live on Argentina's Travel Guide. You can find the article here. This article goes more in depth than my previous blog post on the topic. Enjoy.

Wine Tasting with Anuva Wines

On Saturday night I was invited to a private wine tasting in Las Cañitas by Daniel Karlin, founder and owner of Anuva Wines. Anuva is a wine distribution company which sends high quality boutique Argentine wines to 32 states in the U.S. and also hosts small wine tastings here in Buenos Aires. My goal was to experience the wine tasting and write a review for Argentina's Travel Guide. Like I always manage to do, I showed up too early, so I took a quick stroll around the block and saw how lovely and quiet the area was. This was definitely the right atmosphere for a refined wine tasting.

We went upstairs with the couple from Dallas who was there for the wine tasting, and began with the presentation. Already on the table were the five glasses waiting to be filled and a plate delicately prepared with the pairings of food. I've been to wine tastings before in Sicily and in Mendoza, but this was different. Rather than being rushed through a distillery with a guide who doesn't fully reach fluent status, we were in Karlin's home, and we were quickly made to feel like old pals. Karlin is actually an American expat, so aside from his perfect English, he had a different perspective to give us for restaurants, politics, and culture. This isn't a lesson that should be taken for granted, and to be honest I think it's one of the best and most distinguishing qualities of this experience.

We tried our five wines and ate our five foods. My favorite was definitely the San Gimignano Malbec Roble, which to me just had this buttery taste that made me feel warm and content. I easily could have had an entire bottle of it, and with any luck one day soon I'll get a bottle for myself. Of course, the other bottles were also excellent, with two whites and two additional reds.

My only regret is that I wasn't aware of this wine tasting when I first arrived to Argentina. It really was helpful and insightful for those who aren't wine experts, let alone those who've got extensive knowledge of boutique wineries in Argentina. Even after living here eight months and learning so much about the wine here, I didn't feel like anything discussed was old news. The history of the labels, the production, and the explanation of why this country produces such excellent wine went with the tasting just as much as the delicious food did.

Now, while the tasting costs U$40, I won't say it's overpriced. Let me explain. To me, U$40 is a hefty price for most things, but that's because I live here making an Argentine salary and getting charged for things in US Dollars. I live as cheaply as possible. But if you're traveling through the country and really want to try good wine but don't know where to start, I wholeheartedly recommend this activity. Do the right thing and don't just settle on the most expensive bottle at the restaurant. For 40 bucks you get a hell of a value, not to mention personalized service and recommendations for later on as well.

Don't just take my word for it though. Anuva's reviews on TripAdvisor speak for themselves. Check out this wine tasting in Buenos Aires and let me know what your thoughts are.

Trouble With the Malvinas (Falklands)

A new issue has been on the rise in the last couple of weeks down in Argentina. Seemingly out of no where, President Cristina Kirchner has made the Islas Malvinas (Falkland Islands) a top priority of repatriation. To me, it seems like another classic diversion move to avoid attention from real issues at home, but who knows?

It doesn't look like there will be another war like in 1986, but the government is looking to get territorial rights back. The United Kingdom, on the other hand, is most likely not going to back down so easily. I think the issue now is less of a territorial and pride matter, but more to deal with oil accessibility.

Higher ups in the government here have said there is a way for a diplomatic resolution to this, which is a good sign rather than a total ultimatum. In any case, this will be something interesting to keep an eye on for the coming weeks and months.

Bahía Bustamante Video

Bahía Bustamante is a pretty unique place in Patagonia. It's off the off the beaten path, and perfect for those who want to get away from it all and don't mind rustic accommodations. Not that you stay in terrible rooms, but don't expect luxury either. However, you will find nature all around you (over 100 species of birds), striking blue ocean, untouched desert, and the opportunity to see Patagonian life more authentically than most people ever get to witness.

The village was founded as a seaweed producing plant, and at one point had 500 employees, though today it is down to 40. In the last five years it has started to host tourism, so that people can enjoy the beauty of the region and learn something about seaweed production as well. Take a look at this short video on the area.

Wrapping Up the Trip: 2 Weeks in Patagonia

So this trip I've been on for the last two weeks is essentially over now. In a little over a half hour I'll be heading to the airport in Ushuaia and flying back to Buenos Aires, arriving in the late afternoon to heat and humidity from cold and rain. It's been a good trip, albeit a different one than I'm used to, but I'm ready to get back to the capital city.

We covered a large portion of this country, and I visited places that I never imagined I'd be able to. These places are very expensive, and I know how lucky I was to be afforded the gift to travel here, especially at my age. What did I learn? Patagonia isn't all mountains, for one thing. In fact, it's mostly wide open, windy desert steppe, with hardly any change and little to look at. Driving through this part of the country is difficult, not only for driving conditions but for possibility of falling asleep from boredom. If the guanacos don't cross the road as you drive 120 km per hour, if the wind doesn't push your car off the road, and if the dirt roads don't give you a flat tire, you might just go nuts from the loneliness of the place. There's hardly any radio stations, so make sure you have some good CDs to listen to, or it will be the sound of the wind hitting the car that you listen to.

Prices are higher here, as transportation obviously has to be taken into account, and even a simple dish like milanesa, which costs around $12 pesos in Buenos Aires, could cost around $18-20 down here. Internet connections are lousy at best, and cell phone service is nearly non-existent outside of the larger towns. Would I recommend driving all the way down here to someone else? On the one hand, you really get the see the country up close, but it's just so big that I think you'd be better off flying between destinations and cutting the gap, giving you more time elsewhere. Besides, if you've seen the steppe for an hour, you've basically seen it all, and 12 more hours of it won't enlighten you anymore.

