Iguazu

Trae (whom I bet a couple of weeks ago in Buenos Aires) and I visited Iguazu Falls on Monday. The park was amazingly beautiful, sublime even, the falls took my breath away, beats the shit out of Niagara, I finally saw toucans (those beautiful, colourful, big-beaked birds that I thought I´d see all through Central America, but didn´t) and falcons and two other species of bird I couldn´t identify and raccoon-like things called coaties and psychedelic butterflies and a tailess bunny-type rodent that was cute as could be. Trae and I had so much fun!

Chasing Che

Rosario, Argentina, was Ernesto ¨Che¨ Guevara´s birthplace. I visited the home he grew up in (well, I sort of stood outside the apartment but couldn´t tell which one was his), visited the Plaza de Cooperacion, and found the bronze Che statue that was made out of 7500 keys.

In lieu of posting photos of my Che chase, I am presenting pics of political graffiti from around Rosario.



























HELL YEAH

RADIOHEAD, memoria, verdad, justicia

March 24th is Dia de la Memoria por la Verdad y la Justicia, a national holiday in Argentina to remember, and oppose, Jorge Rafael Videla's military dictatorship from 1976 to 1983. The streets of Buenos Aires were alive with a youthful, hopeful energy that day, as cafes, restaurants and streetfairs filled with people milling, chilling and drinking mate on their day off.

This tame enjoyment proved a stark contrast to the chaotic energy that circulated through the Club Ciudad de Buenos Aires later that evening. I arrived at the open-air concert venue around 5:00 with Kristian, Molly, Chris, and Kyle* for the Radiohead/Kraftwerk concert, eager as hell to experience my fifth Radiohead show (and second one in 7 months!). Anyone who knows me knows how much I love Radiohead; they´re my favourite band, they externalize - in sound - the way I feel about pretty much everything, and I love that they´ve been together for 15 years and are still writing perfect songs that feel so good to listen to while doing pretty much anything: thinking, gardening, cooking, partying, loving, dancing, agitating, creating. I love love love them. I was really excited to share Kristian, Chris and Molly´s first live Radiohead experience, which, in my opinion, is nothing short of spiritual.

The show was phenomenal, of course. They played for 2+ hours, did 3 encores, played Kid A (the song, not the album), which is THE most beautiful song I have ever heard live, and sounds so different from the album version. It was all the awesomeness I´ve ever experienced at a Radiohead show, but with some serious Argentine hooliganism thrown in.

While Kraftwerk - a kitschy, electro-minimalist German band that revolutionized electronic music in the 1970s and 80s - were playing, people started pushing. Pushing real hard. Before long, there was a crowd within the crowd getting all riled, pushing and shoving people forward where there seemed nowhere to go. Since I was starting to get my Kraftwerk dance on, this really pissed me off. There are a few things I absolutely have no patience for, and one of them is outright inconsideration for the safety and well-being of others. Before long, I was swearing at some of the pushers (who were actually really hard to distinguish from the pushees since, at this point, everyone was pushing everyone around them just to stay afloat), giving them my erin death-glare and generally hating on Argentines.

When Radiohead started playing, it became even more chaotic. Because I am the world´s biggest Radiohead fan, I wanted to be as close to Thom and Jonny and Colin and Ed and Phil as possible. So I let myself be pushed forward, hoping that I would end up closer to the band than I´d ever been, inside the music if possible (or at least able to see my boys do their awesome thing up close and personal).

Entonces, NO. The band started out their set with 15 steps, the first song on In Rainbows, and I spent the better part of that song fighting to stay on my feet, gettin´ sweaty as hell, gettin´ covered in my sweat and the sweat and stink of hundreds of reckless Argentine man-boys. I was especially worred about Molly, whom I couldn´t see anymore (I´d become separated from the rest of my posse), because she´s really tiny and petite people have a particular kind of trouble in moshpits. Getting trampled at shows is a common phenomenon, and I didn´t want anyone getting hurt. After my earring got ripped out and my flipflops disappeared into the sea of surging bodies, I started pushing my way out of the pushfest, towards calmer grounds.

I eventually made my way out of the worst of the mosh-madness, and had to settle on only a so-so view of the band. But then I had to deal with people (mostly man-boys again) chanting what I assumed is a futbol chant. Argentines are superserious futbol fanatics, and I think that some of that fanaticism got transplanted to the Radiohead concert. I yelled real loud in Spanish for everyone to listen, cause they weren´t listening, and isn´t that the point of a concert, to actually HEAR the music, HEAR the band do their magic?

