This day has just been too utterly ridiculous to NOT blog about! I usually don't write unless I've got a good reason too, which results in really sensational blog entries like Fuerza Bruta! or I hate public transportation! And I promise my daily life is not actually that over the top. That being said...
Saturday night, amidst a twitterpated Skype session, my computer once again stop charging and eventually went dead, unrevivable. Having dealt with this problem once before I knew the protocol, but had to wait til Monday when the electronics repair shop would be open. It's actually amazing how much I accomplished yesterday without having internet access! I read a million articles for Gender Studies, got my essay for today all prepared (since I couldn't actually write it!) and read a whopping whole 5 pages of the Motorcycle Diaries by the infamous Che Guevara (that's actually alot... you should be impressed!)
So this morning, my plan was thus: drop off my computer charger to be re-repaired early in the morning, and head over to the ISA office to confiscate one of their computers for a couple hours to crank out my very well thought out essay before 2:30pm. Well, after a 15 block ride on a colectivo that ALWAYS arrives in the last moment before you're ready to give up waiting, Hugo and his boys tell me that there's nothing wrong with my charger (of course not! They repaired it!) and could I bring in my computer?? So I wait a good 15 minutes for the colectivo, only so that the next one to pull over to the line of us impatiently gathering could change it's sign to "Afuera de Servicio." Realizing I was working against time at this point to get my computer repaired and my paper written, I decided to walk, no, power-walk it home. Once I had my precious non-functioning compu I waited once again for a enfuriatingly tardy colectivo to take be back to where I'd just come (had a great conversation with a lovely abuelita however). I thus present my laptop and its charger in desperate surrender, and the boys concluded that yes, something is wrong inside the laptop, something they can't fix. So they send me across the street to their buddy Gabriel who can.
It's past noon at this point. Gabriel tells me, almost immediately that something inside my laptop has been tweaked (what exactly I couldn't tell you, because I wouldn't have understood even if he'd explained it in English) and he needs to take it completely apart to fix it. An exasperated sigh, and I give him the command, "Hacelo." I can afford $250 pesos and a couple days without Skype, but I need my computer. Plain and simple.
Already exhausted by the backward and forward lugging of electronics, impunctual colectivos, and foreign computer talk, I now address my next task of finding a computer and writing my Gender Studies essay in Spanish in 1.5 hours. TOTALLY DOABLE! I catch another colectivo (ps. gotta insert a shoutout to Estevan de Newman, mi amigo de CLU, for dumping an ungodly amount of monedas on me as a parting gift before hopping a plane to Brazil... that's the only reason I was able to take so many successive colectivos today!) to the ISA office and set to myself to work. This is where I flourish! I'm the thrive under pressure type, at least thats what I say to pardon my insipid procrastination. I'm cranking out in depth grammatically correct sentences on the not-so-cut-and-dry topic of gender and transexuality in a foreign language, almost as fast as I would in English!! I am so impressed with myself in this moment!!!
And then my time limit expires, and kicks me off without allowing me to save a single word.
Its 1:45pm.
Even if I could have remembered what I'd spit out so fluidly that first round, there was no way I could have finished the minimum of 2 pages within a half an hour and still have enough time to print it and walk the 8 blocks to class in time. So... I used those remaining moments to 1. laugh at myself for having tried SO HARD and still been defeated by all elements beyond my control, 2. craft an email to my profesora explaining to her why I wouldn't be handing my paper in today, knowing full well that it would only come off as an elaborate my-dog-ate-my-homework fib, the like of which I am too well-versed, and 3. walk to Chantilly, the aforementioned best confiteria in all of Capital Federal (and possibly the world!) to buy myself the fattest, richest alfajor that ever graced your daytime fantasies.
Que podes hacer?
When life hands you technical difficulties, eat artisan chocolate!
The epilogue to this saga is that Gabriel called me at 7:00pm tonight to tell me (or to tell Sofi who could understand him and who in turn told me) he'd already finished repairing my computer 3 days ahead of the prescribed time! Without needing to be told twice, I grabbed my backpack and power-walked, no, power-sprinted as fast as was socially acceptable, the 15 blocks to my compu and was cosily back in my apartment with a cup of tea by a record 7:30pm, ida y vuelta and already working on my paper faster than it took to wait for the #107 this morning.
So...
$250 pesos
3 colectivos
80 blocks of walking
and a million calorie alfajor later,
and I am back in business!
(Although after my delightfully untethered weekend of productivity, I've decided I really don't want to abuse the luxury of my laptop anymore. I'm past the point of no return in this trip and I'd really like to savor where I am by actually being present in it.)
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Fuerza Bruta
How to begin to describe the experience I've just had. I could say vibrant, I could say innovative, I could even say transformative... but there really are no letters that I could string together into word form that would sufficiently relay the depth of excitement I felt upon seeing the international work of theatre/dance/acrobatics/tech calle Fuerza Bruta (Brute Force).
The theatre is another unique space, more like a giant cement warehouse than a conventional performance space. And a DJ is blasting dance mixes as we gather in the courtyard outside. As they open the doors, we all poor into a huge playing space heavy with haze and dripping in magenta light from above. There are no seats. We gather like sheep, all standing around anxiously staring up at the light and ceiling as if looking for a sign of what is coming to us. The doors close and flood lights and our attention is drawn to focus by flood lights and fans from the corners of the space. Then we see the silhouette of a man walking in place into a bright light. His pace or direction doesnt change, but suddenly our perspective changes to his profile instrad of his back. As we crane our necks in intrigue we realize that he is on a moving platform and it is movinging out into the crowd bringing his world among us. The techies were not only acting as the grunts to push this platform, but also working crowd control to move us out of the way of it. Suddenly the music changes and the man starts running, there is a large fan blowing water and bits of paper in his face as he desperately fights to stay on pace with the speed of the tredmill spinning out of his control beneathe his feet. A loud gunshot, he grabs his chest which explodes in blood seeping out onto his white shirt, and blackout. Lights up, he removes his white business shirt to another just like it underneathe and continues walking to the same routine, now passing plastic chairs placed and replaced by the techies, and other people walking in the opposite direction and disappearing on the other end. But he alone continues forward. A classic display of an individual vs. society, sisyphus-like struggle for survival. No dialogue necessary.