The weather dictates life, but life must go on regardless, and so you will continue to work and live through harsh winds, dust storms, and never ending rain. People are friendly, but beware of the tourist traps and look for the truly authentic places. El Calafate has the look of a place that is sinking into a trap, and with a casino in the center that charges $2 pesos to get in, you can tell it's hardly improving the place. But Bahía Bustamante and Monte León are the traditional images of a Patagonia with no connections to the outside world, and absolute connection with the natural world around them.

Prepare to see sheep, guanacos, and tumbleweeds. And make sure you have plenty of batter power for your camera.

Above: Dirt roads, giving vaccines to sheep, a road sign between El Calafate and El Chaltén

Punto Tombo Penguin Colony Video

Ladies and gentlemen, drum roll please....I would like to present the video I've just edited on the Punto Tombo penguin colony in the Chubut Province of Patagonia. The colony has over 500,000 Magellanic penguins, and is a truly unique place in the world.

Leaving Mar del Plata, Back to Buenos Aires

For our last meal in Mar del Plata, Maru made a feast of various types of gourmet pizzas. They were made completely from scratch with ingredients that we bought at the store just moments before, and were ridiculously delicious. Though I'm a fan of the pre-pizzas that I buy and cook here in Buenos Aires, these homemade pizzas obviously wiped the floor with them. It was a good and laid back dinner, but before long it was nearly 1 am and we were all pooped, so we decided to just call it a night, rather than forcing bad hangovers for the ride home on Sunday afternoon.

Even with a laid back night, I was exhausted on Sunday, and just moving about the apartment for a few moments was laborious. What made it worse was the sunburn, and extreme third degree burns I got on my feet. It made me feel sick, and I actually got a runny nose, but in general my body just felt like it had been hit by a truck. After the apartment was cleaned up and we were all packed and ready to go, it was time to leave Mar del Plata.

It was a nice and sunny day, already very hot and humid. Imaginably, Buenos Aires would be much hotter. Picking up some more snacks for the road, it was time to start back on Route 2, and back through the empty pampas. There wasn't as much conversation on the trip back north, mostly because we were all pretty exhausted from the weekend, but a car ride has its ways of being enjoyable nonetheless. As I fought fatigue, I looked from left to right soaking up as much of the green space as I could, aware that soon it would all be concrete again.

Somewhere along the road near a town called Maipu, we stopped for about 45 minutes at a little lake hidden off the road. Though it had a sign advertising it, the area seemed forgotten, and only a handful of people were there. Pablo had discovered it the last time he was down in the area, and we walked to the shaky wooden dock, taking some pictures and looking at the dark, motionless water. Only occasional bubbles would pop up from fish down below. The heat had died down as dark gray clouds loomed in the distance, and with some shanty tin buildings, a few picnic tables, and windmills spinning wildly, I again thought back to how the pampas reminded me of my image of the Midwest United States. I could see some movie where the peaceful farm town was about to be rocked by a tornado.

It was so quiet and relaxed, with the gentle breeze blowing from the west. Pablo said the last time he was there it was packed with cars and people, and the water was filled with swimmers. We got lucky and had it nearly to ourselves for almost an hour before getting back on the road towards Buenos Aires. Up through the north of the pampas I noticed that on the side of the road, where one might find McDonald's and diner's in the United States, all you would find here were parillas, or steak houses. McDonald's will generally always be bad (though good), and it's possible to get a so-so diner. But I had to think that every one of those steak houses was great, and what's worse about not trying all of them was not trying any of them. But it was Sunday afternoon and we had snacks, so on to Buenos Aires we kept going.

Reaching the outskirts of the province and city, we passed through many small towns along the way, with the population steadily rising as Buenos Aires grew closer. Finally we came to Banfield, where Pablo and Paola let us out to catch the bus back to the city center. It was a fun weekend and was great to see another part of Argentina, but what made it so worthwhile was that I was able to share the experience with Argentinians, learning cultural things, sharing mate, and speaking in their language. Though I've had some experiences with locals, this was by far the longest of its kind in my time here, and just a few days in the presence of Porteños taught me almost as much as my time winging it alone has in 4 months here. A successful start to the new year, and hopefully with many more good times to come.

Above: The pampas, near Maipu.

Hitting Up the Beach

Mar del Plata is the beach to go to in Argentina, mainly because it's really the only area with a stretch of water that is accessible for swimming and within close proximity to the majority of the population. If the trendier people go to Punta del Este in Uruguay, the regular majority vacation in Mar del Plata. With that being said, it's known for overcrowded beaches, with umbrellas touching each other as people pack in among the windy beaches. Though it's not too warm or cold, Mar del Plata is a varied place in summer.

During the summer the population can swell up to a million, but for the rest of the year it's a near ghost town, relatively speaking. Judging by the cold winds at night in the summer, I can imagine why no one would go in the winter. We woke up late on January 1st and took our time, eating breakfast and drinking mate on the balcony, waiting as the day warmed up after a morning rain. By the time we were ready to go the day had turned pleasant and warm, but not overbearingly hot. With the advantage of a car, we drove farther south, away from the packed beaches where those in the city without cars would wind up. We still had to battle through city traffic, but the difference in the laid back attitude of a beach town was clear, and it was a welcome relief from Buenos Aires.

