LLWorldTour

After almost exactly two months after the day I left Chicago for my ‘round the world excursion, I am leaving my new beloved home of South America and jetting across the Pacific to New Zealand and Australia. South America was never high on my list of places to go, but now I am so glad I’ve discovered this amazingly diverse place. From hot equatorial days in the lava world of the Galapagos to chilly, wet nights high up in the Andes of Chile, to the cosmopolitan beats of Buenos Aires, I’ve become enamored with all things Latin American—especially the language. I’ve amazed myself at my new Spanish vocabulary and will miss the conversations I’ve had with taxi drivers, real estate agents, and even policemen. I have never known or spoken more of a second language until now. Not even after four years of honors Spanish in high school was I able to converse and understand as much as I do now. Sadly, my time for Spanish is over until I reach Spain so many miles and months away. It’s amazing how all of central and South America, and now practically half of North America, speaks Spanish, but the rest of the world, besides Spain, speaks none.

Hasta la vuelta America Sur.

Tonight we did what I’ve said this trip is all about—meeting real people…in their life.

Many months ago, my good friend Claudia had introduced me to her Argentinean friend Damian who was living in Chicago, but was from Buenos Aires. He knew I would be visiting here and was so happy to share his passion for his hometown. He urged me to contact his parents and visit them while here. He insisted that we go to their home for dinner. After getting over my fear of a complete phone conversation in Spanish, I finally called his mom to arrange our evening. Since Damian spoke such good English, I made a wrong assumption that his parents would speak some as well. This was not the case. And for some reason, Damian told them I spoke Spanish, but how much or how little he left out. I painfully mangled my way through the phone call and hung up hopefully understanding that they would pick us up for dinner at 8pm the next day. Or maybe we were meeting them for breakfast at 8am at our hotel? I really wasn’t exactly sure.

At eight o’clock the next night Mark and I waited on busy Avenida de Mayo just outside our hotel. Will they come? Will they come on time? How do we know which car is theirs? Would we get in the wrong car and be kidnapped? Finally, a car slowed down in front of our hotel. I approached with a big smile on my face while someone got out, looked at me funny and walked right past me while the car drove away. Oops—wrong people, wrong car. Just a few moments later a small Ford approached and a young, good looking guy got out. He smiled broadly at me and I knew it must be Ezequiel, Damian’s younger brother. Damian’s father, Daniel, and brother greeted us warmly and soon we were zipping down the highway to their house about 20 minutes away. Ezequiel spoke very good English and had his work cut out for him for the evening as our translator. I sat on the edge of the backseat straining to decipher dad’s Spanish words. Even though Ezequiel was there, I still continued to try and speak Spanish in hopes he wouldn’t need to translate.

Their house was very nice and super clean with a simple modern, almost Scandinavian feel to it. And Daniel had designed and built the whole thing himself. He was a civil engineer for the city and had a lot to do with the design of the city’s infrastructure for things like gas and water lines. Damian’s mother, Elvira, hugged and kissed us hello and couldn’t have been more gracious and sweet. We met the family dog and sat down to a dinner of, what else, steak, of course. She served it with some tasty grilled peppers and tuna stuffed tomatoes. We talked about the economic crisis, real estate, the military rule, steak, and all things Argentinean. In fact, we spoke about movies and I remembered afterwards an Argentinean movie I saw a couple years ago at the Chicago Latino Film Fest–it was called “Valentin” and was really good. The sad part was I completely forgot the movie took place in Buenos Aires and was filmed in Argentina. Sadly, Argentina was hardly ‘on my radar’ until I started planning my trip. And now, I’ve given serious though to investing in a property here and of course then returning in the future.

Before dessert, Daniel and Ezequiel gave us the grand tour of the rest of su casa. Upstairs there was a big and airy finished attic that they used as an office and all around playroom. We engaged in some serious games of ping pong and foosball both of which dad seemed to master.

During dessert (we’d brought a chocolate cake), we discussed politics and were able to learn a lot about the economic crisis that occurred here in 2001. It happened in December, just 3 months after September 11^th which is why we assumed we didn’t hear much or all about it at the time since the news in the United States was solely focused on one thing only. Here, the peso became worth only a third of its former self and citizens made runs to the bank only to be told their money was gone. It was awful and people lost their savings and became poor overnight.

I so enjoyed this evening with my new friends. They seemed like a fun, happy family, and joked around a lot. When jokes and laughter transcend all language barriers, you know it is special. It was so cool to talk to some real Porteños (people from Buenos Aires). Ironically, Damian will be visiting from Chicago just 10 days from now for Christmas, but unfortunately I will already be gone—halfway around the world to New Zealand. But I have a strong feeling I will be back in Argentina soon one day. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why in the US we hear so little about Argentina and Buenos Aires in general. Maybe it’s just too far for Americans to travel? I don’t know, but I for one, think more people should know about it and how wonderful, and chic, and friendly, and cultured it is. After dessert and some helpful advice on where to look for real estate, Daniel and Elvira drove us back downtown, but this time our translator wasn’t coming. Oh no! What will we do? Well, with my new second language, we did just fine. It was a great night with great new friends in a great new city. This is what it’s all about.