Finally the techies present him with a bed. Obviously grateful for rest, he lays himself down, as a metallic curtain is drawn across the oposite wall behind him. We see his dreams unfold as two girls on harnesses float out and dance sideways in the air against the waves of light on this curtain. At first peaceful and dreamlike, then again a sudden change in music incites frenetic energy and they fight to break free of their harnesses. Black out. The man wakes and walks.
His platform moves him to the oposite side of the room, where he encounters 5 people on a similar platform surrounded by cardboard walls and crowded with plastic furniture. They move about anxiously trying the extend their limbs in an effort to dance in this clausterphobic space. A change in the music, they realize the ludicrous of their spatial containment, and begin tearing down the cardboard walls, spraynig bits of paper and glitter everywhere, throwing the plastic furniture, and utterly obliterating the maufactured walls holding them in. Now they can dance! I think at this point in the show I thought to myself, wow... performing in something like this day after day is way more than a job, way more than a workout, way more than a performance even... its a daily celebration of life and human liberty!
They bring their frantic dancing out among the herd of audience and smash styrofoam boards over our heads, exploding more confetti and glitter, that the techies were probably all too excited to sweep up afterwards, and inviting us to break out and dance with them. They all but turned the theatre into a nightclub!
Then our attention is drawn upwards as the metallic curtain washes over us like a wave. Eventually it regresses and our skyward gaze reveals a pool/giant slip-and-slide over our heads filled with a few inches of water lit from above and gathering around the silhouette of a body. The water washes over her as it ebbs and flows from side to side like waves in a pool. She is joined by another, then another, and then a fourth body, all sliding, tumbling, jumping, playing in the water and casting the most spectacular patterns in the water for us underneath to see. At one point, a girl poled her head underwater and looks directly at the audience, the pool is lowered down to just above our heads, we touch the thick clear plastic holding their water world in place and literally probe the fourth wall in effort to feel that inate human connection between us, the masses, and the dancing girls in a world of water overhead. Strobe lights, water dance, pulsing music, and the pool lifts itself back up to the rafters leaving us with a beautiful image of four bodies joined together like a puzzle in the sky. Black out.
The corner flood lights and fans signify, like book ends, that we have reaching the end of our journey. But we still must resolve the story of the running man. His platform is brought back out among us and we see him sprinting and breaking through cardboard walls being wheeled at him. Finally he is joined by two others this time heading in his same direction, all with harnesses and fly lines. They join hands in relief and solidarity and run forward together. They are met by a staircase, wheeled out by the techs of course, which they mount only to find a dead end at the top... or an open end if you will, literally they stand hand-in-hand on a precipice. The music drives them instinctively to keep pressing forward, and with no other option, they jump, just as the final cardboard wall is wheeled out in timing so precisely rehearsed it only looked spontaneous, and burst through in an explosion of confetti that covers the audience and showers us in the joy of their freedom and victory.
The cast comes out among us again, as the platform is wheeled away, and the lights and music convert the audience once again into a dance floor, all of us in unison, dancing to the beats of human liberty and potential. And then... in an unexplained phenomenon, it starts raining on the dance floor, nurturing, cleansing, baptizing us all, the dancing mob of people, all at one in our estacy!
Then the doors open, and we are set free to go forth and break through the boundaries in our own world.
Like I said... a theatrical experience unlike any I've ever whitnessed in my two decades of life, and mind you I've been attending shows since I was in the womb! So ingeniously visualized and crafted and realized and executed. The lights, the music, the imagery, the acrobatics, the timing, the audience participation, the structure of the story and the way it told itself without any script necessary. I really dont know any way to truly convey how thrilled and priviledged I felt to whitness and experience it. I really wish I'd had a few of my theatre family members to join me, drenched like rats, for drinks and discussion in the restaurant afterwards. Thats probably the only way this weekend could have been any better.
The theatre is another unique space, more like a giant cement warehouse than a conventional performance space. And a DJ is blasting dance mixes as we gather in the courtyard outside. As they open the doors, we all poor into a huge playing space heavy with haze and dripping in magenta light from above. There are no seats. We gather like sheep, all standing around anxiously staring up at the light and ceiling as if looking for a sign of what is coming to us. The doors close and flood lights and our attention is drawn to focus by flood lights and fans from the corners of the space. Then we see the silhouette of a man walking in place into a bright light. His pace or direction doesnt change, but suddenly our perspective changes to his profile instrad of his back. As we crane our necks in intrigue we realize that he is on a moving platform and it is movinging out into the crowd bringing his world among us. The techies were not only acting as the grunts to push this platform, but also working crowd control to move us out of the way of it. Suddenly the music changes and the man starts running, there is a large fan blowing water and bits of paper in his face as he desperately fights to stay on pace with the speed of the tredmill spinning out of his control beneathe his feet. A loud gunshot, he grabs his chest which explodes in blood seeping out onto his white shirt, and blackout. Lights up, he removes his white business shirt to another just like it underneathe and continues walking to the same routine, now passing plastic chairs placed and replaced by the techies, and other people walking in the opposite direction and disappearing on the other end. But he alone continues forward. A classic display of an individual vs. society, sisyphus-like struggle for survival. No dialogue necessary.
Finally the techies present him with a bed. Obviously grateful for rest, he lays himself down, as a metallic curtain is drawn across the oposite wall behind him. We see his dreams unfold as two girls on harnesses float out and dance sideways in the air against the waves of light on this curtain. At first peaceful and dreamlike, then again a sudden change in music incites frenetic energy and they fight to break free of their harnesses. Black out. The man wakes and walks.
