Buenos Aires, unedited

Walking home last night down Calle Manuel Montt in Providencia, Santiago stomach full of Chilean Mexican food and the Queen of the Night aria from Mozart’s The Magic Flute stuck in my head, I felt the giddy satisfaction you can only feel after one, long, full day preceded by one, long, crazy Argentinian weekend. I also wondered how I would fit it all into a long over due blog entry. So here goes: (Note to the faint of heart, I have made a few stylistic choices that defy gramatical conventions, also I have no English spell check on this computer)

After waking up early to finish a midterm on Friday morning I got on a subway to Santiago Airport, and then before I knew it I was heading through Argentine customs (which is way more lax than Chilean customs), and then I was in a cab heading towards el Obelisco de Buenos Aires, its long monothic self rising over the lit up and hustling city, Cristina Kirchner (or Senora K for marketing purposes) the country’s new president stared down at me from a massive billboard with heavy eye makeup and robust lips as if to say “Bienvenidos a Buenos Aires, Sé que te falta, y que debemos hacer,” and then I checked in to the 06 Central hostel in a renovated old town house right in the middle of Microcentro, then walked up Avenida Corrientes all billboards for dancing girls and high budget comedies and pizza parlors and tourists and hustlers and two twin Charlie Chaplin impersonators, Times Square of South America, and then I saw STREET TANGO, Calle Florida, and then I befriended a group of 40 Argentine orthodontia students staying in my youth hostel for a conference, they belted out Spanish tunes and played guitar, we went to a bariloche (Buenos Aires’s famed dance clubs) danced to heavy techno beats and 80s pop and Beyonce and Regaton, lots of unecessary strobe lights, too tired to stand at 4 in the morning I decided to leave while the party was still going on, my hot orthodonists friends looked shocked to see me go but this was only my first night (from my bed I heard them stumble in at 8:30 that morning), walked home avoiding the cracked up streets and muggers as best I could with Senora K’s comforting, sexy gaze keeping me safe, sleep.
And then I woke up. Cafe y medialunas (delicious, delicious croissants that go like hotcakes in BA for less than a dollar), then off to see the Pink House (their White House) and the Plaza de Mayo, Municipal Catedral of Buenos Aires, impressive, grand, old, crumbly, and I walked down Avenida de Mayo lined with blossoming trees and old historic cafes where old men in hats sip espresso and read Borges, and after failing to catch one of the three thousand city buses, so I walked in the enthusiastic spring sun of Argentina y a breeze from a river nearby to meet up with Maggie (a friend of a friend who’s now a friend) studying in Buenos Aires for the year, I also bought sunglasses for 15 pesos, she showed me around the quaint yet simultaneously upscale neighborhood, more historic cafes, and then we stumbled upon an antique car show, and then ventured into the Recoleta cemetary, a labyrinth of family mausoleums guarded by stray cats with shifty eyes, peering into any given one you could see stacks of coffins and ladders leading to dark tunnels underground, Eva Peron’s tomb and the body of a girl burried before death so her family made the mausoleum door glass so they could see if she wanted to get out…and then we went to the Recoleta fair saw crafts and hand made jewelry and and little boxes made from orange rhine, and then we saw children chanting “azul, azul, azul!” to the face of a blank canvas, and then I learned the fine art of sipping mate in the park (don’t fiddle with the bombilla, the metal straw the filters the tea leaves), and listened to some guy play guitar, also I met one of Maggie’s friends, Michelle, and the it was off to the MALBA (Museo de Arte de America Latina Buenos Aires) where I saw some freaky video art involving an Elephant and saw the best of the continent’s art from the last century and mostly just felt cool riding the glass elevator in the hip modern building, and then time for more café and medialunas to recharge, then a late dinner with Maggie and friends at this hip paradilla, or barbeque, the pride of Argentina, with a nice bottle of Malbec, sensational, we wisked away to San Telmo on the other side of the city to Maggie’s Brazillian/Peruvian friend’s super nice house, sipped beer and listend to an Incubus album with a Columbian, an El Salavadorian, a Swiss, a Dane, and a Texan, and talked about the things lost in translation, then after a slightly enebriated cab ride passing by the Pink house all lit up, I found myself in bed once more, another late night, savoring the smoky taste of Buenos Aires’s air, or maybe it was the after taste of steak.
