Amy’s Thoughts

I have been back in the United States for a while.  In the beginning and for a long time, I believed I didn’t really have much to say about my week in Buenos Aires.  While it was interesting and fun, it paled in comparison to the other weeks in Argentina.

However, having spent the past month working on the curriculum project required by the Fulbright grant (this is the price you have to pay when given a free trip to Latin America — they actually expect you to do some work when you come home!), I have discovered that I do, in fact, have a few things to say about my experiences in Buenos Aires.

Of course, there were the usual experiences that I’m sure everyone who has ever been to Buenos Aires has had — there was the small tango bar where we went to observe “real” people dancing tango; there was the youth hostel with barely functional plumbing and a really disturbing architectural design that made you certain at any moment you would be falling through the floor (or that someone else would be falling through the ceiling and landing on your head); there was the trip to the local soccer stadium; there was the Buquebus (ferry) ride across the Rio de la Plata (a river that was so wide it more resembled the ocean) to Colonia, Uruguay; there was snow our final day in Buenos Aires, snow for the first time in Buenos Aires since 1908, how did we get so lucky? and of course, there was shopping, shopping, shopping. 

Frankly, Buenos Aires seemed to me to be like many other big cities of the world — noisy, corrupted by McDonald’s, extremely busy and easy to get lost in.  I much preferred Salta, Jujuy, Tucuman and Villa Maria.  Somehow the real culture of a place never seems to be found in the largest of its cities, but rather in its smallest towns and in the homes of its people (and it’s always easier to gain access to these homes when away from the big cities).

My one lingering impression from Buenos Aires however, remains the image of the peaceful march of the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo one quiet Thursday afternoon.  I suppose there are many who are unaware of the history of the dirty wars waged throughout Latin America during the 1970s and 1980s.  I do not really want to go into a full history lesson here, particularly because it would become so easy for me to derail into a discussion of our own country’s culpability in these wars.

I will try to restrain myself.

In Argentina’s case, in 1976 a military coup d’etat was waged and won.  What followed was a military dictatorship that maintained its power through torture and murder.  From 1976 to 1983, the military dictatorship waged a “dirty war” against all known and suspected dissidents and subversives.  During this time, thousands of innocent people were disappeared in the middle of the night.  They were taken to detention centers where they were tortured and eventually killed.  Reported casualties range from 10,000 to 30,000.

Many of those disappeared had young children.  Others were pregnant.  These children were disappeared as well, in most cases adopted into the homes of the very people who tortured and murdered their parents.

On April 30, 1977, fourteen women gathered for the first time at the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, in front of the Casa Rosada, or presidential palace.  They marched in protest, demanding their children’s freedom.  This was the first march of what would later become the organization of the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo.  These fourteen women became its founding members.  Of these fourteen women, three were eventually disappeared themselves.

The Madres de la Plaza de Mayo continue to march every Thursday afternoon.  They wear white scarves on their heads, as a symbol of the white dove of peace.  They march in complete silence. 

I suppose the facts speak for themselves.  I have never seen anything so eloquent or heartbreaking as these elderly women marching in complete silence, demanding justice for their lost children, los desaparacidos.

I am humbled by their suffering, their dedication, their unswerving love. 

4 July 2007

10:15 p.m.

Happy 4^th of July!

I spent the morning of the fourth of July traveling by plane from Salta to Buenos Aires, but that’s really the beginning of week four. Week three we spent traveling in some very rural areas of northern Argentina.

We left Villa Maria on Tuesday, June 26th and traveled overnight from the Córdoba province to the Tucuman province. We spent Wednesday traveling through Tucuman. We visited the Quilmes ruins, climbing the most amazing cliff to look out across miles of mountains and the ruins of an ancient civilization.

Thursday was an even more amazing day. We began the day in Cafayete at a local winery, where we taste tested a variety of wines, an experience I am certain others would have found much more enjoyable. Personally, I was more interested in the cat that kept wrapping itself around my legs than the wine everyone else thought was wonderfully light and smooth (whatever the hell that means). I’m sure this does not surprise those of you reading to know that I was more interested in the animals than in the wine. I am assured however, by the wine connoisseurs of our group that this was a most amazing experience (personally, I would have been happier with a giant vat of salsa and a book!)