Things eventually settled down a bit more, and I got my revenge by busting out my crazy dance moves that only seem to really come out of me while I´m experiencing my favourite bands play live. It was hella fun, and I even enjoyed the barefoot walk home.



*I met Norwegian-Canadian Kristian about a week into my Buenos Aires trip at a deserted late-night shindig, and then met Molly, who´s from the Yukon, and Chris, who´s from Vancouver, through Kristian. They´re all really cool and we´ve become fast friends.

culture vulture

Since I've been in Buenos Aires, I've visited at least a dozen galleries and museums: the MALBA (Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires), BOCANO, Centro Cultural Recoleta, Centro Cultural San Telmo, Palais de Glace, Museo de Arte Popular de Jose Hernandez, Museo Historico Nacional, and a smattering of independent galleries in Palermo, Recoleta, and San Telmo. Here are some of my favourite pieces from the MALBA, which I visited twice:



Tarsila do Amaral, Abaporu, 1928 (Brazil)



Frida Kahlo, Self-Portrait with Monkey and Parrot, 1942 (Mexico)










Antonio Berni, Manifestacion, 1934 (Argentina)



Fernando Botero, Los viudos (The Widowers), 1968 (Colombia)









Maria Teresa Ponce, KM 485 (from Oleoducto/Oil Pipeline Series), 2006 (Equador)

Check out Ponce's website, which showcases her photography and installations. In addition to the Oleoducto series, I really like Deshabitados, a series of photographs depicting drug users that was mounted in an abandoned hospital in Quito, Equador.

International Women's Day

I celebrated International Women's Day on March 9th by taking a bike tour through San Telmo and La Boca, two Buenos Aires barrios just south of the downtown core. San Telmo is dominated by tango, antique shops, carnicerias (Argentines love them some meat), cute little cafes, and the sunday artisan market. La Boca is a colourful (literally) working-class neighbourhood, the centre of which seems overrun by tourists.

La Boca:


in the San Telmo market:




sipping my first mate:


some cheesy, uninspired tourist tango


After I finished my bike tour and wandered through the market, I stepped into a clothing store. The (male) clerk handed me a rose and wished me a Happy International Women's Day.

Later on, as I was wandering around San Telmo in search of vegan food, a man stopped me to wish me a Happy International Women's Day, kiss me on the cheek, and offer to buy me a beer. His name was Maximillion, and I told him that if he could find me vegan food, he could buy me a beer. We ended up eating falafel, drinking red wine, and speaking in some seriously confusing Spanglish for many hours thereafter.

Maximillion:


A note on Latin American machismo and patriarchal Canadian indifference: in Canada, I have only ever been wished a Happy International Women's day by comrades; men who are academics, Marxists or anarchists who have some appreciation for feminist history and culture. I remember walking into work last year on International Women's Day and wishing everyone a happy happy and people looking confused and not knowing what the day was, or that it existed. Latin America may be machismo as hell, but at least the men here know what's going on. Somewhat.

During my bike tour, we stopped off at Puerto Madero to see Santiago Calatrava's Puente de la Mujer, a contemporary urban sculpture that's supposed to represent (albeit abstractly) a woman in the throes of tango.



We also checked out Ruven Afanador's photo exhibition, Mil Besos, on the docks. His photos are lovely pieces that celebrate womanist energy:

Argentine Amor

A series of emails/love letters I've received since I arrived in Buenos Aires:

Me robaste..., Carlos Alberto Valiente

Cuando duermo, me robas los sueños,
y al despertar me robas las horas,
cuando camino, me robas los pasos
cuando respiro, me robas el aliento,
cuando pienso, me robas el pensamiento,
cuando lloro, me robas las lagrimas,
lo unico que no puedes robarme
es el corazon..!
porque me lo robaste, hace mucho tiempo...-


EL PRINCIPE VALIENTE



Vestido de otoño, trepare a una mariposa azul,
para alcanzar tus sueños...

---------------------------------

Hi Erin,

I'm Alejo, we were talking together friday night at Los Cardones.

I really enjoyed the conversation we had and I realized that you are a very interesting girl.

I will send you another email soon inviting you to go out some night; do you agree?

So tell me what kind of program you prefer to do (going to drink something, to have dinner, to dance, to know a specific place you want to know, etc).

I'll be waiting for your answer.

I'm glad to have met you!

Alejo


Alejo Gabriel Larralde, MBA
Cel# (011) 15.6161.1034
Buenos Aires - Argentina

----------------------------------

My friend will be translating for me all I want to say to you, I could write it in spanish and I know you would understand, but I prefer it to do it this way...