AND THEN up again, it was Sunday in Buenos Aires and had to head to the San Telmo street fair, I passed mad funky sweet sick street art plastered on the sides of 300 year old buildings, took photos, and San Telmo was throbbing with pedestrians mulling around booths of crafts and antiques, old lady jewelry, flatted antique bottles, paintings of people dancing tango, ships in bottles, different types of mate cups y bombillas, I bought a hat and felt vaguely ridiculous, but also like a champion, saw more STREET TANGO, felt like a tourist, and headed for lunch at a random café where I had a burger and watched two old ladies sit in the sun and smoke endless cigarettes, gossipping about the neighbors, scolwing at people as they passed, and then headed to La Boca, yet another funky neighbor of Buenos Aires, Fodors: working class, colorful buildings, Boca Juniors futbol team, etc… but got lost along the way, stumbling around shady streets with unknown names, found a happening park with yet another street fair, cheaper crafts and stuff for locals, boys playing futbol and men sipping mate, dog walkers with fistfulls of leashes, finally found La Boca stadium, but grabbed a bus back to the hostel, some rest after a long walk, probably more café y medialunas, met up with Maggie and Michelle at Teatro Sarmiento to see a play (Buenos Aires has more theaters than any other city in the world I’m told), Fetiche (Fetish):6 actresss representing aspects of the same woman, a champion female body builder, Sex! Vagina! Jesus! Lip-Syncing! Transvetite strip tease! The Vagina Monologues on steriods! Pedro Almodovar on crack! wandered around the neighborhood Palermo, shishy boutiques, upscale restaurants, old streets, found a Meditaranean place Maggie had heard of, and had savory and tender lamb tagine and good wine once again.
AND THEN, suddenly, it was my last day in Buenos Aires, hurry, hurry, down to Puerto Madero, fake island of a port city, unfinished skyscappers and angular, modern, lobbies of multinacional hang tight with the strange canal and historic dikes of Buenos, and on the other side of a small concrete wall the city transforms into an ecological reserve expanding out into the distance, off the island back into the city, more towering Beux Arts buildings, Calle Florida, tried to eat lunch at a Kosher café, but a little Hasid popped his head from behind the door and in a language I couldn’t dicipher tried to tell me what was what, til finally he said in English “Come back next week,” wished I were a better Jew, got on Buenos Aires metro, called Subte, and went off towards the Palermo/Recoleta border, hopped into a old theater now bookstore, and stared up at the chandelier while holding a coffee table book of Argentine art, and touched the old lightboard backstage while sipping an espresso in the bookstore café, walked down Calle Florida, headed into Parque de Tres Febreros, sat for a minute and wondered what it all meant, then wandered into the botanical gardens, saw more stray cats with shifty eyes walking around like they owned the place, because in truth they did, sat on a bench and wondered what it all meant again looking out over the shady paths and naked marble ladies, met Maggie for a coffee and a piece of cake on the otherside of town at café Petit Paris with a view of Plaza San Martin, watched people pass by on their way to home from work and the sun disappear behind the big, pink tower, got our picture taken by stangers and with strangers, said hasta luego on the street corner after sharing Argentina’s national, novelty dessert treat the alfajor, walked back towards Calle Florida, felt the vague feeling of sadness to leave this place, Calle Florida was bumping even on a Monday night, bought a mate cup and bombilla for a friend, saw yet another performance of STREET TANGO, and a block later more STREET TANGO, decided that at some point in my life I will become a tango star and learn all the right moves in pinstripe pants and suspenders, walked to the Plaza de Congreso wearing my new hat, saw the massive edifice of Argentina’s Congress, met up with a few Stanford kids for Peruvian food, met international friends of friends, made plans to visit a girl named Sonya in Sophia, Bulgaria, had delicious Peruvian food and Stella Artois, found out the Stanford kids had the same flight as me (6am to Santiago) and were taking a latenight city bus to airport, sounded like a plan, back to hostel walking along Avenida de Mayo still chock full of café goers at midnight on Monday, wished I could join them, got my stuff at the hostel and met up again with Stanford kids at a bar, had a beer and hopped on the 86 at 2:30, two hours winding through the multitudenous barrios of Buenos Aires, the bus full old ladies, night crawlers, couples making out, and people starting the nightshift, stopping all over the place, finally at EZE airport and boarded our flight as the sun peaked , slept only to wake up to the sun reflecting off the snow capped Andes east of Santiago, home again, bus to the Metro, bus to my house, eat some kiwi my host mother had cut, said hello, and took a nap, that afternoon distinguished Bolivian author came to talk to all us Stanford kids, Edmundo Paz Soldán, talked about the new generation of Latin America, breaking out of the stereotypes of magical realism, check him out http://sololiteratura.com/edm/edmprincipal.htm , then got changes in tie and slacks, and off to the opera, at the opulent, historic Teatro Municipal de Santiago, the overture started of The Magic Flute and the stars of the set twinkled, pretty amazing opera, albeit a little tiring after a while, had a great hot dog at intermission outside the theater, crammed onto a metro, and had Mexican food with Stanford kids in our ties and nice clothes, and walked back to my house down Avenida Manuel Montt with a loose tie and untucked shirt, thinking that to be young enough not to care about getting suficient sleep and old enough to walk into a foreign city alone and unafraid is the best thing there is, to have the resources to see whole new parts of the world is unsurpassable, and that some one should figure out how to bottle the sensation I had while walking down Manuel Montt last night.