After happily tasting as many wines as possible, we then proceeded to tour the countryside where we waded through streams and climbed a variety of mountains (all quite drunkenly I am sure). First, we stopped by a riverbed, where we had the amazing idea to remove our shoes and socks and wade through the ice cold water, just to see what the experience would be like. I suppose it wasn’t any different than any other time you would wade through a river in wintertime, but somehow to us, it was amazingly creative and fun. Like all spontaneously stupid ideas, we neglected to consider the consequences of having muddy feet upon exiting the river. As a result, we spent a good ten minutes attempting to remove mud from between our toes and attempting to dry our feet without getting our socks dirty. This was an exercise in futility. Ultimately, we boarded the bus, much muddier yet somehow extremely content. Those who were party-poopers and chose not to participate have no idea how much fun they missed.

After our wading experience, we traveled through the Quebrada de Cafayate. This was a very large canyon system with multi-colored mountains and ridges to climb. First, we visited “El Obelisco” or the obelisk. This was exactly what it sounds like: a giant obelisk that of course we had to climb. It was steep and ended at a point. We climbed and settled ourselves at various points along the way, creating one of those perfect Kodak moments.

After sliding down the obelisk of death, we ventured further into the Quebrada and visited “El Anfiteatro” a point at which the mountains loomed so close together, they created a natural cavern. The result was an amphitheatre with natural-occurring acoustics. We had the opportunity to sit and listen to some local musicians perform a spontaneous concert at the center of this cavern. The sound was incredible.

Finally, we ventured to the “garganta del diablo” or devil’s throat. This was the first time I almost died in Argentina. (For those of you who are unaware, the first time I almost died in Latin America occurred four years ago in Brazil, while river rafting. This was mild in comparison, but the fact remains: I ALMOST DIED.)

Due to the fact that I refuse to allow my lack of athletic ability and coordination to dictate the activities I will participate in, I decided that I would attempt to climb devil’s throat just like all those other crazy people, who actually had athletic ability and coordination. This was a mistake. Everyone knew it, but this did not deter me.

With reckless abandon, I attacked the 75 degree angled slope headed upwards. Amy and up should never be used in the same sentence, especially when rocks are involved, nevertheless, I forged ahead without regard for my own personal safety. I also failed to consider the nerves of steel required by my companions while witnesses to my impending rock-climbing disaster.

I should insert here that this is in fact Latin America, which meant of course that the rock-climbing we were participating in did not involve any form of safety nets or harnesses or special equipment. Rather, the only equipment necessary was a hard head and an unlimited supply of stupidity.

And so I climbed. I will have you know that I did not fall on this climb. Nor did I get stuck. However, I did make use of Sammy getting stuck to delay my eventual climb downwards. Yes, our fearless leader climbed even higher than the dumbest of us would go and promptly got stuck. In his words, “it was a lot easier getting up here.” Thirty minutes later, he had finally climbed down to the point the rest of us had climbed up.

Unbeknownst to me, at the bottom of Devil’s Throat, the majority of the party waited, not worried about Sammy, who had been stuck for thirty minutes, but rather, obsessing about the fact that I had not yet fallen to my death. They waited, with bated breath, cameras perched, searching in vain for that first glimpse of my graceless arrival at the bottom of Devil’s Throat.

Once Sammy was down, this of course meant that the attention was now fully focused upon me and I was of course now required to venture downward. And so, I flung myself forward and slid on my ass straight down that mountain, like the ass-sliding pro I was.

The second time I nearly died in Argentina occurred on the following Monday. The days between my Devil’s Throat experience and the Death Slide experience were relatively uneventful. We attended various outdoor markets, took a couple tours of local towns in Salta and of course took endless pictures of the gorgeous mountain scenery surrounding us everywhere we went. Then, on Monday, we had what I can only refer to as hell day. We arrived in the small town of Iruya on Sunday night. We had traveled lightly, leaving the majority of our luggage in the town of Salta, as Iruya was a mountain town and we were required to walk from the outskirts of town to our hotel where it perched at the very top of the town. This was a straight walk upwards and was not exactly enjoyable, but it was worth it. The hotel was gorgeous and the view from our rooms was absolutely stunning. Monday morning, we got up early and set out for the small town of San Isidro, another small mountain town, set high in the mountains. The only way to arrive at this town was to walk, which is exactly what we did.

