May 8
Yarn bombing in Bariloche
Yarn bombing is becoming more popular in Argentina. A couple of times while walking through Palermo I stumbled across trees dressed in wool. The movement began in the United States and has spread globally. The collage you see above was taken in Bariloche, Argentina, and I thought I would share it because it’s pretty nifty. Tree fashion!
Apr 27
Since living in Argentina for seven months I have become accustomed to life without luxury. In fact South America taught me a lot about how blindly North American’s covet possessions to stave off tremendous boredom. It’s not that I wasn’t already aware of that fact, but now that I’m in Toronto I can appreciate more of Argentine culture that I refused to while I was there.
For starters, Torontonians are incredibly stuck up people! I mean it. If I judge by my condo building alone, they are the most uptight people in the world. Relax a little guys, don’t take yourselves so seriously. I recognize now, how wrong it was of me in Buenos Aires to not see the humour when someone made a light joke at my expense. Talk about sensitive! Turn that frown upside down, mister!
To mask our boredom Torontonians participate in a shit load of extra curricular activities, and make trends and fads out of everything, the top on that list would be food, which women seem to almost want to make love to. Growing up Italian and having homemade meals every night, I don’t understand the fascination with food North Americans have, but they are obsessed with the very topic. I’ve tried to play along, and have even posted a few entries on my blog about meals that I’ve made here at home, but I just feel like a tool afterwards. Food doesn’t excite me the way an evening out with friends does.
Torontonians also love clubs. We love to belong to book clubs, baking clubs, cycling clubs, running clubs, you name it, we sign up for them. But they don’t make us any smarter, fitter or friendlier, if you ask me. We just end up acting smug, as though we’re more enlightened for having ripped off another culture for our own entertainment.
North Americans believe that the more they consume the happier they will be, but statistics don’t lie. Happiness indexes universally demonstrate that although we are the wealthiest, we are also the most depressed. When I was in South America some Argentines would ask me why we take so many pills in North America. It was in fact, a good question. They’re more happy and with very little. And then spoiled rotten people like me move there and complain because I have to wait an extra five minutes in line to get a razor. The shame I feel now, is unbelievable.
Torontonians (I’m sure it can be applied to other parts of North America) have an unhealthy sense of entitlement. One of the things I hear my friends say often is that they “deserve it.” This is odd to me. They’ll call in sick on a Friday and make an appointment at the spa, justifying their choice with the familiar, “I deserve this.” Everyone deserves to pamper themselves from time to time, I certainly have, but we demand it, shamelessly.
If you ask me the people who “deserve it” are the ones who live and work for very little and struggle to put food on their table to feed their families. The ones who have lived in generational poverty and who have been shunned by society as having less value and worth. Those are the people who deserve it, not a public relations specialist.
Last night I cracked open my closet and with a garbage bag in hand began eliminating items from my wardrobe. For years I have done this; every couple of months I like to give away clothes to Goodwill or some other charitable organization, because there are people who will wear something that I no longer do, and who need them more. I must have had 20 sweaters that I no longer wear just sitting there waiting to be loved. And so, though it was challenging, I filled that garbage bag up to the top and this morning walked over to the Goodwill on Richmond St. E. and gave it away. As soon as I made the decision to donate items that I had, but wasn’t using, I understood how surprisingly painless and freeing downsizing can be.
The hardest part for me are my shoes. I have a shoe fetish, I’m not going to lie. I have downsized and now own 15 pairs, but I need to simplify some more. But even I, despite all my musings in this post, struggle with consumption. What is it about the human species that we draw attachments to material objects so easily? The more we own the more valuable we think we are.
Of course I will have to end this post on the side of being preachy. I apologize, I am not Oprah, I do not pretend to have all the answers at the expense and exploitation of others for my own monetary gain. All I have is a philosophy that I try to remember while navigating through life’s rocky moments. So here it is: Our value is not determined by our occupation, or how much money we make, or how much, and what we own. It is determined by how we treat those who are less fortunate than us, and how we can change the world through selfless acts.
For me, that’s what I aspire to. A job, a car, a home, don’t even come secondary. Humility is the most important characteristic a person can possess.
Parque Pereyra Iraola, former owner's home, now a museum
An asado is a term used to describe a South American style barbecue usually consisting of beef cooked on a grill called a parrilla over an open fire. Due to the almost year-round beautiful weather, they are quite popular in Argentina. This afternoon I ventured all the way to Parque Pereyra Iraola outside of La Plata to watch other people eat a hell of a lot of meat. I had vegetables and bread. Fun.