The architecture of Mar del Plata is pretty interesting, with alpine houses and English Tudor's dotting the hills overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Thousands of beach-goers headed down to the water, and as we continued along the road the crowds tapered off a bit. Picking up some sandwiches for lunch, we got to a stretch of beach that, while had a good amount of people on it, was nothing compared to the beaches back in the city center. By the time we sat down and set up the umbrella, ate and put on sunscreen, the sun became hidden by dark clouds out at sea.

Our first day at the beach was short lived, as the ominous clouds turned to a heavy rain storm that came in quickly and without mercy. As a mass exodus slowly left the beach in double file, we got back to the car and sat soaked in traffic retreating to the city. Hail pounded the car, but within minutes the storm had passed. We killed some time by playing hangman on the car window frost and drinking mate. The rest of the afternoon was spent relaxing at the apartment and cleaning up for dinner at the seaport.

Unlike Puerto Madero in Buenos Aires, boats will unload their catches in Mar del Plata and allow people to buy fresh product right there. There's a section packed with restaurants, mostly all you can eat seafood, and we chose one that seemed to have a fair deal. Though it seemed like everything involved calamari in some way, we tried just about everything, and it was all good. I love fried calamari, and was happy with the large plate that I got. We picked up some lemon ice cream to put in champagne after dinner, and called it a night to make the most of our last full day at the beach on Saturday.

Going farther south on Saturday morning, we picked a nice looking beach that eventually swelled to a huge crowd, with umbrellas everywhere, getting me lost on the way back from a walk later in the day. The day was spent relaxing between some Frisbee, a picnic lunch, and trying but failing to learn the card game Truco. With a different deck of cards that have different values, I found this Argentinian game to be very confusing, especially when explained in a different language. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and before long the burn started to kick in, even though I put on sunscreen at least four times.

All told, we were at the beach from about 10:30 am until 7 pm or so, when the wind had picked up and the sun was setting. My feet had been badly burned, among other parts of my body, and were swelling to a pink and purple complexion, despite having spent a large portion of the day under the umbrella. Before going back to the city we took a different path home, through a wooded area with alpine houses, seemingly hidden among the forest. It was totally quiet and peaceful, and I could see that living there would be a peaceful existence.

A quick stop at a local fair reminded us that we were burnt and cold, so we got back on the trail home, to clean up and make dinner for the last night in Mar del Plata.

Above: Maru, Paola, Pablo; drinking mate at the beach; a duck and a shmuck

New Years' Eve in Mar del Plata

After working a half day on Thursday, I headed back out to Banfield with Vero to meet up with her friends Pablo, Paola, and Maru. The plan was simple: Pablo's parents loaned us their car, and his aunt loaned us her apartment in Mar del Plata for the weekend. Though it was already 3:30 pm on December 31st, we took off for the beach town 4.5-6 hours south of Buenos Aires to celebrate New Years' Eve.

There's a special kind of energy in a packed car at the beginning of a road trip, when it feels like nothing can stop you, and whether the wind blows in through the window or the air conditioner is on full blast, you feel fresh and free. No work for 3 days and a holiday to boot. Not too shabby. Already in Buenos Aires Province, we headed south through towns that reminded me more of the Latin America I was familiar with last year, and the farther south we headed the fewer the houses were, shanty as they seemed, and the older the cars got. Eventually we were in nothing but open fields, and all around us we were in the Pampas.

The pampas are what I imagine the Midwest of the United States to be like. Never having been, I have to use movies and pictures as a basis, but down this road in Argentina there was nothing but open space on the left and right, plain and flat as far as the horizon. A sky so wide and open that it felt like you could almost see the curve of the earth. Living in a city, the world is obscured by buildings, and the view is often only as far as the next block, but in the pampas, you have nothing to block your vision, and what you see is what extends for miles and miles beyond that. Other than some cows and a random house or two, there isn't much else going on.

Though I'd met Pablo and Paola a week ago when I went to their house for dinner, it was still like starting over again in terms of conversation. It's always going to be hard to jump into a group of old friends, especially in another language, so at first I sat back and mostly listened. This is also the best way to learn the language. An untold number of words have entered my vocabulary since Thursday, not only because I asked but because I listened. Soon enough the ice was broken and I got into the conversations just the same, though obviously giving space when stories were told that I was unfamiliar with. It's to be expected that you won't understand everything, and continuously asking what something means gets annoying.

The mate was passed around consistently, and I found myself totally comfortable and at ease with the process. Though I asked questions about it, nothing could be as simple as drinking a tea through a straw for a moment. Maybe I feel most immersed when I share mate, and I've gotten to the point where I look forward to drinking it and sharing the experience. Maybe one of the funniest things I've taught anyone since living in Latin America is "Fuggin' brown bears," which really means nothing. It's just a play on words originating from my friend Adam who once said, "Beers, fuckin' brown beers...fuggin' brown bears." "Fuggin' Brown Bears" went on to be my fantasy football team's name for two years.

For some reason, this came up in the trip, and everyone took to it, practicing it and getting it down well. It would keep coming up through the weekend. The hours passed by quickly and by 9:30 pm we were pulling into Mar del Plata, ahead of schedule. After dropping off our things, we picked up some food and drinks, and then had dinner at the apartment. It was a totally different New Years' experience than I'm used to. For years now, I've met up with friends early on, maybe 7 or 8 pm to begin partying and by midnight, it was practically a blur. With deep winter outside, we stayed in a house and went home at 1 or 2 am.