We began the walk at the base of the town of Iruya next to a small park. We waited there for the entire group to arrive, and while waiting, became quite enchanted by a slide which appeared to be straight out of a cartoon. It stretched high into the sky, seeming to rival the tallest of mountains, and was a straight shot down. The slide ended with a slight tilt up, set for launching some unsuspecting victim into the atmosphere. Miriam, one of our fearless leaders, decided to climb this slide, but not being the venturous sort, she slid down the slide at approximately 1.2 miles per hour, clinging to the sides and slowly pedaling her way downwards. I of course had to show her the correct way to utilize this marvelous invention.

And so, I climbed the 4000 steps into the sky (okay, it was more like 40, but it seemed terribly high) and after perching at the top of the slide for that perfect Kodak moment, launched myself downwards. I was quite surprised at the speed with which I hurtled downward. I felt like I was in a wind tunnel, I moved so quickly. The ground hurtled toward me at alarming speed, necessitating a shriek of girlish fear.

The best part was my landing. I am told it was worthy of record books. The way it happened was that I landed on my feet. It was absolutely unbelievable that I would land on my feet when moving so quickly, but land on my feet I did. I am told that I literally shot from a sitting position to a standing position and that my entire upper body ricocheted slightly backward from the force of my landing, but that gravity then pulled me forward. For one split second in time, my entire lower body was still, while my upper body swayed backward then forward. Sadly, gravity was a powerful force that jerked my body forward and down, so that approximately 3 seconds after landing on my feet, I landed on my knees with a horrendous thud.

I did end up with a scraped up knee for the adventure, but also with a series of Amy photos that are worthy of awards. I am particularly fond of the shot of me on my knees laughing hysterically.

The third and final time that I nearly died in Argentina was on the hike from hell. As I mentioned, we were staying in the small mountain town of Iruya and were planning to hike to the “nearby” town of San Isidro to visit an elementary school there.

Two and a half hours later we finally arrived in San Isidro. Those hours can only be described as non-stop torture. Two and a half hours hiking up the mountain, following the rocky riverbed of death… whose great idea was this? We crossed the same river at least twelve times (NOT an exaggeration), rock-hopping across the rapids, which of course filled me with memories of flying down a Brazilian waterfall for my very own special rapids experience. Luckily on this trip, my only close encounter with the rapids involved a misplaced foot that landed in two feet of rushing (and freezing cold) water.

The trip up the mountain was nothing less than torture, a test of our endurance, and it was only sheer stubbornness which kept me pressing forward, especially when the group had a tendency to spread out a bit too much, leaving a couple of us alone at key points of the walk. Good hiking rules were not being followed!

Eventually we arrived within sight of the town. This meant that if we looked up, we could see the town sitting at the edge of a cliff, just waiting for us to climb the final 500 feet straight up.

I of course was more inclined to climb into the back of the ambulance sitting in the middle of the path and take a nap. You might be wondering (as I was) what on earth an ambulance was doing on the side of a mountain. Well, if you looked up in the opposite direction of the town, you could see men standing on the edge of the mountain, swinging picks at the mountain because they were building a road. Presumably the ambulance was there so that if one of these road-builders were to fall off the side of the mountain, first aid would be available on scene immediately.

Despite the pressing need to avail myself of first aid, particularly in the form of an oxygen mask, I pressed onward. We walked uphill quite a ways before arriving at “stairs” leading upwards. These stairs were more like a jagged ramp etched out of the edge of the mountain, headed straight upwards, with the steep drop of death at your right, and the side of the mountain stretching upward to the left. And so we inched along the very edge of the mountainside, bracing one hand against the side of the mountain in the hopes that this tactile connection would prevent an unfortunate stumble across the threshold of death.

Finally, finally, we arrived at the town, visited the school, interacted with kids and promptly took a nap on their playground. This sounds as if we did not enjoy our visit in San Isidro. We did, we were simply so exhausted from our climb, we needed a small power nap to recover.

