Adentro!

American college students have Thirsty Thursdays. Here in La Plata, we do too- just with a little more class.

Our typical tradition is to go out to La Salamanca, a bar that has live folkloric music ever Thursday night. This music is traditional from the north of Argentina and Bolivia. From the beginning I've been astounded by the beautiful and passionate music, the proud and sensual dancing, and the delicious empanadas that La Salamanca has to offer. We go almost every Thursday, and by this point have made friends with the waiters and become competent at the dance called la chacarera.

Here is a (somewhat poor quality) example of a band we might see. This is a samba, which is a bit beyond my skill level to dance.



This is an examble of the chacarera, which I do know how to dance (although not quite this gracefully). This is also probably my favorite song; "déjame que me vaya, y que con ella muere" - let me leave, let me die with her. It's so sad and passionate.



Last night, however, we broke with tradition and went to a cultural center to see a Colombian band play. Luckily, before and after this band folkloric bands played, so we still got a chance to dance plenty of chacareras and then some Colombian cumbia - which left me totally exhausted as the general idea is to move your body as fast as you possibly can.

We also got to see a traditional and very impressive type of percussionist: boleadora. He swings two heavy, potentially deadly balls around on ropes and combines the sound of them hitting the floor with his own steps to make an mind-numbingly fast and intricate rhythm. Just watching it was exhilarating. Here's an example:



And last but not least, here is De la tierrita, the Colombian band, performing here in La Plata this weekend. I hope you enjoy this sampling of the various and wonderful music that we enjoy here. I also hope you appreciate my waking up to write this blog post after I had been out until 5 am dancing cumbia.



Note: Here's a link to De la Tierrita's myspace page if you want to listen to more of their songs: http://www.myspace.com/delatierrita

Note from a Repentant Blogger

I have a few long-overdue blog posts, and still have several in draft format that I haven't finished yet. I will hopefully be getting better at that. One thing that I would like to start doing is writing more short posts, to share an observation or a picture or a thought. In the spirit of that:

Yesterday morning the ex-president of Argentina, Néstor Kirchner, died of a heart attack. His wife, Cristina, is the current president of Argentina and he was widely favored to run for re-election for the next term. I didn't really realize how much of a popular figure he was until yesterday; the entire country seems to have entered into mourning. I went with the Peronist Youth Group of the School of Journalism to the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, where thousands of supporters gathered to show their grief and support for Cristina.

Not having a personal emotional connection to Kirchner, I was able to go as an observer, and I was amazed by what I observed. I can't really think of a similar figure in the U.S.; Bill Clinton is somewhat parallel but I can't really imagine this kind of outpouring of public emotion if he died. Perhaps it's the nature of Peronism; after all, the entire movement is named after Perón himself supporters seem to have an almost personal relationship with Perón and Evita, even though they died before many of the younger supporters were born. It's a very interesting phenomenon.

Here's a picture to give you an idea of the sheer amount of people that spontaneously gathered (excuse the poor quality):

COOOOORDOOOOOOOBAAAAAAAA

A few weeks ago, I traveled to the province of Córdoba with Lauren, Dimelza, and Gabriel. We left Thursday night, arrived Friday morning and spent four full days in the area. We spent the first day in the city of Córdoba- the capital of the province. Lauded in guidebooks for being Argentina's "second city," (whatever the heck that means-- second biggest? second best? It's unclear, and frankly kind of stupid) Córdoba is beautiful. It has a very visible colonial and Jesuit presence and is home to one of the most prestigious universities in Argentina (right up there with the University of Buenos Aires and the Univerisity of La Plata where we attend!). I really liked this city. It has the feel of a big city but the center is very compact and walkable, a contrast to the sprawl of Buenos Aires. It also has several major pedestrian-only roads in the city center, which I love. As an added perk, our hostel was in a beautiful old house run by an extremely friendly couple. The woman is from Argentina but the man is from Vermont, and it really just felt like we were staying in their home.

