Remember handmade?

Hi everybody,

I went to my favorite fair again yesterday (but I approached it from the other side). Not having my life seriously threatened took a little bit of magic out of the arrival, but I still enjoyed it, nonetheless. My big purchase was a handmade drum by a local artisan. He starts from scratch out of a single piece of wood and makes them one at a time. The finished result is as much a piece of art as it is a musical instrument. Of course, it was incredibly affordable, like everything else here. In comparison, my drums back home are machined out of a blend of several woods which creates a perfectly consistant result every time, but sometimes the little imperfections can add a nice feel to the drum, and definately some personality.

I went by the drum maker's studio to pick up my drum and it was just what I'd imagine a drum maker's studio to look like. Wood shavings everywhere, traditional music on the stereo, and a handful of drums in the corner for repair and maintenence. Here's a pic:


The craftsman's name is Ruben, and he was a really nice guy. I have his contact information if anyone's interested.

Now, how am I going to get this home?

M

Next -->

It's been a while

Hi everybody,

As I mentioned last post, I was going to rant for a bit how indigenous
communities like the Guarani in Northwest Argentina need our money and
our sympathy a whole lot less than they need us to stop messing up
their land, but I'm not in the mood, anymore. Besides, you didn't
really want to hear that anyway; you want goofy haircuts and poop jokes, of which I have plenty.

Aside from being in too good of a mood for a "Save the (insert cause
here)" speech, I don't really have much of a direction for this post.
I've just found myself in an internet cafe with plenty of free time.
Shocking, huh? The guy in the booth next to me is smoking, which is
really no surprise in this country. (Well, it looks like you are
going to get a rant, sorry.) I have so few complaints about this
country, but one of them is that everyone smokes a whole lot. Even my
doctor/host dad smokes--talk about culture shock! Outside it's
no big deal, but in restaurants and cafés in can get anoying. They
even allow smoking in discos, where you're already shoulder to
shoulder with everybody else. At last count it was:

Myles's arms: 0
The business end of a lit cigarrette: 8,072 (or so)

Alright, I'm in one of the most amazing cities in the world, and I'm
sitting in an internet café. That's no good. I've got to get out of
here, but I'll talk to you all soon.

Myles

Next -->

The real Jurassic Park

I just got back from a vacation within a vacation to Northeast Argentina (I know, life is tough). It was amazing. The region is covered by a tropical jungle with several rivers flowing throughout, and they all culminate at Iguazu Falls, the most spectacular natural reserve I have ever seen. This posting's going to be a doosie, so get comfortable.

Day 1: Went to school and swiped my attendance card (after all, I had a class to pretend to be at). Because I had to swing by "school" first, I couldn't leave with the rest of my group. Instead, I would meet them at the bus station. Bad move. I took a bus that should have taken half as long as it did, but I left right at rush hour. I got downtown at the exact time that I was supposed to be at the bus station (10 blocks away). I ran my ass off through the cities parks and busy intersections, stopping every few blocks to confuse the hell out of a police officer. Here's a sample conversation:

Me: Huff...Puff...Excuse me, where is Retiro Station? (In English, my thoughts were way scattered)
Cop: Huh?
Me: Oh yeah, I'm in Argentina.
Cop: Huh?
Me: ¿Donde está la estación Retiro?
Cop: Huh?
Me: Con los autobuses, collectivos, micros, whatever you call them here.
Cop: Ah, por alla. (That way)

Repeat 2x

I finally arrived--panting way more than I should have been. My big backpack and heavy hiking shoes took quite a toll. After I found the group, I was told in the ever-so-laid-back Argentine fashion that the bus company had decided to push back the departure time one hour. Oh.

The bus trip was a relatively pleasant 12 hour ride with seats that fully reclined and would have been quite comfortable for a normal-sized person. Sigh.