Tonight, we decided to go to the movies. I was excited to see a film on the big screen in another country. I love going to the movies at home and I guess this would bring me a ‘little slice of home’ in a foreign country.

So first of all, we went on a Monday night and the movie was 7 pesos or $2.25!!!! You can’t beat that. It was cheaper to see a first run Hollywood movie here than to buy a local beer.

The second thing that was different was the popcorn. When we asked the concession guy for popcorn he kept mentioning dulces or sweets. We kept saying no, we don’t want any sweets…it turns out the popcorn was coated in sugar and he’d been trying to tell us that. Stupid Americans. I love my salty snacks, but this was pretty tasty.

OK. We saw the new Martin Scorsese flick, “The Departed” or here in Argentina, “Los Infiltrados.” I’ve noticed most movies don’t have a direct translation of the American titles—instead they have a more logical translation.

Now, I don’t usually do reviews, but this is an exception. This movie was excellent, excellent until the last 20 minutes or so, then it became one of the worst movies I have ever seen. It shifted gears so dramatically and ended so horribly and stupidly that I still can’t believe it. We left the theater awestruck and completely crest-fallen. It had the chances of being such a great movie…and sorry Scorsese fans, but possibly the only Scorsese film I have liked in recent memory. And then it seemed to be made by a buffoon just like “Gangs of New York” and “The Aviator.” I thought both of these were laughable.

The movie seemed to have five different endings. In fact, if I’d walked out about 20 minutes sooner, I would have thought it was a better flick. Although I don’t like a lot of what Hollywood does in films these days, I am willing to put up with much of it as long as the film pays off in the end. I understand in watching films sometimes we have to suspend disbelief, but this went way beyond that. In spite of Scorsese’s compulsion/obsession with every filthy aspect of human nature, I was very much enjoying the performances and the story. Then, it seems he or the screenwriter had a brainfart. In light of that fact, all of the excess of the film caused it to implode. In the ensuing vacuum, I could find no redeeming quality of the film at all. What does the story tell us? It wasn’t true to itself at all. No one gained a thing. No redemption. No resolution.

Don’t get me wrong, the acting was superb, the story captivating, the suspense almost unbearable – what more could you want from a good movie? Well, as far as I’m concerned, without a good ending, all of the above amounts to little more than the hype that usually precedes a film, but in this case makes up the bulk of the film. I am not an expert on films in any way, but when I say ‘good ending’ I don’t mean a neat happy ending that maybe you think a girl would like, I simply mean an ending that makes sense and isn’t so stupid that I have to turn to my friend with my mouth agape and say “huh??’ only to be met with the same ‘what the hell was that?’ stare back in my direction.

Here’s what another reviewer said…and I can’t agree more:

“Let’s start with a very slow intro to an amazing story. Then let’s compile a dream cast of characters to act out this amazing story. So amazing in fact that it very well could be the best movie of the year. Then once this character had given up everything and risked his life in nearly every scene, let’s FINALLY give him the opportunity to hand over the dirty cop and set things straight. Well, we don’t have time to finish the story with a great ending, so let’s just kill him. Then at the end, let’s kill the dirty cop so he can be decorated as a hero instead of turning over evidence so he can be convicted. This could have been the best movie of the year, and the story could have been told in well under 2 hours. They should have just opened and closed with a firing squad and I could have been in and out in 10 minutes with the same results.”(–from IMDB.com)

Let’s just say many things (an envelope with information of the utmost importance, girlfriends, and possible babies) were shown in the movie and just never explained again. I mean full scenes were dedicated to things that could have ‘saved the day’ so to speak and then were never brought up again. Again, no expert here, but when you say things in a movie, they are almost always for a purpose—to explain some previous thing or to foreshadow some impending thing. This was not the case here. I was waiting for the end for this resolution that never came. I actually thought that maybe the wrong final reel was shipped to Buenos Aires and maybe we were seeing the final scenes that were meant to be deleted OR maybe a stupider version gets shown abroad?? I know these explanations are ridiculous—but the way the movie ended needs a better explanation in my mind, especially because it didn’t seem to match the first smart, clever two thirds of the movie. It was as if Scorsese or his writer gave up and someone else finished the movie. I just can’t understand how they let it end the way it did. Go see it. Then get back to me and tell me what you think.

Oh, by the way, here in Argentina they had an intermission in the middle of the movie. I think that’s where the wrong second film reel was slipped on by mistake. It had to be. I want my 2 pesos back!