Here, it's a summer holiday and Argentinians don't even go out until after midnight. I found that most people will celebrate with a dinner with friends or family, toast at midnight, and then maybe go out dancing depending on the age group. We celebrated from the balcony listening to fireworks going off all around at midnight, and then joined the crowds heading to the beach. The fireworks, both personal and public, were deafening, and music was blasting loudly in one of the squares where hundreds of kids decked out in white were dancing. Apparently wearing white on New Years' is a tradition in Brazil that has recently made its way into Argentina.

We had another toast at the waters edge, freezing as the wind blew in ferociously. Mar del Plata gets very windy and cold at night, and with a sweater on, I was still freezing. Once we could take it no longer we stopped in the plaza for a bit and then went out to a street filled with bars to dance for a couple of hours before calling it a night. There was no need to rush anything, as we had the whole weekend to relax and go to the beach...

Above: From a plaza in the center of Mar del Plata, post midnight, January 1, 2010

Musical Memories

I went for a run this morning in Puerto Madero. With a channel of water and wide avenues, it's a great place to do some physical activity without fear of being hit by a car straight up. It was only the second time I'd gone running in Argentina, the first time being in October for the Nike 10k. I really miss going for runs, which is why I'm going to be moving out of the Microcentro in February to be closer to some parks. In the meantime I took it easy this weekend, so figured I would take advantage of a clear mind and body to get a run in.

It went well, and once back in the apartment, I sat on the ground as The Black Keys played. I was listening to "Attack and Release," which in my opinion is one of their best albums. If you don't know The Black Keys, they are a group of two guys who play deep blues and rock. As the blues kicked in, so did some thoughts. Running was something I picked up in Cuenca (same thing with The Black Keys), and just the action of a prolonged run reminded me of Ecuador. I laid down and looked up at the bland, white ceiling. With nothing to see, my eyes went out of focus and I went back to Cuenca.

I thought of the little things that I never bothered to write down and had steadily forgotten. Those little things that brought momentary happiness to me in tough times. Coming back from class at 3 pm, the heat emanating in the streets, I would stop in at the panadería Tres Estrellas on Hermano Miguel y Juan Jaramillo and buy a sugar cookie for 25 cents. Not every day, but as the year went on, more and more. (If you're in Cuenca, stop in there for a cookie). It was like a little round dough of happiness that would make things OK for the 3 minutes or so I took to eat it as I walked home. Even if the classes were getting me down, a cookie made it better.

It wasn't all good memories that The Black Keys brought out, though. I wondered what I should do for the day, and then I thought about what I used to do in Cuenca in my spare time. Before I made some good friends there, I had a lot of time on my own. A typical Saturday would be wake up, dick around, go outside for a bit, maybe head to a movie store to see what they had, come back for lunch, dick around, and then try to find a way to kill time until Monday. You learn a lot about yourself when you're the only company you have.

Sometimes on a Sunday I would go for a coffee at Raymipampu, one of the only restaurants open on the deadest day of the week. I hated going their once because they ripped me off (a whole dollar!) but there weren't many other options. Of course, by the end of the year I had made great friends, and it was more of a matter of not having enough time, rather than too much. And more doors seemed to open as the year went on, regardless of whether or not they were cafes, restaurants, or a friendly house.

A bus ride through the mountains with no sun at such an altitude. The clouds moving in fast through the open bus windows, and looking up realizing that the driver had zero visibility, yet continued at high speeds around sharp turns. Just close the eyes and trust that he knew the way well. Look out the window and see some kind of impossible drop to the center of the earth, look back up and see Jackie Chan mumble something incoherent in Spanish as the smell of choclo and cheese wafted down the aisle. Such a typical scene, really. There are hundreds of little memories like this that no one will ever hear, and what scares me is that the more time that passes, the less I'll remember.

Back in the room in Buenos Aires, with the sweat stopping and the blues continuing, I had to face reality. The friends are still in Cuenca, but we are in two different worlds right now. I imagine that yesterday they continued the tradition of Saturday Cookfest in Lucho and Charlie's apartment. I wonder what they made this week. More chick parm? Ceviche? Or something totally different? Something so different about these two lives I've led in Ecuador and Argentina is simply expectations. I expected so much to be different in Ecuador, and it was. Every day was another shock and thrill. Argentina, while interesting, follows more or less the pattern of a life I'd imagine back home. Hopping in the back of a random pick up truck in Ecuador is natural and common. In Argentina, the chances of that happening are slim.

I live with these differences every day, and they'll always be there, long after I return or go to wherever it is I'll be next. Sometimes I'll forget, yet other times those memories will be strong and vivid. All I'll need is a song.

Minus the Turkey: Thanksgiving a la Porteña

I guess I would best describe it as May. Though it would be May in New York, not in Boston, because anyone who is from either city can tell you that a spring in Massachusetts is quite different from a spring in New York, and no two springs are alike. Every year it seems as though May is a wash out in New England, yet people are always surprised. It’s supposed to be nice, but of course it’s not. That’s exactly what I’m experiencing now in Buenos Aires. But the only difference is that it’s late November.

After going through your entire life with an expectation that the weather will be a certain way during a certain month, it’s hard to accept what your eyes see and your senses feel. I am sweating in this humidity, but the date on the calendar says November 27^th. An error message is popping up in my brain, telling me to reboot. Yesterday was Thanksgiving, giving a totally different perspective on the holiday.