Day 2: We arrived at our destination around 8am. From here on out, the trip would only become more amazing. We transferred to a private bus that took us to the ruins of an old mission. The colony was set up to convert (read: deal with) the very large native population based in this part of the country. Celebrating the cultural massacre that defined early colonialism isn't exactly my cup of tea, but there's always something cool about walking through the remains of 400 year old buildings. Here's a pic:



We spent the afternoon hanging out at a working farm/yerba mate plant. It was kind of like a very laid back dude ranch. The farm grew citrus, tea trees, and yerba mate--a similar plant that is brewed in its own special way to produce the national drink. It is heated in an oven an shipped to vendors for packaging and marketing. Here's what the "factory" looked like, I wouldn't expect anything less from this place.


Day 3: We spent the day in the Iguazu National Park, and "amazing" doesn't even come close. The morning was spent exploring the jungle and seeing some smaller falls, I took a ton of pictures, here are a few:






We finished up our time in this area by boarding power boats that took us very close to some of the bigger falls. We got ripped around by the current, and soaked by the spray at the base of the falls. Very fun!

The afternoon was spent taking a train to a different part of the park and seeing the big one, La Gargatua del Diablo (throat of the devil). This is a giant hole in the ground that swallows up the water at the meeting point of three large rivers. It's essentially the meeting point of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, and yt's one of the biggest falls in the world. The falls consume 1,000,000 liters every second. Pictures don't even come close, sorry.

Day 4: We spent the morning (after a third night of almost no sleep and an early wake-up) going to a native reservation. Obviously, the population is a tiny fraction of its original number, but the culture still exists as well as it can in our modern world. Until a few years ago, it was closed to the public and was a true cultural preserve, but the growth of tourism chased out many of the large animals that the tribe ate, so they needed to find another way to feed themselves. They are now supported by the very tourists that once threatened their existencence. How ironic. Of course, I have many thoughts on the subject, but this posting's already long enough! I'll post again after I get some sleep!

Talk to you soon,
Myles

Next -->

Mr. Stone goes to Gino's

I know that I just posted yesterday, but this one's just too good to put off.

So, my hair was getting a little fro-y, and I thought it was about time for a cut. I asked my host sister where I should go and she recommended a place called Gino Lozani's a few blocks away. I wandered around for a bit and eventually found the place (it's in a really nice building; I felt my wallet shudder). I asked if they had time to cut me, and they did, so I sat down. A couple of minutes later, they took me back to get washed. I'm told that Gino himself is going to cut my hair. What an honor. After the washing, I sat down and waited for him at his cubicle. Eventually, an upstairs door swung open and the whole place went silent (I swear). This old guy came strolling down the stairs into the salon, and half the place ran over there to give him a kiss (it's how they say hi, no big deal), and he comes over to me.

Now for some necessary background: Buenos Aires--especially my part of it--is very fashion conscious. Everyone dresses in the latest eurotrends, has all the right accessories, etc. So the haircut is an almost religious affair.

Back to the cut. So Gino came strutting over with his tool belt of scissors, looked me over thoroughly, and without one word said, started going to town on my hair. There's a cloud of brown fuzz all around and I could barely see Gino's hands. So much for a little off the top. Gino ever so bluntly tells me that he's going to trim my unibrow, and I say ok. This was the first time that he had heard me talk, and he instantly picked up on my accent. He said, "You're not from Argentina?" (in Spanish, of course), and I was so happy that I had fooled him thusfar, that I could barely answer. I say, "No, I live in California". He acknowledged, and not another word from Gino. He finished up, and sent me to get another shampoo. Needless to say, I'm rocking some high, high fashion at the moment.

How much did my adventure in salonland cost me? $10, including tip. I love this place.

M

Next -->

Family ties

Hi all,

Last night was my host brother's graduation from med school. Aside from inspiring me to continue on that track, I had another insight into the lives of the Argentines. In fact, everytime I visit a Latin American country (look at me talk like I'm Carmen Sandiego, I've lived in two)! I see the same idea, family is everything. I talked about my host sister's b-day, and the graduation was the same way. It started out with the father of each student (and sometimes mother, husband or wife) giving the diploma, not some generic administrator. That of course inspired a few more tears. Interesting side bar: one of the graduating students was Brasillian, and her family proved that the counrty's reputation as being rowdy is well deserved. When her name was read, about thirty people jumped up waving Brasillian flags, blowing air horns, and cheering for at least a minute, it was hilarious.

