Bike Tour on the Day Off

Today was a holiday in Argentina, and though I'm not exactly sure what it was for, I think it had something to do with the Virgin or something or other. I'm not complaining, as it was the perfect way to break up the week and make up for not getting Thanksgiving off while everyone in the States was enjoying themselves. To make things better, the weather was perfect today.

If you recall any mention at all through Twitter, I was supposed to go on a Bike Tour on Saturday afternoon, but the event was washed out. I was instead placed on 9:30 am tour this morning. I wasn't crazy about the idea of waking up at the same time as usual for work on my day off, but at least I was doing something active and worthwhile, rather than sleeping in and doing nothing interesting.

To kick things off last night, I went with my friend Clint and his girlfriend to La Bomba de Tiempo, which is a pretty popular drum circle in Abasto every Monday night. I'd gone to this earlier in October when it was some kind of special event on a Saturday, going into the wee hours of the morning. I wasn't that impressed with it then, and my thoughts on it were only solidified last night.

Maybe it's because I'd rather hear other instruments instead of only drums and bongos, but it just seems like most of the people there are phonies. It seems like it should be something cool to do, which explains why I heard more English from tourists rather than Spanish from locals. But I get the feeling you have to be on some drugs or really drunk to enjoy it. Not drinking all all in preparation for the GRE on Saturday, I was hardly impressed, and once the crowd started a mosh pit, we decided it was time to step outside for some air.

We spent the rest of the time outside, and once the show was over went home. I woke up to clear blue skies, and though it was a bit chilly, finally got outside in just a t-shirt and shorts. The other tourists met up at the statue in Plaza San Martín, and once everything was figured out, our small group split off for the "Different Buenos Aires" tour. With two Brazilians, a German woman, and our guide Javier, we went through the other sights of Buenos Aires that I mostly knew well by now.

Our first stop was down through Puerto Madero, where the early hours of a holiday left us with nearly free reign through the port. I was familiar with the area, but it was still interesting to hear some of the stories behind it. We moved on to the Ecological Reserve, where I had yet to explore. It was pretty unimpressive if you've been to some beautiful places in the world. It's basically just a loop around a swamp that is good for biking or running. As the afternoon was pushing on, it was basically shirtless old man running slowly heaven. Though it wasn't the nicest place I've ever been, I can definitely see how it's a welcome relief after seeing nothing but concrete in the city center for a few months.

We continued on through La Boca, and I got to see other parts of the neighborhood where I spent my first month in this city. Again, though people talk about how dangerous La Boca is, compared to other places I've been in the world, it's not that scary, especially during daylight hours. We stopped at El Caminito for 20 minutes and I sat with the Brazilians as they had a drink. It was an odd conversation, in an itinerant mix of Portuguese, Spanish, and English. The boyfriend would say something in Portuguese and I'd either kind of understand or not, and his girlfriend would then translate in limited but well spoken English. Then I'd reply in Spanish and they'd both understand, or we'd go to English for a moment. It had no rhyme or rhythm.

Back on the bikes we quickly zoomed through San Telmo and up to the Microcentro, back to Plaza San Martín where we'd started. It was now 1:30 pm, and though it was hotter, it was still perfect temperature with low humidity, a rarity here. I went home to make a sandwich, and took a draining nap for about an hour. Once back on my feet, I headed up to Palermo to read and study in a park for a bit. The day was still going strong, and the area was filled with families on picnics.

Though the scene made me miss my time with friends and family, it was still a good day off and a pretty comprehensive day, covering many parts of the city. That beats a day at the office.

Above: Ecological Reserve, La Bombonera, Puente de la Mujer

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.

The Best Tango of Buenos Aires Video

After going to three of the best tango shows in Buenos Aires, I've put together a little video to summarize the shows and present what they offer. Take a look at the video and decide for yourself which show you would want to go see.

Tigre River Delta Video

Here is a video I have produced on my day trip to Tigre last weekend. Enjoy.

Rojo Tango

On Thursday night I went to my third dinner and tango show in a week. This time I was down at the Faena Hotel + Universe for the show at Rojo Tango, considered one of the best shows in the city. This was the third show in week that I was going to see which was considered one of the best in the city, so while I was excited, it also had a lot to live up to. It was clear from the moment I walked into the hotel, though, that this was top notch quality and deserving of a title.