All I can think of in terms of this day is the crisp air outside a boiling hot apartment in Brooklyn, the golden-brown-red leaves dangling from trees like a child’s teeth as their body pushes them out to make way for the new guys. The deep blue sky of impending winter and the looming storm front that inevitably comes, just in time for some cocoa, a fireplace, and a football game that puts you to sleep after stuffing your face with, well stuffing. Turkey, cranberry sauce, pie, more turkey, coffee, more pie, and finally a late night shwarma and beer if you have nothing else to do and just need to get out of that stinking hot apartment with no cable. This is the Thanksgiving I grew up with, yet in the humid spring of Buenos Aires, it was another world and another age.

I was pretty sure I was going to spend the holiday alone, frying up a steak and looking through pictures while listening to music—a standard night. But in the morning my new friend Tami said she was going to take care of everything. She called up a few friends and invited me over to her house for a Thanksgiving dinner, a la porteña, at 9 pm. A little late by most accounts, but since it wasn’t a holiday here, we all had to work a full day anyway.

Traditionally Argentinian, I showed up a bit late and found that the table was filled for a feast, though there were only five of us; Tami, her sister, and two other friends joined me in an American holiday. This would be their first Thanksgiving, and I explained a bit of what we normally do, such as eat, talk, watch football, and pass out. This was more than I could have hoped for, and I am still in a bit of shock that someone could be so friendly and throw together a feast like that out of no where. I just met her last week, after all.

Everything you could want was there. Minus the turkey. That was all that was missing, and though it’s the main ingredient in a Thanksgiving feast, the most important thing is just having people to share it with. The girls had prepared potatoes, Spanish rice, eggs that no one even touched, and to make it truly Argentinian, milanesa de carne, which is like a breaded meat. Somehow they even found cranberries, and though it wasn’t in sauce form, it went perfectly with the milanesa. We wound up not even eating half of the food, there was so much.

In continuing with the Argentinianization of the holiday, the conversation went late into the night, passing beyond 12:30 am. I kept thinking at some point someone would say it’s time to go home, but eventually Tami saw me yawning continuously and told me this could go on for hours. So she called up a taxi and I said my goodbyes. I don’t know when, if ever, porteños sleep, but they’ve found a way to function without it. I, on the other hand, still love my minimum 7-8 hours a night.

So passed my Thanksgiving in Argentina, but I don’t think it was just for my benefit. It was their first Thanksgiving too, and if anything it helped to spread a little bit of understanding between two cultures. We aren’t so different, but there are always things that will be unknown until they are introduced into the marketplace of conversation and experience. That’s what I love the most about traveling—the sharing and mixing of cultures and traditions. It’s something you have to witness and take part in to really understand.

My high school 5 year reunion is tonight, and instead of catching up with old friends who I haven’t seen in years, I am on another continent on the other side of the world. But I’m thankful that I’ve been able to make some new friends here. I’ll take that and call it a day.

No Turkey Day for Jon

While I could list in detail all the ways in which this year is different than last year, I won’t. Previous writings have already shown the differences, and it would be redundant to go through it all again. But instead, let’s just focus on a single point. Thanksgiving is coming up tomorrow, and I think I’m going to feel pretty homesick on this occasion. It’s not that Thanksgiving was ever a particularly important holiday in my family, but just the idea of doing something very American and being with family, or friends, is something to be desired.

For years we would pile into a car and drive down to Brooklyn, beating the traffic if we were lucky and arriving hours too early. We didn’t even have a traditional big turkey, because for some reason my grandma always wanted to cut it up the night before, causing it to dry out hours before it was ready. And in the last couple of years that I was home, my dad would take my brother and sister and a couple of cousins out to a bar and for shwarma in the Village later at night.

Last year was my first Thanksgiving away from home, but it really wasn’t all that bad. On Thanksgiving day I was actually climbing Chimborazo volcano with a friend, heading up with the last iceman of Chimborazo. I didn’t even realize it was Thanksgiving until later that day after we had come back down the mountain. I went back to Cuenca the next day, and that following Saturday my friend Lauren hosted a feast at her host sisters’ apartment, along with several Ecuadorians and a few gringos in the mix. It was also the night I met my good friend Jamie, which I can use as a bookmark later events throughout the year.

I was away from home but it didn’t really matter much because I formed a group of volunteers who were also away from home. So we at least had each other in that regard. And obviously I am now alone in Buenos Aires. I know a handful of expats here, but they are either English or vegetarians, and no one has even mentioned Thanksgiving. Even if someone had, I don’t know what we could do. It’s hard enough to find just sliced turkey breast at the supermarket, let alone a giant turkey fit for a holiday meal.

I don’t generally get homesick, and I try not to think about being at home so that I can enjoy myself in the moment. But I will definitely be missing being at home tomorrow afternoon. While I’m at work, dodging the humidity, everyone back home will be rubbing their bellies and picking their teeth while plopping down on the couch to watch a terrible football game (most likely involving the Lions). I don’t even have a couch, nor can I watch football games at home anymore.

So after work is over I’ll most likely come home and fry up a steak, to enjoy Thanksgiving in the Argentinian fashion. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s the best I can do with what I’ve got.

Above: Photo by Joits

A First-Timer's Trip to a Polo Match

On Friday afternoon, just moments before I was getting ready to wrap up my work and head home, my boss offered tickets to anyone in the office for the polo match for Saturday. I had no plans and had never seen a real match before (the other match I "saw" was when I was working) so I asked for them and was given a pair of tickets for Saturday and Sunday's game, just in case in rained on Saturday. So great, I'd finally get to see some of this famous Argentinian polo I hear so much about.