His platform moves him to the oposite side of the room, where he encounters 5 people on a similar platform surrounded by cardboard walls and crowded with plastic furniture. They move about anxiously trying the extend their limbs in an effort to dance in this clausterphobic space. A change in the music, they realize the ludicrous of their spatial containment, and begin tearing down the cardboard walls, spraynig bits of paper and glitter everywhere, throwing the plastic furniture, and utterly obliterating the maufactured walls holding them in. Now they can dance! I think at this point in the show I thought to myself, wow... performing in something like this day after day is way more than a job, way more than a workout, way more than a performance even... its a daily celebration of life and human liberty!
They bring their frantic dancing out among the herd of audience and smash styrofoam boards over our heads, exploding more confetti and glitter, that the techies were probably all too excited to sweep up afterwards, and inviting us to break out and dance with them. They all but turned the theatre into a nightclub!
Then our attention is drawn upwards as the metallic curtain washes over us like a wave. Eventually it regresses and our skyward gaze reveals a pool/giant slip-and-slide over our heads filled with a few inches of water lit from above and gathering around the silhouette of a body. The water washes over her as it ebbs and flows from side to side like waves in a pool. She is joined by another, then another, and then a fourth body, all sliding, tumbling, jumping, playing in the water and casting the most spectacular patterns in the water for us underneath to see. At one point, a girl poled her head underwater and looks directly at the audience, the pool is lowered down to just above our heads, we touch the thick clear plastic holding their water world in place and literally probe the fourth wall in effort to feel that inate human connection between us, the masses, and the dancing girls in a world of water overhead. Strobe lights, water dance, pulsing music, and the pool lifts itself back up to the rafters leaving us with a beautiful image of four bodies joined together like a puzzle in the sky. Black out.
The corner flood lights and fans signify, like book ends, that we have reaching the end of our journey. But we still must resolve the story of the running man. His platform is brought back out among us and we see him sprinting and breaking through cardboard walls being wheeled at him. Finally he is joined by two others this time heading in his same direction, all with harnesses and fly lines. They join hands in relief and solidarity and run forward together. They are met by a staircase, wheeled out by the techs of course, which they mount only to find a dead end at the top... or an open end if you will, literally they stand hand-in-hand on a precipice. The music drives them instinctively to keep pressing forward, and with no other option, they jump, just as the final cardboard wall is wheeled out in timing so precisely rehearsed it only looked spontaneous, and burst through in an explosion of confetti that covers the audience and showers us in the joy of their freedom and victory.
The cast comes out among us again, as the platform is wheeled away, and the lights and music convert the audience once again into a dance floor, all of us in unison, dancing to the beats of human liberty and potential. And then... in an unexplained phenomenon, it starts raining on the dance floor, nurturing, cleansing, baptizing us all, the dancing mob of people, all at one in our estacy!
Then the doors open, and we are set free to go forth and break through the boundaries in our own world.
Like I said... a theatrical experience unlike any I've ever whitnessed in my two decades of life, and mind you I've been attending shows since I was in the womb! So ingeniously visualized and crafted and realized and executed. The lights, the music, the imagery, the acrobatics, the timing, the audience participation, the structure of the story and the way it told itself without any script necessary. I really dont know any way to truly convey how thrilled and priviledged I felt to whitness and experience it. I really wish I'd had a few of my theatre family members to join me, drenched like rats, for drinks and discussion in the restaurant afterwards. Thats probably the only way this weekend could have been any better.
La Bomba del Tiempo
Saturday night, after rejuvinating day in the country, I went out with Estevan, my CLU amigo, and his friend Collin, to La Fiesta de La Bomba del Tiempo (The Time Bomb). La Bomba is a percussion group that plays improvisational concerts every Monday at Centro Cultural Konex, the super modern edgy warehouse/theatre space where I saw La Isla Desierta, the blind theatre peice. Saturday was a special celebration of La Bomba's 3rd year anniversary, so we got their early, like Americans would, to get tickets in time thinking they would sell out or at least stop giving entrance once the place had reached capacity.... nnnnnnnnnnnnno!
The opened the doors at midnight, but all that began was the accumulation of a loud of smoke hovering over the place as practically everyone ther lit up cigarettes and passed around drinks for a good 2 hours. We were beginning to wonder if this fiesta would ever even start or if this was all it was! Finally around 2am, the percussion ensemble takes their places and the masses crowd into the warehouse as embullient beats bombard us from the hands of these drummers. SO COOL! This went on for hours!! Amongst the crowd, nudging shoulders and elbows turned to carefree dancing turned to sweaty moshing and around 5am, the Americans decided it was way past our bedtime and as awesome as the music was, it didn't look like it was wrapping up soon and we needed to call it a night! So we squeezed our way free from the body odor of the warehouse only to inhale the fresh cool cloud of cigarette smoke and Buenos Aires fumes outside. Caught a cab home, had a great conversation with him actually, and was cosily snuggled in bed by 6am, abosolutely aware that the fiesta was PROBABLY STILL GOING!
ARGENTINOS SON LOCOS!
The opened the doors at midnight, but all that began was the accumulation of a loud of smoke hovering over the place as practically everyone ther lit up cigarettes and passed around drinks for a good 2 hours. We were beginning to wonder if this fiesta would ever even start or if this was all it was! Finally around 2am, the percussion ensemble takes their places and the masses crowd into the warehouse as embullient beats bombard us from the hands of these drummers. SO COOL! This went on for hours!! Amongst the crowd, nudging shoulders and elbows turned to carefree dancing turned to sweaty moshing and around 5am, the Americans decided it was way past our bedtime and as awesome as the music was, it didn't look like it was wrapping up soon and we needed to call it a night! So we squeezed our way free from the body odor of the warehouse only to inhale the fresh cool cloud of cigarette smoke and Buenos Aires fumes outside. Caught a cab home, had a great conversation with him actually, and was cosily snuggled in bed by 6am, abosolutely aware that the fiesta was PROBABLY STILL GOING!
ARGENTINOS SON LOCOS!