Of course I got there on time and had to wait a half hour for my friend to show up, so I walked around the hotel briefly, though with limited access because of private functions. The hotel was built in the El Porteño building in Puerto Madero, in a very trendy and stylish part of the city that reminds me of the Baltimore Seaport. The hotel was cast in a dim, red light, and I couldn't tell where the hotel actually began between the three restaurants, pool, and night club.

After my friend showed up we headed into the club for our dinner. The meal was great, albeit with small portions. Together we shared a couple of appetizers, steak and raviolis, plus champagne and white wine. As I've said, this was the third tango show I'd seen in a week, and the service at all of these clubs has been terrific. Only through my profession have I been able to score these tickets, because otherwise two tickets to dinner and a show would run about the total of my monthly salary.

As dinner and conversation went on, the lights suddenly dimmed, smoke filled the tiny room, and the show started. We were close to the back of the room and right in front of the band wearing all white, but still only about 25 feet from the stage. This was to be an intimate show. Rojo Tango takes you through the history of tango, with different period dresses and styles. Ultimately, this performance is a bit more modern, and different from the other two I'd seen at El Viejo Almacén and Esquina Carlos Gardel. Maybe it's because I was tired after a long day, or because my guest was getting restless, or because it was the third show in a week, but I was getting a bit bored halfway through the show.

It's not that it wasn't good, but with more drawn out songs than dancing, my attention started to wander. The band was excellent, as were the singers. But maybe you're only supposed to take in a fancy tango show like that once in a while. The show took a sudden turn when two dancers started undressing, and eventually the female dancer took off her top. The crowd seemed stunned, but I had already heard about this and therefore wasn't too surprised. Still, it's not the kind of thing you'd expect from a tango show.

So if you're curious to know what my final thoughts are on the three tango shows, here they are. El Viejo Almacén had the best show, yet the worst food. Well, I don't want to say worst, but it was simply not the best of the three. It was still an excellent meal. Esquina Carlos Gardel had the best food, though I was unimpressed with the performance mainly because I had just heard that my friend's brother passed away. So I'm calling that one a scrub for obvious reasons. In my heart, I know it was still an impressive show, though the venue was less intimate. Rojo Tango certainly had charm and class, but the show itself just left me a little bored. The food was great, and I'll suggest that it had the rotten luck of being third on my list of shows.

So if you come to Buenos Aires and can afford to spring for it, try going to one of these shows. You won't be disappointed either way. And of course, always try to find a milonga (tango club, real people) or watch street performers, who are undoubtedly less talented, but hey, it's free.

Place, Time, Friends

Good stuff happens unexpectedly, and the surprise of it makes it that much more enjoyable. I got an email from a friend I knew in Cuenca, Clint, who is from Australia. After posting my friend Lucho’s story last week, Clint found my blog and contacted me. As it turns out, he’s now in Buenos Aires, and has been for a month, but I had no idea. Clint left Cuenca in June, and I never even made it to his going away party because I didn’t know he was leaving. I always felt bad about that, but we agreed to meet up Wednesday night and catch up over a brew. That would make it all better.

So Clint came over to my apartment and we reminisced, caught up, and discussed what each of us was doing here in Argentina. As it turns out, he’s been here several times and is sort of just hanging out and enjoying himself for a couple of months before returning to Ecuador. As you can imagine, our conversation turned back to Ecuador for the most part, and we thought aloud about what the experience was like for us, and how it had affected us.

We got to discussing a point that I’m all to familiar with by this point—is it worth it to continually move around and start all over again, especially if you had something good where you were? Clint is 32, and has been living abroad for the better part of 6 years. His first teaching abroad stint was in Russia, and then on to South America since then. He’s loved to move around and see new places, but he told me that recently leaving Cuenca was the hardest place to leave. Something about the place and time, the people that he was friends with, and the feeling that it’s getting a bit old to start all over again, makes him wonder if he should finally settle down.

He went home to be with family in Australia for 3 months and said that it felt right being home, and since leaving again, something just didn’t feel the same as it had in the past. And that makes me wonder, especially after the struggles I went through in my 2^nd month here, aching to go back to the friends I had made in Cuenca. More recently, thinking about the friends and family you leave behind, and the experiences you miss out on back home as a result. I wrote about that this week with La Vida Idealist, questioning if it’s worth it to miss out on so much back home, for a chance to have a better long term appreciation. If you can make it that far.