Every time I travel, I often have a hard time choosing my favorite place. And now I have to add Buenos Aires to that ever expanding list of places that I must return to. Buenos Aires is an uber cosmopolitan city full of life, grand European architecture, and cheap things. Including its sprawling suburbs, this huge city is home to 13 million porteños (the term for the port city dwellers). In the center it is busy and loud with shoppers and well-dressed workers scurrying about while persistent leather salesmen try to persuade you to come into their store because “it’s the best quality, amigo.” And in some of the more residential neighborhoods warehouses are being rehabbed into loft apartments and young urbanites chat over café con leche. It’s springtime here and the weather is perfect—sunny, warm, and the lilac-like scent of the purple flowering Jacaranda trees permeates the air.

Up until the economic crisis a few years ago, Buenos Aires was Latin America’s most expensive city, if not one of the world’s. But no mas. In 2001, all hell broke loose and the local currency, the Argentinean Peso, fell to a third of its former value and has pretty much stayed there. The subsequent political instability led to four presidents coming in and out of power in only 10 days. Soon bank accounts were frozen and thousands of people saw their life savings disappear. It’s very sad for the people here, but an all out fiesta for the tourists who can now flock to the “Paris of South America” and enjoy all it has to offer and more. For example, a good steak dinner with wine here at a nice restaurant may cost you $10. The same steak in Chicago would be $50 and up.

I’m not much of a big shopper, especially when I’m traveling, but I couldn’t pass up some of the savings here. I’ve already purchased a few of the famous leather items. You know where there’s lots of steak—there’s got to be a lot of leather. I had a beautiful brown leather jacket quasi-custom made for me for $80 and bought a smart suede belt for $20. My friend Mark also had a leather jacket made for himself and bought a purse for his quasi-girlfriend. When he leaves he will take both jackets home to LA with him since I can’t really fit the jacket in my ‘world tour’ bag—it will have to hang in his closet until my return.

The most common phrase I heard in the dozens of leather shops along Calle Florida, the crowded pedestrian street, was “we eat the meat.” When asked about all this leather and the cows that are dying for it—that’s what three separate salesladies had said to me. I guess they’re right because I’ve never seen more steakhouses anywhere in my life. Moo.

This is a city of neighborhoods (like another cool little city I know) and we’ve already found our faves. Palermo Viejo is the hippest—with block after leafy block of boutiques and bars filled with hipster and sidewalks filled with young kissing couples and other dog walking residents. This is where I’d love to live. In fact, we already looked at several new condos going up in the hood. With the recent economic crisis, we’ve learned that real estate is also a prime investment right now. Everywhere we looked were cranes and new construction of clean, very modern looking apartment buildings. The Old Palermo neighborhood is separated into two smaller enclaves—Palermo Hollywood and Palermo Soho. And each one lives up to its name. There are lots of film production companies and TV stations in one area and the other is filled with cute trendy boutiques and ethnic restaurants and bars. Recoleta is the ‘hood of the rich. It is the Gold Coast of Buenos Aires, with all the designer shops lining Alvear Street where the ‘ladies who lunch’ peruse the racks of designer everything. It is also home to Evita where she peacefully rests in the grand Recoleta Cemetery. It looks like its own mini-city, with block after block of marble and granite mausoleums. San Telmo is a beautiful old neighborhood with cobblestone streets. It originally was full of the city’s wealthy, until a few little nasty diseases like Cholera and Yellow Fever scared them away. Now, it’s having resurgence and is artsy and cool and full of young people. It’s kind of like Greenwich Village in NYC or Chicago’s Wicker Park. Puerto Madero is the old port that is currently being renovated like waterfronts in other cities. Old hulking brick warehouses are now cool, expensive lofty condos. And tons of restaurants are opening there giving folks a place to stroll on the water after work. Farther down south on the water is scruffy blue-collar La Boca, home to many Italian immigrants and the world famous fútbol (soccer) team, La Boca Juniors and their stadium, La Bombonera. The steep concrete mass literally shakes during games as the fans go crazy stamping their feet. We visited La Boca during a rowdy Sunday home game and could hear the chants from blocks away, “Boca! Boca! Boca!” It turns out that not only was national soccer hero, Diego Maradona at the game, but so were the visiting Bush daughters.

