Cataratas

For a word with the letter "a" four times in it, it has surprisingly little to do with crossword puzzles.

On sunday night, during Rachel and Christa´s visit to Buenos Aires, we piled onto a giant double decker bus with outrageously comfortable seats (and no "fasten seatbelt sign") for the eighteen hour trip to the small border-town of Puerto Iguazú, in the small state of Misiones which lies in the heart of jungle. The province is surrounded on two sides by Brazil, and on one side by Paraguay.

We struggled our way through the worse-than-awful meal served to us (this was a creation we couldn´t even guess at what was trying to be accomplished) and watched a bootleg copy of Ocean´s Thirteen in English, with subtitles in Spanish. We took our Advil PM´s and conked out until (for me) 9:00 AM the next morning.

Breakfast wasn´t much better (with 4 different starches and pre-sweetened coffee) and we arrived in the small, red-dust covered town in our little air conditioned, bubble-world of a luxury bus. We checked in at our hotel (a quaint place next to the bus station) I had a mate before we headed to the bus station to catch "El Practico" that goes to the national park, about thirty minutes away.

After stopping into the visitor´s center for a map, we rushed to get on the little train that carts you through parts of the park, so you can get closer to the falls. The train doesn´t actually go to the waterfalls, but it takes you to the trailheads where you can walk a short distance to find lots and lots of falling water. I was constantly snapping photos (unfortunately, it is very hard for me to get them online, but I will try) and every little bug, bird, or unusual natural feature had its photo taken by me, and probably the hundred or so tourists behind and in front of us.

The first trail we went on (the "Inferior") took us down to the bottom of the basin, below the falls to see some of them (these falls are not all in one place, but spread among many little falls in addition to the record-setting Garganta del Diablo) where we were pursued by a great number of screaming school children all clutching their mates and thermoses and following their field trip leader.

At the bottom of the little mountain, we took the public ferry (a less than two-minute, yet life-jacket-mandatory, little dinghy ride) to the island in between many little water falls. We swam in the small designated area, our toes constantly nibbled by little fish, and we chatted lightly about caimanes, a small, maybe three-foot-long crocodile that supposedly flourishes in these parts (we never saw one). We hiked up the steep stairs on the island and saw a couple viewpoints, a "trash" bird (not actually called that, but we found it eating out of a trash can) before the island had to close.

We walked to the superior trail where Mom and I saw, from the top of each of the falls, beautiful dropoff points that betrayed none of the danger, white foam, and distance to the bottom that awaited a hapless Guaraní boatman. The light, at 5:00 PM, was perfect.

Back in Puerto Iguazú, Mom and I went on a walk (Rachel wanted to read), where Mom saw the Southern Cross for the first time and we heard dogs barking in Brazil. We had trouble understanding them...

We ate at a restaurant with a parrilla, called Proa, and had some memorable steak, and some not-so-memorable flan, but the owner came to our table afterward, asked if we liked our meal and brought us three glasses of champagne on the house because he heard it was my birthday (we fudged the day a little).

We went to bed in our little hotel (for a while we were convinced we were the only guests) through till the morning.

Facturas!

As well as the being the dreaded monthly bills that have to be paid at one of the many locations throughout the city (not through the mail), Facturas are the delicious counterpart to to the French pastry and the American donut.

There are a couple different kinds:

The most basic are the medialunas and I get them often, depending on how the café ranks with the quality these difficult to master pastries. There are two basic kinds, de grasa (made of lard and very crispy and not that sweet) and de manteca (made from butter and soft and very sweet). I prefer those de grasa when they are very crispy, otherwise those de manteca are typically better.

Orejas (translates directly as "Ears") also known as Palmeras, are delicious with coffee and there is a bakery right near my school where, at noon on the dot, fresh Orejas come out. They are soft, yet crunchy, sweet, warm, delicious.

My favorite are the cañoncitos ("little cannons") whose name is very indicative of what they look like. They are layered pastry sheets into a tube shape and stuffed with dulce de leche.

There are many more options, but these are my favorites. Between the helado and the facturas, my sweet tooth is slowly being satisfied.

Transportacion

A word I had never seen or heard until I got here (defintely not the only one) turns out to be one of the most used, by me anyway. Colectivo is the word for a bus that takes you short distances and follows a fixed route so you can intercept it anywhere along its route.