First of all, I didnt write you sooner since I just met with my friend. Please dont think that I do this kind of things everyday. (Probably you would think it that way). Ill be honest with you, I really like you (I think that by what I did it shows it a little).

I would really like to see you so I can get to know you better (eventhough it would be hard for both with the language barier it I still want to try ;) to see if this can work out. Its hard that you will bealive me, but how can I explain that when you got close to the car I realized how much I liked your pretty eyes, voice and lips. Sounds crazy I know, but you caused all this. I would like to see you Thursday or Friday, whenever suits you better.

Here I leave my cel phone number. 1559458557

Goodbye Erine (I hope this is the correct way of spelling your name)


Santiago.

---------------------------

Hola Erin,
Como estas? espero que bien, seguis por Buenos Aires todavia o no?
Soy Heri, nos conocimos en Los Cardones no se te acordas.
Bueno espero que andes bien,
Besos

--
Heri

---------------------------

my favourites: "what kind of program you prefer to do," "Sounds crazy I know, but you caused all this."

I also received a grade 2-style Valentine's card with cartoon hearts and puppies. Seriously.

After my visit to the Recoleta Cemetery last week, a man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket as I walked by him. It had his name and phone number on it!

Buenos Aires

I arrived in Buenos Aires early in the morning after nearly a full day of travel. I was exhausted and stinky. I took a bus into the city and then a cab to my hostel in Palermo, one of the barrios in Buenos Aires. I reserved myself a private room for my first night in Buenos Aires, since I knew I´d be exhausted after travelling for so long. I had a shower, took a sleeping pill and slept for 5 hours. I explored a bit of the the area, bought some underwear and some snacks, found vegan pizza (vegan pizza! for 6 pesos!), then returned to my hostel and watched Hilary and Jackie, a really awesome film with Emily Watson and Rachel Griffiths (Brenda from Six Feet Under) that I hadn´t seen since it came out when I was 16.

Friday morning, I packed up all my stuff and headed to a nearby cafe for my free breakfast (included in the price of the hostel) of two croissants and tea. I asked my waiter how to get to HI Hostel Suites Palermo, the hostel I´d be staying in for the rest of my time in Buenos Aires. He must have given me wonk directions (unintentionally, of course, cause he was so cute) because it took me nearly an hour to walk there with all my shit. On my way, I was stopped by a group of construction workers, who took pictures of me with their cell phones. After checking into my hostel, which is in a really beautiful old building in Palermo Soho, I wandered over to Krishna, a nearby vegetarian restaurant. After lunch, I felt so tired I almost started crying til I wandered into a clothing store and blew three days´ budget on a red 80s-style jacket and a slouchy multicoloured knit vest that relentlessly sreamed my name as I skulked by it. I felt guilty for even being in a clothing store, but the guilt didn´t stop me from buying; I´m a fashion hound, and I haven´t bought new clothes since October.

Argentines know what time it is. They dress well, eat well, and know how to have a good time. I´m blown away by their beauty, charm and style. I´ve never seen such a heavy concentration of beautiful people in one place (Toronto´s a beautiful city, I talk about that all the time with David, but Buenos Aires blows Toronto out of the water). The women are GORGEOUS. And there´s something really beautiful about the way Argentines carry themselves, the way they move through the world; there´s the stereotypical melancholy, which is actually quite tangible, and, I think, adds to the physical beauty they´ve been blessed with. There´s also a confidence, a strength, an intelligence that's heightened by that current of sadness that runs through the streets of Buenos Aires.

That night, I drank a delicious bottle of wine that I paid $4 for in a supermarket, and then went out to a bar called Los Cardones with a Dutch couple. The three of us were initially going to another bar to drink with some of the people from our hostel, but we couldn´t resist Los Cardones when we walked by it. There was an awesome Argentine band playing, and, because we were the only non-locals in there, people were really curious about us. Everyone was really friendly, and the Argentine men were smitten with Molina and I; three different guys bought me roses! We were invited to drink with a polo player and his friends, who were singing and playing guitar. It was the funnest night ever!

I had a hard time sleeping Friday night, so Saturday I still felt exhausted and a little hungover from the previous night´s festivities. I decided to explore the Botanical Gardens in Palermo, as well as the Evita Museum. Cats everywhere, fighting or fucking in the botanical gardens, lounging past noon and the discovery of cacti, Argentine cacti, African cacti.