Dia del Campo
This past Saturday, ISA took a busload of us out to an estancia in the countryside 2 hours outside the city for a day of experiencing the heart and history of Argentine culture: el campo.
We stopped briefly in Lujan to see the most visited site in South America, La Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Lujan. It is a spectacular Neogothic rose colored cathedral, pointing violently to the heavens with sharp, scalloped steeples topped with golden sun medallions radiating the symbol of Argentina. Absolutely gorgeous... probably the only church I've seen down here that could hold a candle to the ancient cathedrals of Europe.
Upon our arrival to the estancia, we were greeted with complimentary empanadas and a profound inhalation of fresh air! The country air literally smells and feels different from the city air... I can breathe it in without shortening the years of my life! It wafted the strumming of guitarra hispanola to our ears and we were drawn to the front lawn of a traditional Argentine plantation home where a couple dressed in the traditional costume of a gaucho (cowboy) and his china (sweetheart) were dancing foklorico.
We passed the afternoon riding horses, exploring the house, and chasing the flocks of pavos reales (peacocks) that roam the grounds. At one point we got to whitness 7 of them spread out their irridesant plumage in effort to impress on peahen who wandered by entirely unimpressed.
We stopped briefly in Lujan to see the most visited site in South America, La Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Lujan. It is a spectacular Neogothic rose colored cathedral, pointing violently to the heavens with sharp, scalloped steeples topped with golden sun medallions radiating the symbol of Argentina. Absolutely gorgeous... probably the only church I've seen down here that could hold a candle to the ancient cathedrals of Europe.
Upon our arrival to the estancia, we were greeted with complimentary empanadas and a profound inhalation of fresh air! The country air literally smells and feels different from the city air... I can breathe it in without shortening the years of my life! It wafted the strumming of guitarra hispanola to our ears and we were drawn to the front lawn of a traditional Argentine plantation home where a couple dressed in the traditional costume of a gaucho (cowboy) and his china (sweetheart) were dancing foklorico.
We passed the afternoon riding horses, exploring the house, and chasing the flocks of pavos reales (peacocks) that roam the grounds. At one point we got to whitness 7 of them spread out their irridesant plumage in effort to impress on peahen who wandered by entirely unimpressed.
Then we had an asado... course after course of meat and bread, the two staples of an Argentine diet. I was content to request the vegetarian meal, a bowl of spaghetti and parmesan cheese, being that I've been fortunate enough to partake in several asados already with my host family and didn't deam it necessary to invite the days of digestive difficulty that would inevitably follow the ridiculous consumption of so much meat. The first course was salad and baskets of bread... typical right? Followed by chorizo, sausages meant to be sandwhiched in between the biscuits of bread and smothered in chimichurri sauce, a concoction of onion, bell peppers, and olive oil, the closest thing to spicy that Argentina knows. The second course is blood sausage, fat black little sacks of an oozy gooey mush that intrigues one just enough to solicit the questions "What exactly is this?" and then immediate regret asking. Really, if you can excuse the texture and forget the fact that your eating cooked coagulated blood... it can be quite flavorful! The third course is chicken, cooked like all their meat is: purely and simply over an open fire, without marinade, spices, seasoning, or sauce of any kind. The fourth course (what are you full already??) is finally, huge, think cuts of the best quality of prime rib roast you've ever seen in your life with strips of fat 2 inches thick that insulate the tenderest juciest pink middle. And if you haven't yet reached a comatosis state, they finished off with homemade helado, more guitarra hispanola and bailando foklorico which we were taught and invited to partake in. Needless to say I was the first one on the dance floor!
Afterwards we saw gaucho demonstrations of their traditional costume and horsemanship skills. They hung a ring just large enough to fit my pinky finger from an archway, and charged at it on horseback in full gallop with a stick the size of a pencil, hooking it through with aim and timing impressivle precise. It was incredible to watch the grown men surmount this spectacular feat, but fora grand finale, an 11 year old kid more deftly handling his horse than any cowboy I've ever seen before, nails it on the first try amidst cheers and applause from the crowd. The he haughtily dismounts his steed, and struts over to me to hand me the ring and claim his prize, a besito on the cheek! Yeah... I felt pretty legit in that moment. No... unfortunately I did not get his number.
The evening ended with tartas fritas and the drinking of mate, Argentina's favorite pasttime. Its a super strong and highly caffeinated green tea like herb that they sip through silver bombillas out of a gourd and pass around among friends in a manner almost ritualistic. On any given day, at any given hour, you can see couples drinking it in the park, security guards at their posts, shop owners behind the counter, pretty much anyone and everyone with lips to put to a straw! It's my theory as to how they can survive such late nights out on the town... the caffeine practically runs through their veins!
It was unfortunate that the mate was the last thing we did before getting back on the bus for a 2 hour ride home, because most of us just wanted to succumb to the fat-and-happy food coma that was washing over us. I've never been able to take the traditional South American siesta before... maybe I just wasn't eating enough beforehand!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Museums and Birthday Parties!
Well... if they gave out medals for museum going, I'm sure I'd at least have earned a silver for this past week.
For my Arte Argentino Contemporaneo class, we are a given practical assignments to go to certain museums and/or monuments and buildings in the city to view the art pieces we are studying in person. I love this! Not like I need an excuse to wander my day away absorbing culture and beauty and history via artwork, but now at least it counts as homework! Homework.... see now that's a word that I definitely left at HOME... somehow it just didn't make it into my suitcase. Getting my student's-head back into gear for the start of real classes has been interesting. After my visit to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and the Jardin Botanico de Buenos Aires, I knew I'd have to at least prove that I went to those places with a brief description of what I saw, but when I rolled in last Thursday with nothing but names of paintings and artists jotted down on the back of my program I found that everyone else had typewritten pages with photos and full paragraphs! AAH! Aparently the South American me is a slacker-student! "Todo bien..." I thought, "I'll just let the overachieving kids do all the talking in class today." And then she calls on me. So I proceeded to improvise some intelligent artistic BS on the spot IN SPANISH! I have reached a new level of scholastic aptitude. Give me another medal for that please!