I suppose I should mention that I left San Isidro and Iruya feeling quite amazed at the fortitude of the inhabitants of those towns and the neighboring mountains. Some of the children we met take walks similar to our hike up the mountain every single day in order to attend the school we visited (they of course make these walks in a fraction of the time it took us). Some children literally climb up and down the mountain several times a day, just to receive an education, or to tend crops or for some other mountain business. These people are strong and endure living conditions the likes of which I cannot even imagine. Many of the houses we saw were no more than four feet tall, with three walls and a tarp stretched across the roof for protection from the elements.

After walking two and a half hours to arrive at this school, witnessing these people’s simple lives, then making the return journey (in more like three and a half hours), I am quite simply struck at how fortunate a life I lead and yet, how these people do not even seem to worry that their lives are not what mine are. They are happy, they are living a life upheld by centuries of tradition and they are certainly more entwined and connected to their roots than I will ever be. And yet along my walk, I was disturbed to note the occasional evidence of corruption from the outside world: the two-liter sprite bottle abandoned on a mountain trail (after filling my backpack with several of these, I had to give up the battle and remain content that I had done my small part to clean their mountains) and the woman with a child on her back who was willing to allow us to take a picture of her and her child for a small propina (tip) to name only a few.

Of all of my experiences during this trip, my visit to San Isidro was undoubtedly the most profound and enlightening of them all, the unending climb over rocky terrain included.

And now I am in Buenos Aires, ready to witness the other end of the spectrum of the lives of the Argentines. But that’s a story for another day.

Buen día, amigos!

 Well, I have survived my first week in Argentina and what a week it has been!  I feel like I have been here a month (or more) so much has happened.  First, the trip here was unbelievably long.  We were delayed leaving Kansas City by several hours (due to the threat of thunderstorms) and were concerned we were going to miss our flight to Buenos Aires as a result.  Luckily, the flight to Buenos Aires was also delayed (as we arrived in Atlanta, Georgia a full forty minutes AFTER our international flight was scheduled to depart).  Once we boarded the plane in Atlanta, we waited so long to take off we had to return to the terminal to be refueled.  Then we had the lovely overnight ten hour flight from hell.  Once we arrived in Buenos Aires, we were forced to circle the airport for almost an hour due to fog in the city.  We finally landed, gathered our luggage, went through customs, and immediately caught a bus for a twelve hour trip to the interior of the country.  To give you an idea of how long we had been traveling, I left my house in Kansas City at noon on Thursday afternoon.  We did not arrive in Villa Maria until 10:30 Friday night.  We were utterly and completely exhausted by then.

 My host family greeted me at the bus stop.  They are a family of four – Leticia (or Leti) the mom, Eduardo (or Edu) the dad, Leila who is 12 and Elin who is 9.  I was so excited to be placed in a family with children again (children always make the experience so much more enjoyable) and they are truly a lovely family.  Leticia and Eduardo have gone out of their way to make the most wonderful vegetarian meals for me – they have made the most unbelievable vegetable tartas (the best I can compare them to is a vegetable pie, some like a pot pie and some more like a pizza).  And speaking of pizza, Eduardo has made some incredible vegetable pizzas.  Not to mention the salads and postres (desserts that are absolutely to die for).  I’m eating VERY well here, most definitely better than I eat at home.

The girls are thrilled with the gifts I brought for them – the three Sandra Boynton CD/book collections from Kohl’s.  This is a very musical family, so the gift was very much appreciated.  Leila has already learned the words to one of the songs from Dog Train AND has learned to play it on the piano as well (as the music scores are included at the back of each book).

As for my experiences in Villa Maria, we have been on the go from the day we arrived, visiting schools, speaking with students and teachers, and attending lectures.  All of the schools have welcomed us with open arms, usually offering providing some form of refreshments and often giving us a gift as well.  Today we visited a vocational school (a lecheria where students participate in processing of dairy products) and were given a gift bag with a block of goat cheese and a jar of dulce de leche (a creamy form of chocolate that is found in many of their desserts).