I have taken a taxi once since I arrived (a fact I bear with pride) from the airport. Since then I have either walked, taken the Subte, or taken a bus everywhere I have wanted to go. The network of buses here is amazing and you can´t walk four blocks in the Capital Federal without coming to a place where the bus regularly stops. It costs one peso (or about .30 US dollars) to ride anywhere in the city, provided you don´t disembark from the bus, which is easy to do because close to thirty routes come within very close walking distance to my house and they go in all different directions.

The principal guide to learning how to navigate the huge system (there are upwardsof 400 fixed routes with varying number of buses, but some have as many as 40, in the entire city) is called the Guia "T". The "T" is in parentheses because as well as being a guide to Transportation, it is also a pun on the phrase "guiate" or "guide yourself." As well as being a very in-depth guide of the bus routes, the Guia "T" is a great map in that it is pocket-sized and subtle because the Porteños use it too.

Taxis, while cheap, cost many times more than the bus from, say, Belgrano (a neighborhood where lots of kids in my program live), yet some kids haven´t taken anything else. Many use the excuse that it is safer, when, in reality, it is quite the opposite. Unless you call ahead and have a taxi sent to your location by one of the many accredited companies, you cannot be completely sure of the ride (and even then, can you tell?). But these can take upwards of 45 minutes to get to any given location in the city, a substantial amount of time when you´re in a hurry. Not to say that they are all dangerous, just that there do exist tacheros who are definitely chancy.

The Subte, as the subway is called here, is very efficient, if at times crowded, dirty and not very far-reaching. There are five lines, and a few above ground trains that go to the suburbs. It costs the same no matter how far you want to go, again, one peso. Unfortunately, there is not a station incredibly close to my house (six block walk), but it is useful for reaching those outer barrios.

My goal is to visit all 48 barrios of the Captial Federal. I have visited (consciously) 26, and am averaging about three per week so stay posted as I put up some pictures from the highlights of my excursions.

Dulcisimo

The ice cream here is not for the faint of heart.

For $1 US, you can get 1/4 kilo of the thickest, creamiest, sweetest ice cream in the world that I´ve visited. Helado is a different thing entirely from what we Americans call ice cream. Mostly the stuff there in the US is something we have to limit ourselves to, by serving ourselves a smaller portion, and savoring it. Here, if you tried to eat that much, you would not only be so full you couldn´t move but also so sick of ice cream you wouldn´t want it for a week. All you need is a tiny bit to go a loooooooonnnnngggg way. There is a stopping point to how much you can eat.

My favorite flavor is dulce de leche with caramelized walnuts, but occasionally will branch out to dulce de leche with bonbons, dulce de leche with chocolate chips, or if I´m feeling really adventurous coconut with stripes of dulce de leche. Technically, I haven´t tried a flavor without dulce de leche (and why would I?) and that´s saying something because I eat a lot of helado.

The stuff here is a perfect blend of the flavor of gelatto with the added bonus of being incredibly thick and creamy. Plus there´s dulce de leche.

This is going to be a short post because I´m getting hungry. This post was inspired by my conversations with Daniel Kaufman.

A Few Photos

Here are a few photos from my trip to the Gaucho Ranch:

Imbibed!

Here I am, in my kitchen, drinking extremely hot liquid (almost boiling) out of a gourd filled with a vile, bitter-tasting, herb through a metal straw, scalding my lips, roof of mouth and worst of all, tongue. Why, you may ask? Why indeed! The most popular drink in all of Argentina (by a landslide, too) is mate, an inexpensive, hay-like, tea that is consumed in very traditional ways.

First of all, fill the mate (the name of the gourd as well as the herb) two thirds full of loose tea. Heat your water until it is not quite boiling, but about too, because of the supposedly different taste that boiled water imparts on the tea. After filling the mate the rest of the way with water, sip as fast as you can through the straw so as not to let it cool down. Never, ever, pass the mate. Finish it, in one slurp, if possible.

Saying "gracias," the traditional word of thanks here in Argentina, is akin to saying, "No, thank you" in English, a polite refusal. A silly habit that I was taught was to always thank someone for the gift they´re offering, so instead, you must comment on where the mate was purchased, or, "¡Que rico!" the best response, especially for a foreigner.

One should never move the bombilla (pronounced bohm-BEE-shah), because it stirs up the tea and lodges it in the straw, not a pleasant experience for the drinker or the cleaner.