Friday was a blustery rainy day... perfect for more museums right?? So I spent the day in MALBA, the most talked about modern art museum in the city with Erica. I'm not quite sure which hurt my head more... trying to interpret the explanations in Spanish or the art itself! That evening we checked out the cinema in MALBA that plays independant Argentine films. We'd already seen on very interesting movie there called Plan B, about a guy who seeks revenge on his ex by making her new boyfriend fall in love with him. Friday was a documentary about Jewish gays in Argentina, Otro Entre Otros, about being a discriminated minority within a discriminated minority. Super relevant and touching subject, but without subtitulos, the already exhausted analysis-drive in my brain kinda went on strike and decided to just enjoy the body language and rainbow yermulkes.
Saturday, Tom and I went on an excursion to find the free tango festival thats happening in Microcentro for the rest of the month.... we were a block away from it and somehow too dense to stumble in the right direction. But the trip to Plaza de Mayo was worth it when Tom asked "Hey, did you know that the Casa Rosada (the pink equivalent of the White House) is a museum?" No I did not... but hey! It's free on the weekends, let's just go wander through the president's office! No big deal right? We got pictures with the cheery laid back guards in their full uniform, flashing smiles for tourists' photos as if that's the extent of their responsibilities, and then a tour of the rich wooden and gold plated offices and conference rooms where everything goes down. As I write this I'm watching the news and seeing a government meeting about traffic safety taking place in a room that I walked through a couple days ago!
The yesterday Erica and I went down to La Boca, the oldest most authentic and unique barrio in Buenos Aires, considered an open air museum in itself! It is the part of town where immigrants settled down upon first arriving in the city. Most of them were Italian, many were artists, and basically all of them were working class. They didn't have alot of money or status, but they did have alot of heart, and they wanted their run down dirty little neighborhood to reflect that. So they painted their homes and storefronts in the brightest boldest Italian colors: rojo, amarillo, azul, verde. If you've ever seen the classic image of a couple dancing tango on the street in BsAs, chances are it was taken in La Boca. However, it is a self-proclaimed tourist trap. And after two months of learning to adopt the language and mannerisms and dress of an Argentine life, I really didn't appreciate being approached with "Blondie, where are you from?" in English. But aparently I'm still more obvious than I would like to be.
So that's about 5 museum visits in 7 days... not bad at all!
Friday was also Franco's birthday so Thursday night some extended family came over and we celebrated with empanadas and a chocotorta, a cake made up of layers of crushed chocolina cookies and dulce de leche... easily the greatest dessert ever invented by mankind. He'd been whining the day before about how turning 19 made him too old for presents... oh please! So I got him a nice little card and a box of bon bons! We've been talking alot more now that we have similar schedules and hang out in the kitchen at the same times, and last night when a bunch of his friends came over he wanted to introduce me to them. Oh yeah... I'm in! I'm cool.
I would also like to share the mini-victory of my first successful phone call in Spanish! Until now, I've been completely useless over the phone, unable to understand anything without visual aids. But I was able to call the director of La Casita de Ninos, who excitedly told me she'd been waiting for my call, and arranged to spend my Fridays out in Escobar with the kids. I could not be more humbled or thrilled that they'll have me.
Thus went my week! Stay tuned for pictures via facebook!
For my Arte Argentino Contemporaneo class, we are a given practical assignments to go to certain museums and/or monuments and buildings in the city to view the art pieces we are studying in person. I love this! Not like I need an excuse to wander my day away absorbing culture and beauty and history via artwork, but now at least it counts as homework! Homework.... see now that's a word that I definitely left at HOME... somehow it just didn't make it into my suitcase. Getting my student's-head back into gear for the start of real classes has been interesting. After my visit to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and the Jardin Botanico de Buenos Aires, I knew I'd have to at least prove that I went to those places with a brief description of what I saw, but when I rolled in last Thursday with nothing but names of paintings and artists jotted down on the back of my program I found that everyone else had typewritten pages with photos and full paragraphs! AAH! Aparently the South American me is a slacker-student! "Todo bien..." I thought, "I'll just let the overachieving kids do all the talking in class today." And then she calls on me. So I proceeded to improvise some intelligent artistic BS on the spot IN SPANISH! I have reached a new level of scholastic aptitude. Give me another medal for that please!
Friday was a blustery rainy day... perfect for more museums right?? So I spent the day in MALBA, the most talked about modern art museum in the city with Erica. I'm not quite sure which hurt my head more... trying to interpret the explanations in Spanish or the art itself! That evening we checked out the cinema in MALBA that plays independant Argentine films. We'd already seen on very interesting movie there called Plan B, about a guy who seeks revenge on his ex by making her new boyfriend fall in love with him. Friday was a documentary about Jewish gays in Argentina, Otro Entre Otros, about being a discriminated minority within a discriminated minority. Super relevant and touching subject, but without subtitulos, the already exhausted analysis-drive in my brain kinda went on strike and decided to just enjoy the body language and rainbow yermulkes.
Saturday, Tom and I went on an excursion to find the free tango festival thats happening in Microcentro for the rest of the month.... we were a block away from it and somehow too dense to stumble in the right direction. But the trip to Plaza de Mayo was worth it when Tom asked "Hey, did you know that the Casa Rosada (the pink equivalent of the White House) is a museum?" No I did not... but hey! It's free on the weekends, let's just go wander through the president's office! No big deal right? We got pictures with the cheery laid back guards in their full uniform, flashing smiles for tourists' photos as if that's the extent of their responsibilities, and then a tour of the rich wooden and gold plated offices and conference rooms where everything goes down. As I write this I'm watching the news and seeing a government meeting about traffic safety taking place in a room that I walked through a couple days ago!
