Another day in Buenos Aires

Well, I'm up way too late, but I've prepaid another hour at the internet café, and I'd hate to waste it. Lucky you.

I've been collecting a few of my photos that represent Buenos Aires life pretty well. [At this point, I'm tempted to say something cheezy about how the pictures are necessary, since there really is no way to convey the city's spirit through words. But that's lame, and it actually isn't too hard to do: it's a dirty Paris.]

I've mentioned that Argentina had a big European immigration boom a couple hundred years ago, and then proceeded to become one of the world's 10 richest countries. A position that it held until about 50 years ago. (It's ok that you didn't know that, there's no movie about it, yet.) So, all that money and a heavy French accent contributed to the development of a full blooded Eurotown. The famous (to anyone outside the USA) Teatro Colón is a good testament to that; it was the biggest theater in the Southern Hemishphere until the Sydney opera house was built. However, after the boom, Argentina suffered through a series of seriously crappy governments. You might remember Madonna as Evita Peron, she was the wife of the last decent president. But after him, Argentina made the Middle East look stable. There was even a period where the country went through five presidents in two weeks. As a result of this grown up version of musical chairs (and a few decades of military dictatorships), many Argentine landmarks were left to crumble. This is shown very well by the National Congress building. At first glance, it looks pretty majestic, but click on the photo and look at the zoomed in version; it's covered with graffiti.


Modern Buenos Aires has picked and chosen which European roots that it wanted to revive, and one of them is it's fashion sensibility. Every top international designer has a store here, and the domestic duds can be even more expensive. Accessories are also important, and none of them are as crucial as the dog. It seems that everyone in the city has one. But of course, they put their own twist on it. The porteños (that's a less-clunky way of saying Buenos Airesans) buy the dogs at their cutest, brightest-eyed phase, and then seem shocked when they grow up and start taking grown up-sized dumps. This is when the pups get relegated to the back porch, but don't feel too bad for them just yet. The majority of them are given to professional dog walkers a few times a week to go on little tours of the city. With a little addition of Buenos Aires charm, these collective romps are turned into roving shit machines. Watch your step. Really.


The dog walkers are a good example of Argentina's under-employed. A lack of social security prevents anyone from being truly unemployed. So the people take up casual labor, such as the employees of this fruit stand outside a large grocery store. It gets the job done, but a stable government really would go quite a long way for these people.


This is Avenida 9 de Julio, the World's largest boulevard. All I have to say about this is that if you want to cross it on foot, you'd better have balls the size of watermelons, and about an hour and a half. Good luck.


Well, with my money going to good use, I feel like I can duly retire. It must have been the time of night that brought out this mildly-bitter, bitingly-sarcastic, hyphenation-employing tone, but the truth is that I really do love this place, and my next posting will show you why.

M

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The open road beckons

Hi everybody,

Sorry about the absence, but I had a ten page paper due (in tango, of all classes), and I felt bad doing anything at a computer besides working on it. I know, I was surprised, too.

Well, first things first, I have oficially ended my quest for immigration papers. I woke up way too early today to go down to the new immigration office, which was surprisingly close to the first, not surpisingly far from the second. I walked up to the lineless building and saw one couple being told to return that afternoon. Oh man. Surprisingly, I was let in, although it seemed like we needed the same thing. I'm done thinking logically. I walked almost straight to the counter and proceed with the usual vomiting of relevant papers, hoping the clerk knows more than me; he seemed to. He asked what country I was from, so I made the foolish mistake of getting excited. He then took out a scrap of paper and started scribling something down. My ID? After all this, I wouldn't be surprised. He finished and handed me the paper and told me that the date on it was the day that people from my country could come in for processing. It said December 1st, 2005 11am (my return flight is on November 30). Unbelievable. I couldn't have made up a better ending. So I asked the guy if there was some alternative, since I'm leaving the day prior. He asked me when I was returning and and I told him that this was a flight home, and I don't have another trip planned. He seemed amused and asked me why I was trying to get my papers if I was leaving so soon. I had absolutly nothing to say.