My boss was pretty excited about it, and another co-worker told me that it was the season opener for the 116th Argentinian Polo Open. He said there would be parades and music and all, so it'd be worth going to. My only problem was that on such short notice, not knowing too many people in this city, it was going to be hard to find someone to go with me. I'm sure there are tons of people who would have liked a ticket, but I just don't know them.

I tried as hard as I could, but no one was available or wanted to go. Finally, I got in touch with a friend of a friend, and she said she would go with me, but only for a few hours. We met up outside of the fields, El Campo Argentino de Polo, at 2:30 pm and went in. It was her first time at a match as well, so she wasn't able to tell me much about the sport. Outside of the main field was a walkway filled with vendors selling polo-related merchandise, the highest quality wines, and luxury cars. This was a rich crowd, for sure. To the side was a warm up field where an exhibition match was getting underway.

We walked around for a while looking at what was for sale, and eventually worked over to the practice game. One thing I've noticed is that from a distance, it looks like tiny people riding giant dogs. Depending on the action, they can be right up in your face with little separating you, or they can be way down the field, nearly out of sight. The field is just that big.

Shortly after sitting down I got bored, and we began joking around. It's probably better to have someone who knows what they're talking about to explain it to you. As the exhibition game ended, my friend had to leave, so I followed the crowd into the main stadium, where an usher brought me to the wrong side of the stadium, but it wound up not mattering. I sat next to two girls who were big fans, and they were able to explain what was going on to me. Meanwhile, the guy behind us yelled cheers throughout the entire game, really loving the action. At one point he was angry because people weren't applauding enough.

It's striking to me that everyone applauds for both teams, and there's absolutely no booing at all. There is no real side, as teams switch back and forth who scores on each end, and at the end of the day, it's just a friendly match. That doesn't mean that the jockey's don't scream and play hard, nearly ramming their horses into each other. At one point a player smashed his mallet into the forearm of an opponent. The player screamed in pain and yelled some swears I haven't even heard of yet, dismounted, and continued to scream.

Immediately an ambulance had rushed out onto the field, which was almost laughable when you consider that it takes 5 minutes or more for a golf cart to get onto a football field when a player could have neck damage. The game stopped for a few minutes as they checked him out, and then he mounted up again and continued. Though the sun was out and I was burning, the field is close to the river and the winds are strong. I was shivering with a jacket on by the end of the match as the sun was setting. It was a close game, but I left with one minute left when it was clear that it was over.

It was a good experience to see a new sport, even if it's a very elitist game. There were no parades, and I'm not sure how I missed that, or if it was just a bad translation. I don't know if I'll go back on my own dime any time soon, but if another pair of free tickets come my way, I'm sure I'll take the opportunity.

Ecuadorian, Argentinian Style

I won't lie. I've been craving the old Ecuador lately. Lots of things are different here, and something about the adventure of life in Ecuador is to be desired. So I asked a friend in Cuenca who lived in Buenos Aires for a year if he knew of an Ecuadorian restaurant here. He gave me the address--a literal hole in the wall on Avenida Corrientes y, get this, Calle Ecuador. Perfect.

I finally got myself over there yesterday. It's in Once, the neighborhood known for Jewish, Peruvian, and Korean citizens. I think Once reminds me of the rest of Latin America more than any other place in Argentina, and maybe that's why I like it. Vendors selling everything and shouting anything in the streets, the hustle, the grime. I love it. I wound my way around the streets to find the place, but it didn't help that it was on Calle Ecuador. Every time I asked someone if they knew of the Ecuadorian restaurant, they thought I meant any restaurant on this street.

At a Peruvian restaurant I asked a man who said he didn't know, but as I walked past he whistled at me and pointed at a door. Just a random door that looked like someone's house. He motioned for me to go in. Awkwardly I pushed open the door and the first thing I saw was the Ecuadorian flag hanging proudly. The salsa music was blasting, and the few diners there looked up at me. I was at home again.

A group of friends took turns taking pictures by the hanging picture of President Correa, and the waitress showed me what they had. Unfortunately, they had no ceviche, encebollado, or Pilsener. Though they had Brahma, which is close enough. This was an Ecuadorian restaurant but with Argentinian prices. I ordered the seco de pollo, at a hefty $18 ARG pesos. It was worth the treat. They even had some green aji, which wasn't the hottest I've had, but it was the best I've found so far here in Argentina.

The meal came out and, surprise surprise, there was a mountain of white rice next to my chicken. It was so welcoming, and I loaded on the aji just like the old days. It was more of a relief to have this food again, listening to that music, surrounded by other Ecuadorians. It felt familiar. I wouldn't say the food in Ecuador was great, but I will say that Ecuadorian food cooked in Argentina is good. I was happy with the meal, and once I was finished a guy at the table across from me invited me over to talk.

He was from Quito and has been living here for 6 years studying, and his friend was from Argentina. We shared some beer and talked about how I knew of the place and Ecuador. And then, in typical Ecuadorian fashion, he invited me to join them at his apartment in Recoleta for a beer. Before leaving I paid up, $28 pesos for the meal and a liter of beer. That works out to about $7.30 USD, and a meal like that in Ecuador would normally cost $2. But what can you do?