Aside from the meat eating I had a great time resting on the grass and watching Argentines drink their mate. It didn’t hurt that the weather was fabulous. I love Argentina. There is no other place I’ve been where so many people are out enjoying the day in such quiet solitude. The majority of locals I’ve met are the calmest and easiest going people I have ever encountered in my life. From the bottom of my heart I thank them for teaching me so much peace.
A very low-key, but traditional Argentina asado
Yes I took a photo of meat. I figured I should see what all the fuss is about!
There were horses everywhere!
The road to La Plata
After the asado I perused the flea market
This magazine is called "Very Interesting" so I had to take a photo
The view from Mattias' and Cecelia's La Plata apartment
Morgan's Bar in Belgrano
The place is actually called Morgan Bar but I prefer Morgan’s Bar. Located in Belgrano this is the closest authentic Irish pub experience I’ve had in Buenos Aires. There was only one person working and she was having beer with a male friend of hers when I arrived. She was very sweet and helpful. If you’re in town and want a beer in comforting surroundings, definitely check this place out. I loved it.
The waitress didn't know how to work the taps. I ordered a bottle of Stella and shared.
At 5 p.m. on a Saturday in Buenos Aires and the place is dead. It's packed by midnight.
Nothing but oak!
Duff beer!
The dark journey to pee
Me the dork
Morgan Bar
Belgrano, Amenabar 2363
KEL English Books in Buenos Aires
If you’re a bookworm like me and you live in a foreign country with limited English material, then KEL Books is where you need to be. With five locations in Buenos Aires, it’s the perfect place if you’re looking for Shakespeare, but there isn’t a comprehensive selection of contemporary works. KEL has been in operation for 25 years and it’s the largest English selling bookstore in Buenos Aires. The location in Belgrano is a little gem. The building is beautiful in blue and stands out amongst its neighbours. You can’t miss it. There’s a museo on the top floor with a lecture room for book clubs and English teacher training courses. This morning I wandered over to see if I could find something to pique my interest and had a washroom mishap. I will save that story for another time.
KEL Books in Belgrano, Buenos Aires
KEL Books is beautiful in blue
KEL Books
Humita en chala
Ramiro was born in the province of Santiago, a place where — if legend is true — no one wakes. It’s a running joke in Argentina that people from Santiago are always sleeping. When Ramiro was a teenager he and his family moved to the province of Tucumán where things are a little livelier.
I have never met a person more calm or serene than Ramiro. He’s an exceptionally quiet individual. He’s also very generous. He has allowed me to stay with him in his apartment for seven months now, in spite of the fact that I’ve broken or nearly tarnished every valuable possession he owns.
Sure he’s never here, and I’m basically the housekeeper, but I don’t complain. Ramiro has two sisters, one older and one younger. The oldest lives with her husband and three young daughters in Tucumán and the youngest lives in La Plata, Buenos Aires. His mother owns a clothing establishment, and his parents visit Capital Federal frequently to peruse the shops for clothes to sell in their store. Sometimes they sleep here in the apartment. Sometimes they don’t. But they visit. Often. If you catch my drift. Often.
None of them speak English. I don’t speak Spanish. It can get… interesting. I can never fault them on their kindness. When they visit they make lunch, or dinner, and are always observant that I don’t eat meat, and therefore make vegetarian meals. This is not something that I ask of them, and to their credit, in this meat eating country, they never complain. But then again, how would I know any better if I can’t understand a word that they say?
The whole brigade is in town this week and his mother brought over a food that I had never heard of before called humita en chala. Here is a little history lesson that I swiped form this blog. In 1879, the forces of Tucuman-born future president of Argentina General Roca wiped out most of the indigenous peoples that inhabited the Pampa, leaving the country with a predominantly European population. One of the few traditional recipes that survived from the native population was humita en chala and it was passed down from the Andean Incas and Mapuche tribes. Today it’s considered a national dish filled with hot corn pudding spiked with roasted piquillo peppers.
Inside humita en chala
At first sight it just sat on my plate. I didn’t know what to do with it. Eventually I grabbed a pair of scissors, cut the string and carefully opened the contents to reveal a mushy substance in the centre. It was yummy and I helped myself to three servings.
It demonstrates that though a vegetarian diet in South America is more challenging, it isn’t impossible. Corn provides a lot of dietary fibre, and carbohydrates needed for energy. I am thankful to Ramiro’s parents for introducing me to this simple yet fabulous traditional culinary experience and for being remarkably generous while I’ve mooched off their son.