The yesterday Erica and I went down to La Boca, the oldest most authentic and unique barrio in Buenos Aires, considered an open air museum in itself! It is the part of town where immigrants settled down upon first arriving in the city. Most of them were Italian, many were artists, and basically all of them were working class. They didn't have alot of money or status, but they did have alot of heart, and they wanted their run down dirty little neighborhood to reflect that. So they painted their homes and storefronts in the brightest boldest Italian colors: rojo, amarillo, azul, verde. If you've ever seen the classic image of a couple dancing tango on the street in BsAs, chances are it was taken in La Boca. However, it is a self-proclaimed tourist trap. And after two months of learning to adopt the language and mannerisms and dress of an Argentine life, I really didn't appreciate being approached with "Blondie, where are you from?" in English. But aparently I'm still more obvious than I would like to be.
So that's about 5 museum visits in 7 days... not bad at all!
Friday was also Franco's birthday so Thursday night some extended family came over and we celebrated with empanadas and a chocotorta, a cake made up of layers of crushed chocolina cookies and dulce de leche... easily the greatest dessert ever invented by mankind. He'd been whining the day before about how turning 19 made him too old for presents... oh please! So I got him a nice little card and a box of bon bons! We've been talking alot more now that we have similar schedules and hang out in the kitchen at the same times, and last night when a bunch of his friends came over he wanted to introduce me to them. Oh yeah... I'm in! I'm cool.
I would also like to share the mini-victory of my first successful phone call in Spanish! Until now, I've been completely useless over the phone, unable to understand anything without visual aids. But I was able to call the director of La Casita de Ninos, who excitedly told me she'd been waiting for my call, and arranged to spend my Fridays out in Escobar with the kids. I could not be more humbled or thrilled that they'll have me.
Thus went my week! Stay tuned for pictures via facebook!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Hoy es Dia del Nino
So just like in the U.S. we set aside specific days on which to show our appreciation to Mothers, Fathers, and Veterans, here in Argentina they also include days to commemorate one's Amigos and one's Children: Ninos. On this day one has an obligation, nay privilege, nay excuse to dote upon their kids with gifts and attention... but really the Argentines will come up with any reason to celebrate.
By a last minute stroke of coincidence, I was invited by a friend I met in Chile to spend this day helping out at La Casita de Ninos, a children's day care in Escobar which is a smaller, poorer city in provincial Buenos Aires. Unsure of exactly what I was getting myself into, I snatched the opportunity, woke with the sunrise this morning, and trudged over to the Plaza Italia bus station. An hour and $9 pesos later and I'm in Escobar!
La Casita is a little cement house chipped with bright blue paint and splotchy colorful handprints on its front. Inside amongst the crowded rooms and busy backyard are upwards of 20 kids from the ages 5 to 15 playing with well worn toys, swinging on the crooked playset, and painting with mixed up colors. Jeff, my amigo who graciously shared this little miracle with me, takes me around from face to face and introduces me to the extended family members that form La Casita. I receive a genuinely compassionate hug from Silvia, the director, as if I were a long lost neice at a family reunion. Each one of them greets me with a smile and a besito, and somehow I know that they will remember my name much easier than I will all of theirs.
Amidst playful little yells in the yard, Jeff explains to me in English (so the kids wont understand) what some of them have been through. I remember my stomach sinking as I tried to imagine the life some of them have known at such a young age, and feeling entirely naive and undeserving of the fortune of blessings that brought me to this place. Little scuffles break out over toys and attention and suddenly the playful cherubic kids start hurling curse words and blows at each other, but this is behavior probably more familiar to them than the lovey dovey "use your words" discipline that sculpted my childhood. I learn pretty quick from the other grownups how to go from nueva amiga to la policia in the playground.
But soon we're cleaning up the games, setting out chairs, blowing up globitos (balloons) and handing out panchos (hot dogs) and torta (cake) as the fiesta for Dia del Nino is about to begin. A couple of the older kids and Jeff put on a show with puppets brought by a kindly patroness who narrates the storytelling and afterwards each one receives a wrapped present to take home with them. I regret having to leave for my afternoon classes because I almost got a chance to visit the villas, the slums where the majority of the children return home when La Casita isn't open, and talk with some of their families to see where and what they come from that lends the tint of sadness behind their bright brave eyes.
I know I have plenty of time though. The cloud of compassion and energy and joy that emanates from this house assures me that at whatever time I want to return to lend a hand, I will be welcomed. I could honestly hope for no higher honor than to assume a small role in that family over the next few months.
... I really don't know how to sum up this journal entry. I'd hate to use my brief glimpse into these kids' lives as a tale of how I've grown in character or a preaching point about how you should hug your child today and be thankful for the blessings in your life. I mean, does it even need to be said?? But as long as I'm relaying my daily Argentine life to whomever on the other side of this blog wants to read about it, it's probably worth a mention. You wouldn't know it or even want to believe it unless you've seen it. I did... so I guess I'm just confirming it in a testimony to those who didn't.
Pain and poverty, unlike anything we know in the United States, is real and very much commonplace in the rest of the world.
By a last minute stroke of coincidence, I was invited by a friend I met in Chile to spend this day helping out at La Casita de Ninos, a children's day care in Escobar which is a smaller, poorer city in provincial Buenos Aires. Unsure of exactly what I was getting myself into, I snatched the opportunity, woke with the sunrise this morning, and trudged over to the Plaza Italia bus station. An hour and $9 pesos later and I'm in Escobar!
La Casita is a little cement house chipped with bright blue paint and splotchy colorful handprints on its front. Inside amongst the crowded rooms and busy backyard are upwards of 20 kids from the ages 5 to 15 playing with well worn toys, swinging on the crooked playset, and painting with mixed up colors. Jeff, my amigo who graciously shared this little miracle with me, takes me around from face to face and introduces me to the extended family members that form La Casita. I receive a genuinely compassionate hug from Silvia, the director, as if I were a long lost neice at a family reunion. Each one of them greets me with a smile and a besito, and somehow I know that they will remember my name much easier than I will all of theirs.