After the ceremony, family and friends piled into our house for a late night of socializing and congratulating. I, of course, had nothing to wake up for, but the rest of these people actually work! Most people had to get up around 7-8, but still stayed until at least 2, nonetheless.

Maybe I notice this country's family mentality because of my own guilt. After all, I'm always so quick to pack up and travel, go away to school, etc. So family, if you're reading this, I love you, but there's no way I'm moving back in!

I should use this opportunity to introduce you to my other family:


Left to right: Belén, a cousin, Lorena, Graciela, Carlos, Rodrigo. Behind Belén is Lorena's boyfriend.

While I have your attention, I might as well concede that my classes could actually be a little tough. Well, at least not the vaction with books that I had previously implied. I just finished my second week of classes, and while the subject matter isn't quite molecular biology, I was surprised to see about half my classmates coming from Spanish speaking countries, and the teachers treat it as such. They speak so fast, but at least it's making my Spanish much better.

Talk to you soon,
Myles

Next -->

What a weekend!

Hi everybody,

Sorry about the absence, but as the title implies, I've been pretty busy. On friday night, I saw the Argentine adaptation of "The Producers", La Primavera Para Hitler, if you know what I mean. Even though I didn't understand most of the dialogue, I had a great time. I know the story, so I could follow along in the same way that you would an opera.

Yesterday was spent in a small suburb of B.A., called Tigre. It has a large market and a huge residential area only accessible by boat. There's a big river network in the area, and it's impractical to build roads, so the people who live there kayak or row to their cars every time they want to go out! It was kind of like a poor man's Venice.

Today I just got back from a very cool traditional market on the fringe of the city. Getting there was quite an adventure, though. I went with another exchange student, so of course neither one of us had any idea where we were going. We had to change trains a few times before we even found ourselves in the right area code. The end of the train line was in a rough neighboorhood, as in the kind that only Latin America can produce. At that point, even Compton was looking mightly hospitable. A nice couple asked my friend and I if we were lost (what gave it away, the map or the skin), and proceeded to lead us in the direction of where we could find a cab (or so I prayed). They took us to an abandoned building, the type that has you wondering if you saw that exact one on Dateline last week. The place turned out to be some type of fly-by-night taxi depot. The one woman at the one desk got on the CB and radioed a taxi (although, I could have sworn she said "fresh meat"). We got in the car (dumb, I know, but our choices were pretty limited). The driver ended up being a very friendly out of work architect (not uncommon in post-crash Argentina). Although, I did soil my pants just a little bit when he showed us the gun necessary for driving in that part of town. We eventually pulled up to the market, and it's a good thing we didn't wander around by ourselves, since our driver pointed out a few slum villages along the way in which "They'll kill you for your shoes." No joke. This, of course, as we're riding in the back of a sputtering '77 Peugeot that I pray has at least a few more miles in it.

Needless to say, I'm pretty tired tonight, so I think a friend and I are going to go see Charlie y la Fabrica de Chocolate, should be pretty fun.

Talk to you all soon,
Myles

Next -->

Some long overdue pictures

Hi everybody, here are a few pics of where I'm living. Now that I'm all settled, I'll start playing the tourist.


This one's obviously my bedroom, note the "bed" in the corner. I must be the tallest person in the country.



This one's the living room. The house I'm staying in is a 3rd story loft in a very nice residential part of town.



My building:



A shot of my neighborhood, there's a cafe or two on every block.



Another neighborhood cafe, this one has the best ice cream I've ever had in all my travels, including Italy. I'm not alone, this place is packed from morning til morning (see last posting).

Next -->