During a fun four hour bike tour of the city we learned all about these hoods—including a few interesting tidbits I have to pass on:

1. The Tango was originally a dance between two men ‘fighting’ over a prostitute. Then this dirty, dirty little dance transformed into the men just dancing with the prostitute. And of course, today, it’s been ‘re-released’ as a classy, European art form…little do they know…
2. The Ecological Reserve and beach on the Riverfront (Buenos Aires sits on the banks of this wide river that empties into the Atlantic Ocean and separates the city with the southern coast of Uruguay) is actually a kind of landfill. It was created when the city created Avenida 9 de Julio—the so called widest street in the world. They actually tore down several beautiful buildings to make this street and dumped the building ‘chunks’ here. Today someone had the bright idea to plant trees and grass and make the place a peaceful park and wildlife reserve. Odd and cool at the same time.
3. We also learned of some recent tragic times for Buenos Aires. Like many of its Latin American counterparts, the government here has suffered some truly dreadful and embarrassing moments. From about 1976 to 1982 Argentina was under Military rule. This government decided to ‘do away’ with many young liberals who spoke out against it. In this time more than 30,000 people (mostly college-age) were captured, tortured, and probably killed never to be heard from again. And, again, this was just about 20 years ago. Justice was never served and just now the current president is attempting to put the military leaders from that time on trial, but just three weeks before we arrived, a high-ranking officer with lots of information, named Jose Lopez, had vanished. Every Thursday the ‘mothers’ of the “disappeared ones” march on Plaza de Mayo in hopes of finding their sons who have now been ‘missing’ for more than 20 years. Only 80 bodies were said to have been recovered.

But from visiting here today you would never know about some of the political and economic issues in the country’s past. The city folk are laughing, spending, and drinking coffee and their favorite Malbec wine, enjoying life to the fullest. Being here among all this coolness and life got me thinking about how life goes on for so many people everywhere all over the world. While we are in our little lives back in the States, all these folks have everything they need here in the Southern Hemisphere and have nothing to do with New York or Chicago or London. You just don’t hear too many people mention Buenos Aires as much as European capitals, but it is almost exactly the same and may even be cooler.

…and I mean that literally. Unfortunately, my last week in Chile and first week in Buenos Aires, I had a fever and bad cold putting a damper on my travel enthusiasm. Ever since I got off the Navimag boat, I had started to feel a sore throat, which later turned into a uncomfortably congested nose, a nice juicy cough, and a sweaty fever. I hadn’t felt this sick in years. Fun.

So…once I arrived in Buenos Aires, I was really excited to stay in one place, one hotel, and one bed for a nice ten whole days. No packing and moving. No bumpy buses. No nada.

The first day I met my friend Mark, from New York and most recently Los Angeles, at our hotel in the heart of downtown Buenos Aires. We decided I should seek out a doctor and get some antibiotics or something to kick this thing in the ass. I have a travel medical insurance policy, so the first thing I had to do was call them to let them know and to have them recommend a local doctor that possibly spoke English, although after being sick a week, I was getting pretty good and describing my symptoms en Espanol. We went into a ‘telefonica’ shop where they have private tiny rooms where you can make phone calls. Supposedly, with my insurance company, I could call them collect when outside of the US. But making a collect call proved to be the tricky part. I couldn’t seem to get an Argentinean or American operator on the line. We even had the helfpful manager go to AT&T’s website to see what the number was to call from Argentina which was nowhere to be found on the wallet card I had.

Finally, I got through to the insurance folks and they had me on hold for about 30 minutes as they tried to call a doctor who was available, who was taking new patients, and who spoke English. Tall order. This whole process was increasingly becoming frustrating and was making me feel even worse. The mousy-voiced woman on the other end of the phone finally returned to the line and said she had no luck and could call me back.

“Call me back?” I exclaimed, “But, you understand I’m in Argentina. I don’t have a phone. I’m sitting in a tiny booth and have been on hold with you for thirty minutes while you ‘tried’ to get a doctor.” I surmised she was just eating her lunch from Arby’s while I was on hold.

We decided she would email me a list of doctors and their addresses. Then out of desperation I just decided to ask the guys at the desk if they knew of a doctor in the area that could possibly help a sad, sick Americano. A customer at the counter started asking me what was wrong and starting peppering me with questions regarding my symptoms. She asked for a pen and paper and began scribbling down the names of drugs I should take. She mentioned something about working for a dentist. Okay, I guess that’s close enough. One of the meds was Amoxicillin, an antibiotic I’ve taken many times before. It seemed like something I could use and thought maybe this is all the doc would prescribe anyway. She insisted on taking us to the pharmacy. For a tiny woman, she walked awfully fast as we hoofed it down the street to the nearest pharmacy. Once inside we went back and forth with the young man behind the counter. But mostly he and she went back and forth about the pills I should take. I finally ended up with a box of Amoxicillin with some kind of bronchial medicine included in it for $10. Cheap and no prescription necessary. I thanked her several times for her unexpected and much appreciated gesture. And off she went—my medicine angel. Wow. I heard people were nice here, but that was incredible. Now, I just have to wait and see if these pills do the trick…if not, I guess I will be back to the phone place to find a doctor again in a few days…or hopefully just another super friendly patron.