Amidst playful little yells in the yard, Jeff explains to me in English (so the kids wont understand) what some of them have been through. I remember my stomach sinking as I tried to imagine the life some of them have known at such a young age, and feeling entirely naive and undeserving of the fortune of blessings that brought me to this place. Little scuffles break out over toys and attention and suddenly the playful cherubic kids start hurling curse words and blows at each other, but this is behavior probably more familiar to them than the lovey dovey "use your words" discipline that sculpted my childhood. I learn pretty quick from the other grownups how to go from nueva amiga to la policia in the playground.
But soon we're cleaning up the games, setting out chairs, blowing up globitos (balloons) and handing out panchos (hot dogs) and torta (cake) as the fiesta for Dia del Nino is about to begin. A couple of the older kids and Jeff put on a show with puppets brought by a kindly patroness who narrates the storytelling and afterwards each one receives a wrapped present to take home with them. I regret having to leave for my afternoon classes because I almost got a chance to visit the villas, the slums where the majority of the children return home when La Casita isn't open, and talk with some of their families to see where and what they come from that lends the tint of sadness behind their bright brave eyes.
I know I have plenty of time though. The cloud of compassion and energy and joy that emanates from this house assures me that at whatever time I want to return to lend a hand, I will be welcomed. I could honestly hope for no higher honor than to assume a small role in that family over the next few months.
... I really don't know how to sum up this journal entry. I'd hate to use my brief glimpse into these kids' lives as a tale of how I've grown in character or a preaching point about how you should hug your child today and be thankful for the blessings in your life. I mean, does it even need to be said?? But as long as I'm relaying my daily Argentine life to whomever on the other side of this blog wants to read about it, it's probably worth a mention. You wouldn't know it or even want to believe it unless you've seen it. I did... so I guess I'm just confirming it in a testimony to those who didn't.
Pain and poverty, unlike anything we know in the United States, is real and very much commonplace in the rest of the world.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Encountering the Far East... in the Deep South!
I apologize for my unexplained lapse in in blogging... apparently I took a week off from having thoughts worth sharing!
Really the phenomenon that is taking place here is I've become so acquainted with the city and the lifestyle and the language by now that the novelty of everything has kinda worn off. My discoveries are less daily and more profound. Regardless, I've had an eventful week and now will have to recount it in a ridiculously long entry that will make me regret ever letting laziness overtake my locquasiousness.
I mentioned breifly that I wanted to find a volunteer outlet somewhere in the city where I could constuctively invest my newfound free time. I went researching and por casualidad found an organization called Food For Life that operates all around the world and has a branch here in Buenos Aires. They are a free food distribution group that hands out all vegan/vegetarian/organic food. Now I know what you're thinking! Why would poor hungry people needing to be fed care about the ethical quality of food that is put on their plate?? Well, let me tell you about the adventure that led me to the answer!
I emailed the group and they said "Sure! Of course! Just come by and meet us so we can get to know you and then you can help out however you want!" AWESOME! So on Monday I venture out to the address they gave me and find myself at the door of a Hindu temple! Intrigued, but obviously wary, I proceeded by the help of a shoeless devotee who led me to a multipurpose room where I joined him in his shoelessness and bore whitness to some kind of song and dance ritual that was being enacted by three young men before the statue of a deity in the corner of the room. (Shout out to Dr. Gill and his Global Religions class!! I was able to pretend I knew what was going on!) I was introduced to Veda Vidya, an extremely kind man who asked how I heard about Food For Life and where I'm from and yada yada yada. Then he told me all about their mission. Obviously, Food For Life was founded from a Hindu tradition, although it is not affiliated with a specific church or religion. Now, Hindus choose not to eat meat, not only because they believe in reincarnation and don't want to risk consuming their grandmother, but as Veda explained they believe the food you put into your body is what you offer up to God. Literally like your body is a temple. Therefore they choose to offer up only the purest, freshest, most love-filled foods through the vessel of their bodies. And they take the utmost care and pour the utmost love into all the foods that they prepare to distribute so that the people receiving those offerings will in turn be filled with purity and love that they can radiate out to those in their own world. Like it or not, I found it to be a beautiful philosophy. Veda was the nicest guy too, and gave me so much of his time and attention that I even felt comfortable enough to ask him about the ritual the men were practicing and a little bit about their faith. He ended up talking to me for over an hour! It wasn't until my long walk home that I realized I'd just had an hour and a half conversation about the nature of the soul TOTALMENTE EN CASTILLANO!
Some days are exhausting... and I feel like I'll never learn this language and all I'm doing is making myself look like a fool... but Monday was not one of those days!!
I also mentioned briefly that I was looking for acting/singing lessons to experiment with. Well, Teatro Colon was a bust, but thanks to some savvy websearching I found a couple of really interesting workshops through a little studio called Centro de Integracion Teatral. It seeks to integrate oriental theatrical practices with art and entertainment in the Americas. Now, I love world theatre.... that's kinda why I came down here in the first place! So encountering another theatrical/cultural tradition while exploring Argentina??
"Yes, I'll have South American special please with a side of Indonesia and South Asia!"
The first is Respiracion Emocional/Emotional Breathing, which is about utilizing the breath the fully connect one's thoughts and feelings to the body and being entirely present in the moment. It sounded to me like a fusion of Alexander Technique and the Alba Emoting Breath Technique that I'd studied and heard about at home.... with a little bit of an oriental twist!
The second is Mascaras/Masks!!! We'll be using authentic wood-carved Balanese masks... from Bali! And experimenting with the physical and vocal embodiment of the myriad of characters one face can create! Now in case you couldn't tell by the exclamation points, THIS is something I've just barely been exposed to and have always wanted to learn, so I couldn't be more thrilled!
I had my first class on Thursday, and I'll admit I was nervous! I mean I didn't know what to expect! Would I be handed a script in Spanish on day one under the scrutiny of judging actors' eyes and have to act through the translation?? What if they make me improv when I can't even form a sentence without rehearsing it my head first?? So many disasterous possibilities... I did not want to be THAT foreign girl who no one wants as a scene partner cuz she's so dumb! Luckily, the classes are no larger than 6 people, all of mixed levels of experience, so it was like we were all on even footing and came to the table as equals from the start.