Ok, on to happier news. I spent Saturday in a small colonial port town in Uruguay. The town is appropriatly named Colonia and has some of the oldest remaining euro-buildings. It was cute and quaint, but I was about 50 years too young to really apreciate it. Instead, I rented a moped and cruised along the coast and to the interior fmarland. I've never felt so cool in my life.



When I rented the bikes, there were some for $10 and others for $15. The more expensive ones had electronic ignition, but I couldn't imagine why I would want that! Oops. I think I stopped about twice all day, each time so pissed that I'd have to give up another 20 minutes to get the thing going again. When running, though, they were actually quick little suckers. A quick flick of the wrist, and they were up to 45-50 km/h (about 30 mph). If anyone's near my mom, please pick her up off the floor. Yes it was dangerous, but the town was pretty. The only traffic was other tourists just as excited as me live out those Harley fantasies.

Ok, I'm off to bed, but I've got a few more posts in the pipeline, so check back soon.

M

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The Interlochen of the South

If Buenos Aires is the Paris of the South, as it's often referred to, it's not too hard to think of what to call Bariloche. Sitting atop the Andes mountains just east of the border with Chile lies one of Argentina's most popular winter retreats. I would have joined the masses on the world class ski slopes had I possessed just an ounce of talent or coordination, but I'm a bit young to become one with a Pine tree. As such, I spent most of my time hiking the spectacular trails in search of my testicles. It turns out than they were, in fact, nestled somewhere in between by stomach and liver, but the scenery was well worth the scare.

The bus ride was a mere 24 hours, broken up in to about a hundred 20 minute segments. The ride was punctuated by so many pick ups and drop offs that sleeping was nearly impossible, but at least I had plenty of time to think of how bad I had to go to the bathroom. Apparently, I'm expected to drop the goods into a filthy plastic bowl at 60 miles an hour with no tp in sight. I don't think so.

All jokes aside, the place was amazing. The region is called the lake district, and for good reason. A quick look around makes this very clear. I met a couple of friends there, and we walked around the Swiss village that is downtown Bariloche, and found a nice little hostel a few blocks away from the main square. We spent the day walking around stopping for chocolate every block or two.

The next day was spent hiking the trails around Llau Llau, one of the most famous resorts in Argentina. I didn't want to waste the my disk space with a picture, but I highly recommend that you google it.

After a night hanging out with the Argentines in out hostel, we pulled ourselves out of bed for a trip to the famous Black Glacier. Despite it's extremely alluring name, the place ended up being no more than dirty ice. The scenery along the way was well worth the trip, though. Here are some highlights:




That about does it for me, I've got "homework" to do, but I've got a lot of cool side trips planned for the next few weekends, so I might actually have something more interesting than visas to write about! Talk to you soon.

M

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I'm still here!

Hi all,

Sorry about the absence, I've been up in the Andes mountains. Although computers weren't impossible to find, free time was. I'm working on an update that will tell all about the trip (it was amazing), but this computer is having a hard time with the photos, and it should be clear by now that my words alone can't carry a post.

In the meantime, I thought I'd start a group email to tell you all when there is a new posting. It's something I should have done a long time ago, but I guess it's better late than never. If you'd like me to send you a note when I put up a new post to the blog, send me an email at myles9%gmail*com. If you were referred by someone and I don't know know you, don't be shy, I'm just glad to have you following along. Obviously replace the % with a @ and the * with a dot. I switched the symbols so that I don't get picked up by the spambots, although I wouldn't mind taking them up on a few of their offers. But something tells me it's not really Penelope Cruz...

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Visa woes

Hi all,

I woke up at 8:00 today (yes, that's 8am, believe it or not) to take care of what should have been the last step in my visa paperwork. But because of the never ending bureaucracy-fest that is Argentine government, I'm no closer that I was when I went to bed about 6 hours prior. To fully convey the humor of my morning, I have to back the story up a bit. If you already know the beginnings, my apologies. It's going to be a long one.