To finish this post I welcome you to listen to a song by the late Mercedes Sosa, an Argentine treasure.
The Argentine, as it is referred to in this 1932 MGM short movie, was a glorious place to be. Especially if you were a man living in Buenos Aires. There are some pretty fabulous shots of El Tigre, Plaza de Mayo and Calle Florida (when vehicles were permitted on the now pedestrian only strip).
I love the blatant justification of sexism. The Argentine women were not “troubled about the rights of their sex or any of the more virile notions that had stirred modern womenhood.” They were perfectly content with “the admiration so lavishly bestowed upon them.” Why would they want to have the same rights as men, such as the ability to vote?
Oh men. When will they learn?
The sky over Belgrano
As autumn begins in the southern hemisphere I can’t quite believe that summer has passed without so much as a goodbye. Porteños are bundled up to the chin while walking home at night, quite the sight for a Canadian.
The sky is beautiful, but we're often too busy to notice. What a pity.
When I was younger my family and I used to cottage in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. Natural beauty is easy to find and there is such an abundance of it around the world. My brothers and I used to lay on the dock and watch as the satellites floated in space. Life is simple when we’re young, or maybe it’s that we don’t ask too many questions, because the answer is so obvious: No one knows.
Uncertainty is remarkable. Even comforting.
Pedestrians found this woman unconscious in her vehicle and called the police who responded to the scene. While they waited for the paramedics to arrive (they never did) they took it upon themselves to rob her and quickly left before she woke up. When she did, she frantically circled her car until two new police officers arrived, but by then the woman appeared fine, and they washed their hands of the entire affair. The woman didn’t realize that she had been robbed until after she returned home.
The video above is causing quite a stir among porteños who already distrust the police. Nothing new there, considering almost every major city in the world has issues with the way their law enforcement conducts business. But in Argentina, where corruption is the rule of law, it’s no surprise that most police officers behave in such a fashion. It’s common here.
I remember when I was pick-pocketed and discovered that a police officer nearby witnessed the whole thing. He shrugged his shoulders at me, and laughed. I’m hopeful that I will never be the victim of a violent crime in BA, because I’m pretty certain that I couldn’t count on the police to help.
Most people in Buenos Aires, when I told them about my iPod incident, said that I should just be lucky that I wasn’t attacked. Hmmmm….. Sometimes I have to wonder about this place. Porteños are so accustomed to crime that they consider themselves lucky if it wasn’t violent.
I was speaking to my Canadian friend Sabrina this weekend and she told me about a time when she was walking home and a man came up from behind her and pushed her up against the wall and demanded all her money and whatever else was in her pocket. She kicked him in the balls and ran like a bat out of hell. When she entered her house she burst into tears.
My former student Rosario was a victim of crime on three separate occasions. The first was her discovery, upon returning from holiday, that her house had been ransacked. She said that it didn’t bother her so much that she was robbed, but that they completely destroyed her house. The second was when she was visiting her sister in Retiro and two men approached her and demanded that she forfeit her purse. Frightened, she pushed them and ran like mad. And third she returned home to find that her purse had been pick-pocketed while on the train.
We’ve been lucky. There is the unfortunate case of the Frenchman who was approached by two men demanding his camera. When they applied physical force he fought back, only to be fatally stabbed.
In Argentina these episodes are tolerated by locals because they are at the mercy of a corrupt law enforcement and have been for decades. All they can do is laugh. Literally.
Mar 26
I’m blogging a lot because I’m glued to a desk writing articles all day. Today I completed 6 assignments, each requiring intense research because I know little about the topics. But that’s life. When I need a break I write blog posts, or view videos on YouTube.
This evening I had dinner with Ramiro who recently returned from his work-related trip to Dallas and Miami. There’s this take-out place on Cabildo in Capital Federal called La Soberana that he thought I might like. The man who took my order was really nice and tried to speak English with me. I’m always surprised at how proficient Argentines are with the English language.
Anyway, for dinner I ordered bomba de papa y queso, (a rice ball stuffed with potato and cheese):
Bomba de papa y queso
And for dessert I had a delicious slice of budín de pan (bread and milk) with a dollop of dulce de leche:
Budín de pan con dulce de leche
Ramiro ate terrina de verdura stuffed with espinaca:
Terrina de verdura
And for dessert he had a tiramisú doused in rum:
Tiramisú
I devoured my portion in record time. Now I’m listening to the news. I love the ominous music they play with everything. So dramatic. It’s almost worse than CNN or FOX. Almost.
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