I can’t help but look around this green earth and thank heavens I’m alive. The world is a magnificently beautiful creature, one that demands attention and respect. This weekend we drove to Balsam Lake and spent quality time with the McCallum’s. The weather was excruciatingly beautiful without a cloud in the sky. A couple of mornings I awoke before the rest of the crew and captured some photographs to document the physical evidence of the tremendous radiance of the Balsam landscape. Good company never hurts, so Lisa accompanied us and entertained with her warm sense of humour. With good food, great conversation and amazing temperatures, I can confidently say we all had an experience to remember.
I spent the afternoon and evening with my good friend Alex. It was heaven. We watched Miss Conception’s performance at Woody’s while enjoying a few pitchers of beer. The best Sunday. Ever.
I love Alisha. She is one of my best friends and possibly the smartest, most interesting and funny person I know. We met almost 15 years ago in our first year of university. The first think I ever said to her was to ask if she was in second year, and she in return told me that she liked my braces. We’ve gone through a lot together in the years since, and she’s like my family. Last night we met up for a few beers at Woody’s in the village. It was fun. And when I say fun I mean drunk.
I met Heather, Lori and Allyson when I worked as a communications specialist for two years at Bridgepoint Health. They have remained some of my best friends since. Lori and I can’t keep our big mouths shut while Heather and Allyson are kind and more demure. To put it bluntly, never trust Lori and I to keep your secrets.We hung out on Friday night and as usual, had a wonderful time. These bitches be crazy.
Lisa, Keith and I went to see Perfume Genius perform at The Drake Hotel on Queen St. West this evening. He has a remarkably soulful voice and is a skilled pianist. We were in heaven.
My work came back from class
With notes attached
Of a place and time
Or how my body kept him up at night
He let me smoke weed in his truck
If I could convince him I loved him enough
Enough, enough, enough, ‘nough
He made me a tape of Joy Division
He told there was a part of him missing
When I was sixteen
He jumped off a building
Mr Petersen
I know you weren’t ready to go
I hope there’s room for you up above
Or down below.
Before Perfume Genius’ concert this evening Keith and I sat and enjoyed a few beers at The Beaconsfield. I propped my camera by the window and captured a few minutes of life on Queen St. W. Afterwards we met Lisa at The Drake and listened to beautiful music.
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
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.