We went to the apartment with a Heineken and from the terrace on the roof looked out over the city with no clouds or noise at all. It was high up but not outrageous, yet in this neighborhood the noises of the city were far away. It was good to talk to the guys, and in more traditional Ecuadorian (Ecuanapping) we went out to a free symphony performance put on by the Law Faculty of the Universidad de Buenos Aires. The performance was well done, and after the intermission we went back up top and sat down on the stairs.

The next thing I knew, my new friends had ditched me. I turned around and they were gone. How bizarre. Why would they buy me beer, coffee, and invite me to a show just to ditch me? It was head-scratching material, so I slipped out and started off for home. Later I met up with a couple of other guys and we went to a birthday party at a bar in Palermo. The birthday girl had paid for 20 bottles of champagne, and so sitting next to the water bucket, I drank a fair share of champagne. Once the 20 free bottles were gone I even bought another.

No surprise here, a hangover was in store for the day. But the day was not to be a wash...

Steakhouse, Buenos Aires

For a while I was concerned that some of my coworkers hated me. There are two sides of the office, one being younger and more talkative, the other a bit older and quieter. I'm on the quiet side, and for the most part, no one spoke to me for 6 weeks. Suddenly on Monday I was invited to have coffee at the end of the day with the other guys on my side of the office, which I take as a sign that the haze is now over. For one reason or another, maybe it was just a test.

During the conversation the guys asked me all about steak and what I've eaten. I haven't had much experience with the Argentinian grilling, and they invited me out for lunch on Friday to try different kinds of meat. They go out to eat lunch together every day while I eat at my desk, so I was pretty happy that I was invited. We went to a parilla that was packed with business suits and skirts. So packed, in fact, that we had to sit at the bar.

One of my coworkers spoke quickly to the waiter and ordered four different kinds of meat that I had never heard of. I explained that while we have different cuts of meat in the U.S., it's nothing like down here, and I couldn't match up the different names with my own personal knowledge. The first dish brought out was a sausage and some grilled cheese--provolone I think. I'm not a culinary whiz, but I know good food when I eat it, and this food was above good.

There were three kinds of sauces: chimichurri, which is about the only thing put on steak here, if something is put on, a red sauce that tasted similar to the aji I used to get at La Viña restaurant in Cuenca, and a tangy tomato and onion sauce. They warned me that the red sauce was spicy, but Argentinians don't know anything about spice, so I piled it on as they watched and expected water to form from my eyes. Of course it was mild as mayonnaise, and they seemed impressed. The interesting thing is that the only way for that sauce to taste the way it did would be to have tomate de arbol, or tree tomato. But that doesn't grow here, and as far as I know it only grows in Ecuador.

The next plate that came out was an enormous platter with enough steak to feed four grown men, which it did. Everyone got a fair share as they put a different kind of each on my plate and explained what it was, as well as where on the cow it came from. They all definitely had different tastes, that's for sure. But I just don't know how to explain it. There's a clear difference between ground beef and Filet Mignon, but with these different cuts, I couldn't say which was better or what the taste was. One of the other guys was able to clearly distinguish and name every cut of steak.

On top of all the steak, we also had two plates of steak fries. I don't know why, but for some reason fries just taste better as steak fries. They go together so well. Once the food was finished we had espresso to wake us up--full bellies of steak make you sleepy and are not conducive of going back to work. A coworker paid for all of us and I thanked him graciously as we stepped into the drizzle and back to the office, where we joked around and eased into the weekend.

Argentina Wins, Diego Belly Flops

Last night was the big game: Argentina vs. Peru. This was a qualifying match to see if Argentina would continue on to the World Cup. The first half went by mostly uneventfully and with no scoring. But quickly after the 2nd half started Argentina scored the first goal of the game. Cars were honking in the streets and a few shouts could be heard. Then the rain started to come in.

From where I was watching at a friends apartment, we had a view of the skyline towards the port. The horizon was ablaze in purple and yellow from the thunderstorm, and we marveled in the waves of rain that pounded down on the streets, flooding everything. The game almost became difficult to watch, as it rained so heavily that the screen looked white-washed.

And then the game was in stoppage time, with 2 minutes until it was over. It was still 1-0, and Argentina just had to hang on. But suddenly, with maybe a minute and a half left, Peru scored. It was madness, and you could literally feel the air coming out of the country. It seemed like people might explode with the lightning.

They wouldn't give in, however, and Argentina charged down the field. There had to be only 30 seconds left in the game, and suddenly in the right place at the right time, Martín Palermo stuck out his leg and the ball zoomed into the back of the net. In the insanity of the storm it was so hard to see, and anything could have happened. As the ball went into the next lightning went off on cue, the crowd and announcers went nuts, and Palermo ripped off his shirt and ran around wild. Then they cut to coach Diego Maradona, and he quickly did two belly flops into the wet field, dancing around like a child. It was impressive.

Though Peru threatened down the field again with just seconds left, the game clock finally ended, and the stadium was crazy. So Argentina held on and somehow, as these things often happen, two goals were scored consecutively, making the final score 2-1. Argentina isn't out of the woods yet, though. On Wednesday they'll travel to Montevideo to play Uruguay. Both teams are playing for the final spot, so it will definitely be a good match to watch.

Above: Diego Maradona dives in the rain. Photo courtesy of Clarín.