All of the "criollos" (cree-OH-shohs), or native Argentines, drink mate, but los "Porteños," or people from Buenos Aires drink it "amargo" (bitter). Those from the interior drink it sweet with sugar. When I went to the campo, I tried mate with sugar and disliked it, I prefer the bitter.

Overall though, I prefer this drink: the Café Cortado. It is a shot of espresso (the espresso here tastes different, toasted and almost nutty) and an equal amount of steamed milk, often topped with foam. I stir in a packet of sugar, and am content for three hours, reading and sipping. A great tradition here, is the bringing of a cookie and a glass of water with any coffee you order. I can hear Borders cursing that they lost one of their best customers (at least in Santa Fe), because I am a total convert.

Soy Tanguero

I have now visited two distinct Milongas (a type of music as well as the hall where tangos and milongas are danced), one in the barrio of Palermo, called SoHo Tango. There, before the show, I had a two hour dance class, learning many of the basic steps and getting the "box" down and starting a few turns and fancier steps.

We attended the show after the lesson and saw some amazing footwork, akin to no dance I´ve ever seen, with an incredible communication between the pair. Typically the woman´s eyes were closed (the man´s stayed open to avoid choques, or crashes) which shows that her feet move in response to what is communicated to her, and in fact, looking around would be more distracting than anything helpful. Never did I see any pair fail to do this (except my partner and myself, of course).

Then, last night I went to La Catedral, another Milonga made from a restored depot from the 19th century. The lesson was vastly different, involving a large group moving counterclockwise around the hall. It was a fantastic time being swept away by the large crowd of dancers, many of whom were beginners as well. You could (and we did a couple of times) pull aside the teachers and ask if there was anything we could change, and they would tell, or more often show, you how you could improve. I had a blast.

After the lesson, again there was a show, but this one had live music. And not just any live music, it was a trombone quartet. They played tangos and milongas mostly, but they were all four part pieces and they were great. I was so floored by this, and they played for an hour, at least. The friends with whom I went were a little impatient for it to end though, but I savored it. All of this and two drinks (yes, one of them had alcohol, Mom) cost me $8 US. This is the life.

River 4 Life

I had the most authentic cultural experience of my trip so far yesterday. I attended the fútbol match of River vs. Gimnasia. I, of course, was for River (never would anyone ever switch their allegiance, probably in their entire life). My host brother, Francisco, leant me his jersey (thank goodness because there wasn´t a single person not wearing a jersey of their team).

The goals were the loudest, most energetic displays of happines I´ve ever seen. They involved leaping up, screaming ¡Gol!, and hugging the guy next to him (regardless of acquaintance or even allegiance) , and then buying a coffee from the guy who walks among the crowds, like peanuts at a baseball game.

I so enjoyed the game, and intend to go to another very soon.

Beef!

¡Hola!

I went to a very traditional (if tourist oriented) Gaucho ranch today. There was a montón of food. This post is *not* for vegetarians.

We arrived and they handed us empanadas (stuffed with vegetables, meat, cheese), after which we got on horses and trotted around and got to gallop a little bit. We then sat down for lunch.

We started by taking a little of each of the salads, huevo con papas, and soda already on the table, and then came the inundation. First the chorizos. You could tell the gaucho/mozo/asador how many you wanted and I wanted two. Next came the morsillas (blood sausages) which were surisingly good. The people around me didn´t care for the one that they took so I relieved them of it, adding a total of 4 blood sausages.

Next came the steaks. First, the ribeye style with the meat that surrounds the ribs, two of which found their way to my mouth and then stomach. Of course, all of these are cooked to perfection, and there is no option of rare or well done, it is understood that it is cooked the correct way and asking for it to be cooked more would be inappropriate.

Finally, the bife de loma, the ojo de bife (they are one in the same) came. This is the delicious, fatty, incredibly soft, thick, and juicy steak that Argentina is famous for. It was all it was cracked up to be, and more. Simply inexplicable.

I´ll post photos eventually, but my method involves transferring the pictures (via the memory card) to my host mother´s camera and then uploading them, so I´ll do them in more of a clump than what would be optimal.

That´s all for now.

Buenos Muertos

These are from my most recent excursion to the cemetary of Recoleta, one of the most exclusive in the world, where Evita Peron (among many other very rich people) are interred.