And what is Argentina like you might be asking (seeing as I’m rambling about food and schools, but am not really saying anything of particular interest).  Well, first and foremost, Argentina is currently very COLD.  It seems even colder due to the lack of central heating.  Some of you may be thinking that I’m probably exaggerating since I hate the cold, but trust me, when they said winter, they meant winter.  Luckily, Leticia had an extra winter coat she was able to loan me, because otherwise, I’d be utterly miserable.  Of course, my body is having a riot trying to understand why it went from summer to winter so quickly and I have a terrible cold to go with the wacky change in seasons.

What else can I tell you about my experiences here?  The people here in Villa Maria are by far some of the kindest people I have met anywhere.  When you enter their store or restaurant or business, they are thrilled to greet you.  They welcome you with a kindness that never feels artificial and are willing to spend as much time with you as needed, patiently wading through our sometimes limited Spanish.  I can also say most sincerely that all of the people here on this trip with me are wonderful.  Everyone is so concerned about everyone else, sharing medicine and ideas and clothing so that each person has what he or she needs. 

Of course, things here are not perfect.  Life in Argentina moves along at its own pace.  No one is in a hurry; things happen when they happen.  I’ve visited a local travel agency every day for four days in a row, trying to arrange hostel stays in Buenos Aires and Foz do Iguaço, and each day, after a lovely, meandering conversation about everything we can possibly think of, all of it in Spanish; Mariana tells me that she is still waiting to hear from the hostel in Buenos Aires, is working on arrangements for Iguaço, and should have more information for me the next day.  And so I return the following day, to indulge in another lovely conversation and to receive the same information again. 

It’s impossible to become upset because Mariana is so kind and because she is doing the best she can, waiting on others to respond to her attempts to contact them, etc.  It is quite simply a different pace and in most aspects, it’s very nice not to be rushed and stressed and watching the clock all the time.  On the other hand, when it’s freezing out and all I want to do is buy a warmer pair of socks, but can’t because all the shops are closed for siesta (which lasts four HOURS), I have to wonder which is better – the laidback, relaxed society where I can’t buy a pair of socks to save my life, or the extremely time-conscious society that will have me popping pills for stress before the age of 40 but with a hundred pairs of socks all neatly arranged in my dresser drawers.

I’ve also had to get used to the whole no seatbelt thing again.  I honestly don’t know which is worse – sitting in the front seat of a remis, seatbelt securely fastened but with a bird’s eye view of the insanity of Argentine drivers… or sitting in the backseat where no seatbelts can be found at all, but a little further away from the disaster of a cab driver.  Either way, your life typically flashes before your eyes while you hold on for dear life.

I have almost had a heart attack more than once as our remis barrels through an intersection at top speed (apparently the government of Argentina has decided that stop signs and stop lights are unnecessary expenses and instead chooses to rely on the fast reflexes of its insane citizens).  Indeed, there are very few stop lights to be found anywhere and I have yet to see a stop sign at all.  Most intersections are considered a free-for-all, so as cars approach the intersection, an interesting sort of dance occurs.  Whoever reaches the intersection first gets the dubious pleasure of barreling on through.  Whoever arrives in second place taps the brakes enough to skate through the intersection at a slightly slower speed than that of a rocket, narrowly missing the bumper of the first vehicle.  Individuals riding bikes and motorcycles tend to hurtle through these intersections as well, showing little regard for their own safety.  I have been disturbed on numerous occasions by the sight of a child sandwiched between its parents on the back of a motorcycle (I wouldn’t take a child for a ride on a motorcycle in the middle of the country with only cows around to get in my way, let alone in the middle of an Argentine city populated by kindness and crazy driving).

And let’s just say that pedestrians are taking their lives into their own hands when choosing to cross a street.  In Argentina it might be better to choose a particular turn to make and stick to it (i.e., when leaving the house, take a right and continue taking rights at every intersection, thus negating the necessity to ever cross a street.  Sure you’ll probably end up walking in circles, but it beats getting hit by a car!)

I am certain there is much more to share about my first week in Argentina – like being interviewed by a local newspaper and quite innocently stating that we were here to have fun, and to learn about the culture and history of Argentina.  This seemed an honest statement to me, but divertirnos (to have fun) in Spanish apparently gave the impression that we were party chicas and only here for the quilmes (local beer). 