So there it is, all down, in a wild, rambling retelling. This weekend I’m heading south to Puerto Montt, Chile with a Stanford field trip. I yet again, I have reason to be thankful and take pause at the ridiculous state of my life. I hope you all are well.

¡Isla Negra, the New Jersey of Santiago, Cebiche¡ y Chilean Seabass, Midterms, Tango Time!

I'm sitting in the Stanford Center having just gotten out of Tango Class with a woman the Stanford Center brings in every other Wednesday. Oh man. I got to dance with the incredibly sexy instructor as well as a markedly unsexy Stanford girl. Either way, I'm hot on tango and feeling quite pumped to be heading to Buenos Aires this Friday. It's just what I needed to pump a little wind in my sails after a period of midterms and ailments. But to say I've been not doing anything interesting lately would be a complete lie, as evident by what follows:

On Friday I went to Isla Negra, Pablo Neruda's most famous abode, on a Stanford field trip. Like Chascona, the house itself felt alive with all sorts of doo-dads and ethnic art and 70's furniture along with a killer view of the Chilean coast line. The area around Isla Negra is all masive crashing waves, grocky beaches, and hills dotted with small modest beach houses. Not a high rise beach condominium in site. After climbing over some big rocks I found a deserted beach and enjoyed the sound of the ocean, thinking about how much I want Pablo Neruda to be my uncle. At the Bing (have I explained who the Bings are yet?) paid lunch I read one of Neruda's 20 poemas de Amor (#13).

Without anything better to do, on Saturday I decided to go out with a random smattering of Stanford kids. We went to an area called Vitacura. Which I have dubbed the New Jersey of Santiago. From what I saw it was all expensive car dealerships and lame dance clubs. We went to one of these clubs and the bouncer wouldn't let me in! I think he thought I looked too poor because my beard was relatively unkempt and I was wearing cut off shorts... or maybe I was a little too drunk. Either way, that dude/all of Vitacura sucks. I had to wait outside while my friend bargained with the manager by buying expensive alcohol.

On Monday night I went out to dinner for a friend's birthday-- a dinner her parents were paying for. We went to one of the nicest places in Santiago called "Astrid and Gaston." It was ridiculously good food. Maybe the best I've ever had in my life. We ate cebiche (raw sea food in lemon sauce), this incredible octopus tail, oozing chocolate truffle balls for desert. For my entree I got Chilean Sea Bass. Let me tell you, you haven't had Chilean Sea Bass until you've had Chilean Sea Bass in Chile. Oh man. Don't get me started on the wine. So let's all wish Jenni a very happy birthday. Thanks for the invite.