Note the cute fake-shadow effect in the bricks.

A working convent- the nuns still live in seclusion as they have for hundreds of years. (Well, not the same nuns, but you know what I mean. Unless it's a vampire convent, which would be kind of cool.)

The Catedral de Córdoba which is, according to wikipedia, the "oldest church in continuous service in Argentina." Construction began in 1598.

You can tell it's spring in Argentina, can't you?

On Saturday, we traveled to Alta Gracia, where we stayed the next two nights. Around Córdoba city are several valleys surrounded by beautiful sierras; each valley is home to a string of small villages accessible via picturesque roads. Alta Gracia used to be a very popular resort town for middle- and upper-class families. Now it is somewhat less fashionable but still widely visited, largely because it was the childhood home of Ernesto "Che" Guevara. Interestingly, el Che came from a fairly well-to-do middle-class background, and his family moved here when he was a young child because the climate would be better for his asthma. We visited his home, which is now a museum chronicling his life with pictures, letters, and diary entries. Incidentally we happened to go on the 43rd anniversary of his death.

The museum was very interesting and touching, although the gift shop in back seemed a little ironic- perhaps a bit too capitalist. (Much like the ever-present Che t-shirt; Spanish-speakers should check out this song "McGuevara o CheDonald's" critiquing the use of Che Guevara's image for personal monetary gain. ) For general information about el Che, I direct you to Saint Wikipedia.

Alta Gracia is also home to a giant Catholic sanctuary-thingie. It was unclear to me what it actually was. It kind of freaked me out. But nonetheless the top of the mountain offered nice views and myriad cross-photo opportunities.

Overall, Alta Gracia was a very nice, somewhat sleepy-seeming town. The other town we visited in the valley was Villa General Belgrano. This little town is, oddly enough, of German heritage and features full on Alpine kitsch. We originally intended to go to Oktoberfest, but upon learning of the high entrance fee we skipped it and just enjoyed some German food and delicious beer in a restaurant/brewery. We also enjoyed watching the drunken masses stumbling around with silly hats on.

All told, this was a wonderful weekend trip. It was our first long bus ride and our first time outside of Buenos Aires province. And it has given me the travel bug, bad!

View from the road in between Alta Gracia and Villa General Belgrano.

Cheese and Sausages and Jam, oh my!

Tandil is known for a few things:

1) Modest but pretty sierras
2) Tasty sausages
3) Tasty cheeses
4) Tasty jams
5) Tasty dulce de leche
6) Giant rocks that balance improbably on top of tiny rocks, giving the impression that they might fall and crush you at any moment.

As you might imagine, I enjoyed all of these things, but most especially items 2-5. I brought home one sample of each specialty, and let me tell you that the picnic we had the day after our arrival was a splendid thing. Mama, the delicious fuet sausage reminded me of Spain-- yum yum yum!!!

Cathedral.

Crazy balancing rock.

Dimelza and Lauren with Bettina, our saintly organizer. That day, on top of that very mountain, we had a lunch of asado-- the full works. Starting with chorizo sausage and morcilla, blood sausage (which I tried, despite knowing what it's made of. Blood, obviously). Then various cuts of meat cooked to perfection and accompanied by delightfully roasted veggies. Pure, carnivorous heaven.

I couldn't quite decide if this faux-Andalusian building was pretty or tacky.

The cold-hearted Lauren fails to save me from certain death.

Terror in a small town

The weekend of October 1-3 we went to Tandil, a small town in the province of Buenos Aires, located roughly five hours south of La Plata. The trip was part of our curriculum in human rights and memory at the Comisión, so our trip was focused around that. First we met with a group of high school students who are participating in a really cool program the Comisión organizes called Youth and Memory. The high-schoolers embark in groups on year-long research projects and present the final product at a big reunion in November (which I am excited to be going to).