In any case, it is time to wrap this up as I have a 7:30 a.m. bus to catch headed for Córdoba, and I need to get some sleep before then.  So… let me just end by saying that…

Argentina es de lindo!

Well, I’m afraid this update loses some of its impact now that I’ve returned to the states, but I didn’t exactly have time to write my final missive twice.  I literally used my last 20 minutes at the youth hostel in Rio to type the tale of my final week in Brazil and as a result, after hotmail ate my words of wisdom re week 9, I had no choice but to leave the tale for later reconstruction as I had a plane to catch.  By the way, many thanks to all those sarcastic words of wisdom (no I did not forget something, Nancy, hotmail just hates me and yes, my week was EXTREMELY exciting, thank you very much, Jed).

And so… I will attempt to reconstruct my final week for you, my patient loyal readers, and also for me, since I find it impossible to leave this tale unfinished!

Speaking of Jed, he would be so proud of me (I forgot to mention this in week 8), for I spent one of my final evenings with my family playing the Brazilian version of that game whose name escapes me, but you know the one — it’s a war game, involving lots of armies with the goal being to take over the world.  In any case, I had to keep reminding the apparent cheaters in the family (the father and the 14-year old son) that no, if they wanted to fight with x number of armies, then they had to actually move y number of armies when they won.  I constantly amazed the young boys in the house with my knowledge of “cool” games and (amazingly enough!) music.

But that has nothing to do with week 9.  Week 9 I spent in Rio (and what fun that was!)  For the first part of the week, I toured the city with the other Americans in our group.  We visited Cristo Redentor at the top of a mountain via train and an endless number of steps; trekked across two other mountains on our way to a third (Pao de Acucar) via rikkety, grindy, terrifying slow, cable cars (my mom would have freaked!); ate at a churrasco buffet (the Brazilian version of barbecue where every two minutes a waiter hovered over your shoulder wanting to drop giant slabs of meat on your plate – I kept them away with my newly acquired Brazilian finger – that would be a no-no-no shaking of the finger not whatever the hell else you guys are thinking); spent hours at the beach; visited several ”hippy fairs”; trekked through a botanical garden; visited the soccer stadium (why I ask you); and attended a hideous, tacky, Las Vegas showgirl type show well-known among Rio tourists for its “realistic” portrayal of Brazilian culture and history [scoffs and rolls eyes].

My only regret is that I never did get the chance to leap off that mountain in Rio and hang-glide down to the beaches below.  They kept cancelling our reservation due to inclement weather.  Damn them.  Of course, in retrospect, I think that maybe the inclement weather was actually God shouting from above, “HEY!  Enough risk-taking already, you MORONS!!”

My final three days in Rio I spent at the beach, wandering through Copacabana, enjoying my room at the youth hostel that was so very different from the room of broken pipes, waterfall streaming across the electric control panel and telephone, sprinkling in my face at 4:00 in the morning, nearly electrocuting me as I attempted to turn on the lights and turn off the a/c via the same control panel, unable to see the water that was turning it into a hazardous danger zone… this was the room I stayed in at our “classier” and more expensive group hotel we stayed in for the first half of the week.  My youth hostel was much calmer and had lots more character with a hammock on the balcony, bunk beds in the rooms, hardwood floors, ceiling fans and older architecture.

In any case, that was my final week in Brazil.  For the most part, it was calm with a distinct lack of excitement (mainly because I wasn’t with the group that ended up getting in an argument with a taxi driver — well, I did get in some arguments myself, but I wasn’t there for this particular argument — and were forced to exit the cab in the middle of a bunch of favelas, or shantytowns, with no idea of where they were or how to get where they were going, and ended up getting picked up by mega-scary, machine gun toting military police… they were eventually given a ride to civilization after enduring a lecture about wandering where they didn’t belong and having to hear about the German tourist who was shot not two blocks from where they stood two weeks before… yeah, I’m thinking I was lucky to escape all that excitement!)

And so my experiences in Brazil ended with a 12-hour plane ride home, 4 hour layover in Texas, and a 2 hour flight to K.C.  All in all, it was a great trip, crazy family, river rafting near death experience, cable cars, excessive hours in class, military police and all.

But it’s good to be home too!