In the interest of time, I won't go into too much detail about all the types of visas, but there is a tourist one given automatically upon entry that expires too soon, and a student one that requires my school have an exchange agreement with an Argentine school, which it doesn't. The one remaining option was to gather a ton of my papers and get the permanent resident visa (in the US, it's called a green card). The trials of climbing the bureaucracy ladders in three states to secure all the required documents is a story in itself, but you'll just have to believe me, it wasn't easy.

With forms in hand, I proceeded to the Argentine embassy in Los Angeles without calling beforehand. Of course, they close at noon, they're on Argentine time. And thus begins my love affair with Latin American bureaucracy. Second trip: An hour long wait just to find out that I'm missing a form. This particular form was never brought to my attention on any literature about obtaining visas (this theme will continue). With a month remaining before my trip, I left a self-addressed FedEx envelope (and all my papers, including my passport) at the embassy telling them that I will send in the last part. I stewed for almost a month as I wondered if I was going to get my passport back in time. Two days before I left, I finally received my passport with a large, worldly-looking visa on one of the pages. It came with two envelopes, and of course, no instructions. "Oh well", I thought, "I'll figure things out there".

Upon arrival in Buenos Aires, I went up to the immigration agent and hand him the two envelopes and my passport with a big, dumb look on my face (that translates internationally). He took the larger envelope and I haven't seen it since (I think it had my birth certificate in it, I hope I have a copy!). When he hands me back the smaller one I try to ask him what I should do with it, but he just looked back at me like I asked him if pigs fly. Looking back at how bad my Spanish was at the time, I probably did. But I wasn't deterred, I was in Argentina and everything else would take care of itself. Ha!

After literally weeks of asking anybody with a government job (including our postman) what I was supposed to do with the envelope, I finally found out where I should take it. So I went to a very well hidden government building and wait in line for an hour to learn that this particular department no longer does the paperwork for foreigners. The desk clerk tells my this as if it's common knowledge. Ok, at least I found out where I could have gone last month, that's a start. Before leaving the office I asked around until I found the one person who seems to have known who takes care of it now. Bueno. Problem is, I have to go before 1:00 in the afternoon. By now, I think you all know what precious activity that's bound to interferes with. Crap. After two weeks of procrastination, I squeak out of bed in the wee hours of the late morning and take the 45 minute train ride to a distant part of town. From blocks away, I see a huge line and know that with my luck, it's where I need to go. Of course. This time, though, I ask a security guard if I'm in the right place before I go through the hassle of waiting in line. I am, that's a good start, but I need to get a certificate of residency. Again, I'm told as if I should know this. So I ask him how one might go about getting this certificate of residency? As for his response, Charlie Brown's teacher would have been easier to understand.

Thankfully, this form is a lot more common, and my host mom told me I have to go to the police headquarters that presides over our neighborhood and ask them for it. So I go, pay the $3 fee and am told that I can return the next day between 2 and 6 to pick it up. Wow, that was too easy. Where am I? As you all should have picked up by now, there's going to be a catch. I returned the next day, gave the clerk my name and waited a few minutes. She comes back in a bit and simply tells me that "there isn't one here in your name, NEXT!" Pissed, I leave the police station, it's the last place I want to make a scene. I go home, and guess what's waiting for me, my certificate. Somehow, I managed to mistranslate the instructions. What a surprise.

Hang in there, we're almost done.

I had to allow a few days to recover from the early wakeup before I could go again, but I had renewed excitement. It turns out that the type of visa I got allows me to receive an Argentine ID. It looks like a small passport and will make quite a nice souvenir. So now we get to today and I switch to present tense. I wake up at the ungodly hour mentioned above and trek my way downtown. I'm not quite awake enough to be upset, but I definitely wasn't happy. I go to the same office as before to turn in what should have been everything, and there's not even a line, how nice! There is however a single poster hanging on the gate that I now see is locked. Uh oh. A rough translation is as follows:

"Attention all suckers, starting today, Sept. 1, 2005, we will no longer be processing the paperwork for foreigners at this location, call this number after Sept. 12, 2005, to figure out where it will be handled then. Not like it matters, though, you're missing a form."

M

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