We also met with a group that advocates for justice for the human rights violations perpetrated in and around Tandil specifically. We were very lucky to have a survivor of a clandestine prison talk to us and actually take us to the place where she was detained more than 30 years ago. The site is still owned by the army, which was fairly shocking after seeing all the re-appropriated and recognized camps in Buenos Aires. The land is not used for anything and the buildings are in ruins.

The gate that marks the entrance to the prison site. We had to climb over the fence- probably not strictly legal but frankly, none of us were too interested in respecting the army's private property that had been used for torture and illegal detention.

The main building, where María was held for three weeks when she was twenty years old. She was abducted from her home, brought here blindfolded and kept blindfolded the entire three weeks. Thus she did not know the site of her imprisonment until very recently, and wasn't even familiar with the entire layout of the building. Upon her release, María was told that she would be watched and to keep her mouth shut or suffer the consequences. For twenty-some years, she did just that, knowing that in the small community of Tandil she was living among her torturers and too afraid to say anything. It was amazing to me that she was willing to walk through the buildings where she was held and tortured just to share her story with us, three students from the U.S.

This is the small outbuilding where the prisoners were brought on a daily basis to be tortured.

Bettina and Dimelza as we left the site.

Another building used by the armed forces, apparently for both administrative purposes and for prisoners. I think that less is known about what exactly happened here, but it was fascinating to see such an elaborate, beautiful mansion in total ruins.

Hearing María's story and the very tangible effects of state terror on a small community was incredibly powerful. It really demonstrated the far-reaching nature of the state's terror during that period, and the effectiveness of fear as a tool of repression.

Stay tuned for a more light-hearted post--- Tandil is also a popular tourist destination, and we did lots of fun stuff!

In Which I Apologize Profusely and Talk about Buses

I have to admit that I have been a shamefully poor blogger. It has been almost a month with no posts. I realize that I have brought disgrace upon my family and my name, and I hope they will find it in their hearts to forgive me. This has been for three main reasons:

1) two consecutive weekend trips
2) no internet in the house in the week between those trips, and
3) having my first real assignment for the university due Thursday.

Thus I am woefully behind on posts I have been meaning to make. I have about 6 in the mental works, so bear with me as I try and get them up over the next week or so. Ideally after I finish the midterm, but let's be honest, this is a good way to procrastinate.

To give you a little idea of what I've been doing, last weekend we traveled with Bettina from the Comisión to Tandil where we learned about the impact of the dictatorship in smaller communities, and then learned about really delicious cheese and sausage.

This morning at seven a.m., we returned from a trip to Córdoba, the name of both the Capital city and the province. Córdoba is known for beautiful sierras and charming villages, both of which we enjoyed immensely.

And now for a bit on Argentine long-distance bus travel. The buses, known as micros, are the most popular way to travel around the country due to the overall poor quality of the trains and the relative pricey-ness of flying. Two weeks ago, I had never taken a long bus ride in my life. This is no longer true. We got our feet wet with the 5-hour trip to Tandil, then went right for a 12-hour trip to Córdoba. This, of course, being mere training for potential future trips of 20 or more hours. My conclusions:

1) I much prefer micro travel to plane travel (largely due to the generous leg-room on the bus and the non-existence of said leg-room on the plane).
2) That said, a 12-hour bus ride is not particularly fun.
3) Long-distance buses are doubledecker, and this is simultaneously awesome and terrifying. An example:


On the way back from Tandil, we sat in the front of the top of the bus for a while. I was fairly convinced of death the entire time, but it was rather thrilling.



Perhaps you don't know about my inexplicable fear of dying in a bus crash. (Actually, I think I've discovered the root of it; I recently re-watched the movie Frida and had forgotten about the horrific bus accident that led to Frida's debilitating health problems. I think it left me scarred.)

Anyhow, keep checking for more blog action over the next few days. I promise to keep 'em coming until you're good and sick of me.