Geraldine, the instructor, is fantastic! So supportive and welcoming, she made it clear that she would make sure I understoof everything... which surprisingly I did! There were a couple times when I didn't fully get the excerise I 'd just copy the guy next to me and pray she didn't ask me to go first! But overall, I loved the friendly open environment, the chance to be surrounded by locals with similar interests as me (as opposed to being known as "that actor girl" by all the ISA people), and the sense of having made a really brave, proactive decision to invest in some more invaluable life skills.
http://www.respiracionemocionyexpresion.blogspot.com/
http://www.teatrodemascarass.blogspot.com/
And for the sake of my parents who are the most frequent readers of this public verisimilitous journal of mine, the classes are ridiculously cheap!!! Less than US$10 a class whereas in Hollywood, they'd be anywhere from $60-$100 or more!!!
Me encanto Latinoamerica.
Really the phenomenon that is taking place here is I've become so acquainted with the city and the lifestyle and the language by now that the novelty of everything has kinda worn off. My discoveries are less daily and more profound. Regardless, I've had an eventful week and now will have to recount it in a ridiculously long entry that will make me regret ever letting laziness overtake my locquasiousness.
I mentioned breifly that I wanted to find a volunteer outlet somewhere in the city where I could constuctively invest my newfound free time. I went researching and por casualidad found an organization called Food For Life that operates all around the world and has a branch here in Buenos Aires. They are a free food distribution group that hands out all vegan/vegetarian/organic food. Now I know what you're thinking! Why would poor hungry people needing to be fed care about the ethical quality of food that is put on their plate?? Well, let me tell you about the adventure that led me to the answer!
I emailed the group and they said "Sure! Of course! Just come by and meet us so we can get to know you and then you can help out however you want!" AWESOME! So on Monday I venture out to the address they gave me and find myself at the door of a Hindu temple! Intrigued, but obviously wary, I proceeded by the help of a shoeless devotee who led me to a multipurpose room where I joined him in his shoelessness and bore whitness to some kind of song and dance ritual that was being enacted by three young men before the statue of a deity in the corner of the room. (Shout out to Dr. Gill and his Global Religions class!! I was able to pretend I knew what was going on!) I was introduced to Veda Vidya, an extremely kind man who asked how I heard about Food For Life and where I'm from and yada yada yada. Then he told me all about their mission. Obviously, Food For Life was founded from a Hindu tradition, although it is not affiliated with a specific church or religion. Now, Hindus choose not to eat meat, not only because they believe in reincarnation and don't want to risk consuming their grandmother, but as Veda explained they believe the food you put into your body is what you offer up to God. Literally like your body is a temple. Therefore they choose to offer up only the purest, freshest, most love-filled foods through the vessel of their bodies. And they take the utmost care and pour the utmost love into all the foods that they prepare to distribute so that the people receiving those offerings will in turn be filled with purity and love that they can radiate out to those in their own world. Like it or not, I found it to be a beautiful philosophy. Veda was the nicest guy too, and gave me so much of his time and attention that I even felt comfortable enough to ask him about the ritual the men were practicing and a little bit about their faith. He ended up talking to me for over an hour! It wasn't until my long walk home that I realized I'd just had an hour and a half conversation about the nature of the soul TOTALMENTE EN CASTILLANO!
Some days are exhausting... and I feel like I'll never learn this language and all I'm doing is making myself look like a fool... but Monday was not one of those days!!
I also mentioned briefly that I was looking for acting/singing lessons to experiment with. Well, Teatro Colon was a bust, but thanks to some savvy websearching I found a couple of really interesting workshops through a little studio called Centro de Integracion Teatral. It seeks to integrate oriental theatrical practices with art and entertainment in the Americas. Now, I love world theatre.... that's kinda why I came down here in the first place! So encountering another theatrical/cultural tradition while exploring Argentina??
"Yes, I'll have South American special please with a side of Indonesia and South Asia!"
The first is Respiracion Emocional/Emotional Breathing, which is about utilizing the breath the fully connect one's thoughts and feelings to the body and being entirely present in the moment. It sounded to me like a fusion of Alexander Technique and the Alba Emoting Breath Technique that I'd studied and heard about at home.... with a little bit of an oriental twist!
The second is Mascaras/Masks!!! We'll be using authentic wood-carved Balanese masks... from Bali! And experimenting with the physical and vocal embodiment of the myriad of characters one face can create! Now in case you couldn't tell by the exclamation points, THIS is something I've just barely been exposed to and have always wanted to learn, so I couldn't be more thrilled!
I had my first class on Thursday, and I'll admit I was nervous! I mean I didn't know what to expect! Would I be handed a script in Spanish on day one under the scrutiny of judging actors' eyes and have to act through the translation?? What if they make me improv when I can't even form a sentence without rehearsing it my head first?? So many disasterous possibilities... I did not want to be THAT foreign girl who no one wants as a scene partner cuz she's so dumb! Luckily, the classes are no larger than 6 people, all of mixed levels of experience, so it was like we were all on even footing and came to the table as equals from the start.
Geraldine, the instructor, is fantastic! So supportive and welcoming, she made it clear that she would make sure I understoof everything... which surprisingly I did! There were a couple times when I didn't fully get the excerise I 'd just copy the guy next to me and pray she didn't ask me to go first! But overall, I loved the friendly open environment, the chance to be surrounded by locals with similar interests as me (as opposed to being known as "that actor girl" by all the ISA people), and the sense of having made a really brave, proactive decision to invest in some more invaluable life skills.
http://www.respiracionemocionyexpresion.blogspot.com/
http://www.teatrodemascarass.blogspot.com/
And for the sake of my parents who are the most frequent readers of this public verisimilitous journal of mine, the classes are ridiculously cheap!!! Less than US$10 a class whereas in Hollywood, they'd be anywhere from $60-$100 or more!!!
Me encanto Latinoamerica.
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