These kinds of questions aren’t answered easily, and will no doubt continue to swirl around in my head as I start to make more friends in Buenos Aires. Because I’m sure that I will eventually have to move on and go home again, leaving behind another life. But what Clint said about the place and time resonated with a feeling I’ve held for a long time, and it reminds me of one of my favorite quotes by Hunter S. Thompson. “But no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time in the world. Whatever it meant.”

A traveler or expat must find their place in the world, but always keep a watch on which direction home is in. The farther you go, however, the less obvious the path becomes, and you find that you no longer remember the way back. If you do go back, it seems distant, unfamiliar, and is no longer your home. Home is simply an idea of a time or place that you once knew. Eventually, we all leave it, though it will always be with us in a place where no one can take it from us. Sometimes that’s all you have.

Above:  Photo by microabi

The Bureaucratic Black Hole of Buenos Aires

Yesterday was another one of those big days. The kind that really only need to happen once, yet there I was, finding myself going through the same process for the 3^rd time. In my continuing attempt to get citizenship papers in Argentina, I went down to the Registro Civil to attempt to get a turn (appointment) to apply for the national ID card. You can already see it’s complicated.

Why do I continue to bother with this? It has its benefits for sure, primarily allowing me to live here without hopping the border every three months. Additionally I can open a bank account, get a lease on an apartment rather than getting screwed with foreigner prices, half priced domestic airfare, and get a driver’s license if I ever choose to do so. And let’s not forget access to that sweet, sweet passport, which will help waive those awful visa fees that Americans have to pay in countries like Chile, Brazil, Paraguay, and Bolivia. One day, I would like to see all of those countries (I’ve already been Chile, but want to go back).

After first arriving in the country in August I went to the Registro. It was a total mess. They told me to come back in October, which I did, and again they told me to come back, this time on December 1^st at noon. That worried me, because it meant half the country would be there are noon at the 1^st. But I had no choice. So I left work at 10:30 am yesterday anticipating the long lines and went down to the mysterious, dirty government office that I had yet to step into.

Already people were outside and being turned away. A cop told me to come back on the 7^th, and I was sure this had to be wrong. A sign said something about foreigners, and though by all logical means I am one, I still have Argentinian citizenship. That means through a technicality in the law, I’m not a foreigner. I explained this to the official outside the building, and he immediately warmed up and said this was the building for foreigners (hence why it was so impossible to get anything accomplished). So all along I had been trying to go to the wrong building, but no one ever bothered to tell me when they looked at my documents. He told me to go to anther government building down in San Telmo, about 15-20 blocks away.

It wasn’t even midday but already extremely hot and humid, and I didn’t feel like walking all those blocks in my work clothes, sweating along the way, so I jumped in a taxi. We hit traffic by the presidential palace as protesters were camped outside and the police were forcing them back. No surprise though, as there is literally a strike for every day of the year or more. This is the place I wanted citizenship in.

The story at the national building wasn’t any better, with lines forming around the corner. But I spoke to a guy outside and at first he didn’t want to believe I should be there. He insisted that I should go back to the building I just came from. Yet I persisted and told him I had the papers saying I was technically Argentinian since March, at which point he agreed to give me a slip of paper with a new number to call for an appointment. “This should give you an appointment for this week”, he said.

Upon getting back to the office I tried at least 10 times to call this new number. I only got through three times and every time that happened, I would somehow be disconnected a minute into the call. It’s as if they’ve never worked a phone in the government. Eventually I got through to someone, but she insisted I needed the foreigner DNI, rather than the national one, and gave me an appointment for April 5^th at an address that Google Maps doesn’t even know about. 

This is the definition of a bureaucratic mess. It makes you really appreciate hell holes like the DMV, because comparably, they are smooth and easy. I mean imagine that, you can actually go to a government office any day of the week and be seen that day! But at the very least, you don’t have to go down there just to get a ticket that says you can go down there again just to make sure you have everything you need, which you probably don’t. But I am used to this kind of stuff in Latin America, and it’s not surprising. Yet it continues to be aggravating from time to time.

I took the issue to a co-worker for some help, but we found no success in getting through to the administration. So we’re at another point now where I have to wait around, hoping to someday get my DNI citizenship card. After getting disconnected a few times my co-worker asked me, “Are you sure you still want to be Argentinian?” Some days, not so much.

Above: Photo by lukam!