Laying over in Lima

The Interzone

I spent nearly 7 hours at the airport in Lima, Peru, before catching my connecting flight to Buenos Aires. Airports are strange places, in between places, nonplaces, really. I was a bit worried about how I would occupy all that time, but just getting a glimpse of Peru from the airport (albeit a heavily commercialized, touristy, gifty version of it) was sort of cool. The airport gift shops were full of beautiful jewellery, Peruvian recipe books, novels, chocolate. Since I´m in the interzone (a nonplace), I decided to spend some non-money and buy Edward Galleano´s Open Veins, a book of Latin American history that I couldn´t find in Toronto.

The Interzone - 6:20

I´m starving, sleepy and freezing in the interzone. I´ve noticed that being overtired sends my body temperature plummeting, and it´s been 4 days since I´ve had a proper sleep. The last week, Davey and I seemed to rush from city to city to lake to island as we discovered Nicaragua´s immense beauty.

I got drunk on Flor de Caña Saturday night in Merida, Isla de Ometepe. It was a surprise, fun drunk, and hit me hard after only a couple of shots. We´d spent the day travelling from Granada to Rivas to San Jorge by bus, and then took the ferry to Ometepe, and then spent 3 1/2 hours on a bus from Moyagalpe, where the ferry lands, to Merida, where we planned to spend a couple of nights.

6:40, still interzoning

mmmmmmm. Peruvian ceviche. Sole marinated in lime juice with red onions, lettuce, corn and sweet potato. And a red jalapeno pepper that I mistake for a sweet bell pepper. Big bite, that hot piquante rush, pepper gets spit into a napkin though I'm sweetly satisfied. I switch to dipping fish in pepper, small bites to avoid the seeds.
7:10

an arrival. where are they from? many of them look gringo.

7:45

i think they´re french, they sound french.

Nicaragua

David and travelled through Nicaragua together from February 19th to March 3rd. Here are some impressions of our time together in what is, in my opinion, the most beautiful country in Central America:

Managua - February 19-20

a long tired ride from Tegucigalpa to Managua, a surprise encounter an airport saviour, our mirror-image doppelgangers, sexy strangers with the same story, a Nicaraguan Dali, lovers loving a late valentines, vino simulcast and a putasnack dinner at the Nicaragua Guesthouse, residential Managua graffiti a gangster gifting Sandino riffing and a Marley beast keeping the streets alive, a morning meander and couta´s cash cow at the armed mall, a city of school children in white and blue uniforms, joyous cab ride joyous flight

Little Corn Island - February 20-25

small plane stopover in the bluefields of Vietnam, ferry ride from hell turned amusement park ride and wet wet wet from head to toe, salty petrol eyes wave, turn off engine, water whip wave hit it like Ahab

david´s first paradise, our caribbean oceanswept cabana of eclectic ensueño charm, a cockroach cabana, a spider above my head, the very best coconut bread we be eatin´ by the loaf, windy beach on the powerless northend rising tide receding beach seaweed beachmat and a sunchase, a struggle to find the sun to catch it from the clouds to settle on sand free of flies and that deceptive caribbean breeze

the feel of a deserted island, the feel of grassy little hills beyond the sand and homes built from sea detritus, leftovers from pirate days, coco palms candles and a romantic quirky sway a snorkel scare, a burnt davey (burnt back burnt feet burnt scalp), wine days rum days 2-day novelfest, beach sunsets, seafood cocktails, Toñas, photo battles, nightime aliencrab dog-licked, flashlit, pincers out and heading to the ocean in stressed confusion

casa iguana´s best view on the island, beach lolling, sun spots hot sauce sun hikes gekho gazing lovemaking translating and davey´s chaotic bag. Habana libre, my full fish dinner: head bone eyehole tail, friendly creole locals, our drunk cook and a breakfast delayed til the rooster crow morning comes

Granada and Masaya - February 26-28

colonial charm, tourist strip dinner mad, dog beggars child beggars a late bill a davey unimpressed, Masaya folk dinner, dancing piña coladas, lago de apoyo drunk party boys chatting up davey as i hammock languish, premenstrual, or pregnant, planning an Argentine abortion in the most beautiful place on earth

Ometepe - March 1-3

the flow, the cataract hike, shelly and mike, oranges and avocadoes from the gods, cows! blood sugar dip and suddenly i´m 85, no energy, dry fruit a narrowly escaped rockfall fela from oregon, early bus no bus cab breakdown hitched ride and a chance discovery of magic eye

After Ometepe, David and I spent one night in San Juan Del Sur. The following morning, we took a cab to the border so that we could cross into Costa Rica and take an onward bus to San Jose.

After we parted at the airport, I cried.