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La conferencia de prensa de Maradona. (TyC Sports)

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The Best Photo of the Day

Argentina coach Diego Maradona with Lionel Messi

Today is a big day for fans of Argentinian soccer. At 7 pm tonight in Buenos Aires, the national team will play against Peru in a qualifying match for the World Cup next year. Because of so many bad games and losses, Argentina could potentially not make the World Cup, which would be a huge shock to the soccer world. This is probably one of their last chances to turn things around and make a "Wild Card" slot, so basically tonight is do or die.

This photo, which was posted on the Clarín Web site, is of legendary player turned fallen star turned national team coach Diego Maradona and rising star Lionel Messi at practice. As you can see, Maradona is pointing for something, though it does look like he's picking his nose. A great photo, really.

Depending on how things go tonight, there could either be a soccer riot or...maybe a soccer riot. Who knows. It's been a pretty volatile week with rumors that Maradona would quit because of disagreements with other managers, and other demonstrations about the government moving to break up monopolies within the media. So we'll see what happens tonight. I'll keep you posted if anything crazy should happen.

Below is a video of Maradona's goal against England in the 1986 World Cup semi-finals, which was voted by FIFA as the "Goal of the Century."

Interview with a Wine Expert

Today I was lucky enough to have a phone interview with Dr. Jay Miller, of the Wine Advocate. The Wine Advocate is one of the best sources for information and articles on the best wines around the world, and Dr. Miller is the reviewer for South American wines. So basically, he is the man to ask about wine, especially Argentinian wine.

I got in touch with Dr. Miller when I was still updating information on Wine Country to see if I could get a quote about his favorite Argentinian wine and his recommendations. We scheduled a time and today I called him in Baltimore. These are some of the things that I heard.

Dr. Miller's Top 3 Argentinian wines (keep in mind, he is the source for this stuff) are

• Catena Zapata
• Achaval Ferrer
• Viña Cobos

I was actually fortunate enough to have gone for a tour and tasting at the Catena Zapata winery when I toured Wine Country last month. Even with my limited knowledge of wine, I would agree that it was very good. I haven't tried the other two, though I have read about them in my work. Viña Cobos is actually co-owned by Paul Hobbes, an American winemaker.

Dr. Miller also told me that Patagonia has yet to be seen as a great wine making region, though it is up and coming. Right now those wineries are mostly focusing on Pinot Noir and sparkling wine. Meanwhile in Salta, another wine region of Argentina, there are historic vines from the first settlers that produce interesting results.

In all of this, Dr. Miller did say that Chilean wine is making a run for it and challenging Argentinian brands, but it's always difficult to pinpoint one wine that is the best out of an entire continent. However, Catena Zapata was mentioned again as "a benchmark that other wines are compared to."

So there you have it. A little inside scoop from one of the most trusted voices on wine, sharing a few kind words with yours truly. The next time you're looking for a bottle of wine, try looking for these brands and thank Dr. Miller.

Above: The Catena Zapata winery

A Cold in the Time of Swine Flu

Photo by delinion

I started feeling sick late Sunday afternoon, and since my body was obviously exhausted and I’d just spent the night walking around in the cold by the waterfront, I knew that I was about to be getting sick. Sometimes you can just feel it in your throat, and you know that you’re going downhill. But I was hoping it would just be a day or two thing. It has not been a day or two thing, and I’ve been suffering all week.

There’s been a little of every symptom on this one. Sore throat, fever, aches, cough, sneezing, runny nose, etc. It’s kind of like buffet for illnesses. Each symptom not really lasting for too long at each interval, but making its presence felt when it’s there. Normally, this wouldn’t be the most alarming thing. It’s now spring in Argentina, but winter is refusing to go quietly, and the last couple of weeks have been very cold. I knew I was arriving at the end of winter, so I purposely didn’t try to over-pack my bags with a big winter jacket. It’s one of those mistakes that you know you shouldn’t have made, but also have the foresight to know that it was a right decision in the end.

It’s just a cold, and I know that, and at worst would be a seasonal flu. But living in Argentina, those thoughts that hey, maybe it’s Swine Flu after all, well they do sort of creep in there and mess with you. It doesn’t make matters any better when other people have fear in their eyes every time you sneeze or cough. Standing on a street corner, a sneeze will now produce the same suspicious stares and turned heads that farting in public does. You’re a leper, and you need to just stay away from everyone for about a week if you feel sick.

Argentina has had some of the worst of Swine Flu, and the paranoia level is pretty high. Although my friends in Ecuador have told me that if you exhibit any symptoms of a flu at all you can’t even get medicine at a pharmacy until you go to a clinic outside of the city first to make sure it’s not Swine Flu. I think that’s a bit too far, refusing to let people get medicine which would actually make them better. Go figure.

In an email to my parents that I was sick, their first response was that I might have Swine Flu. Apparently throughout 23 years of my life I never before had gotten sick, and now that I’ve arrived in Buenos Aires I must have gotten it. But even before that I wanted to make sure. I work next to a pregnant woman, and the last thing I would want to do is spread something. So I looked up the symptoms and decided that I wasn’t falling under them. PHEW!

But my friend back home sent me a link to a Boston.com article detailing the differences between the common cold and the flu. He thought it was funny that people couldn’t tell the difference on their own, whereas I thought that it was at least reassuring to have that information out there. I guess that’s the difference between someone who’s sick and someone who isn’t.

It’s nice to have the reassurance that you don’t have Swine Flu, even if you might seem ridiculous for looking up symptoms to the common cold just to make yourself feel better. The week has progressed and though I’m still sick, I’m feeling better. So I guess it wasn’t Swine Flu after all.