Meanwhile, I've been getting over a persistent cold and trying desperately to finish all my take home midterms before leaving on Friday. I'm living a ridiculous life.

Happy Halloween everybody. I'm dressed like a crazy American student in Chile.
All the best,

el gripe

After reading my last entry, I've left you all with a monster cliff hange: "I hope I don't die" followed by my longest stretch sans posting. Well, I'm alive, though slighthly sick.

Turns out being sick sucks even in foreign countries...I'd venture to say especially in foregin countries. The grade of tissue really doesn't compare with the good ole' USA. So that's been keeping me from doing many fun and exciting things worthy of reporting, also it's been keeping me from reporting. But in general, things are pretty good.

Updates:
-I've seen four movies since last post. One of which was Pedro Almodovar "Volver," which was well worth the watching. The other three Chilean originals! "Radio Corazon" is the number one movie in Chile right now. I think it's the highest grossing first weekend of any Chilean film. Based on a radio show, in which people call in to tell stories about their sex lives. Muy divertido. Today in my Spanish class we watched "Machuca." I highly recomend it. It's about three kids in 1973 at the dawn of the Pinochet regime. Really interesting and powerful.
-I have mid-terms next week, which means I actually have to do work. Someday I'll tell you about my classes, for now it seems relatively unimportant.
-Tomorrow, I go on a field trip to Isla Negra, Pablo Neruda's favorite home. It's on the coast near Valparaiso. Should be pretty cool. If I'm not feeling sick I might stay a day or two in Valparaiso
-I'm now on Skype at danieljayhirsch, we should chat sometime.
-Oh yeah, Chile won!!! 2-0 against Peru. The game was a blast. People sing at futbol games in Latin America, as well as smoke joints, light fireworks, and get in minor fist fights. I was a little disappointed about the level of tomfoolery and hooliganism. It was pretty tame. The club league fans are a bit more hardcore. Colo-Colo had a game on Sunday, and the metros were filled with little bits of paper. Best cheer: "Chi-chi-chi-le-le-le! Viva Chile!"

That's about it for now. Hope you all are well. I'll keep the updates coming.

¡Chile v. Peru!

I've heard that there´s about 82,000 people in the national stadium right now, and in a matter of minutes, I'm going to be one of them. That's right folks, tonight is Chile v. Peru in a futbol grudge match of death. I'm getting there a bit late, so let's hope I get a seat, but even more, let's hope I don't die in a Peru/Chile post partido rumble. Woo! ¡GOooooooooooooooool!

all the best.

San Pedro de Atacama

Gigantic dunes, rocks formations that look like they could come from the set of a Star Wars movie, flamingos chopping on tiny crill in the expansive salt flat, a crystal clear view of the night sky given the dry air and high altitude, and a tiny, dusty town housing all the tourists who want to see it all. This weekend has been fun, but Im a bit exhausted and missing Santiago. I did a lot of mountain biking and treking around and saw a lot, probably spent too much money, and have a slight sun burn, but feel like it was time well spent to see another side of Chile. It feels worlds away from the hustle and energy of the capital in the central valley...Theres probably more to say, but Ive gone well over my twenty minutes of computer time in this hostals computer. Leaving for Santiago tomorrow morning, more updates then.

Hope you all are well,
Danny

El Más Seco Disierto en el Mundo...

...Kind of. At least that´s what Chileans say about their pride of the northern region, the Atacama Desert. Either way, I´m heading there this evening for a long weekend, and I´m quite excited about it. The landscape is supposed to be out of this world. One famous spot is the Valley of the Moon, named so because it looks like a massive lunar crater. I might even go sand boarding, like snow boarding but with sand. Of course, San Pedro de Atacama is a tiny little desert town with a massive tourism infrastructure, so I'm a bit wary of being an exploitative tourist as per usual. But hell SAND boarding, soooo coool, man!

Since last post the Pinochets continue to be under investigation, some student groups committed acts of violence at a few campuses on the death date of Che Guevara, I saw a powerful play that I could barely understand, climbed Cerro San Lucia and got the best view of the city yet, saw more performances in Parque Forrestal, had classes, wrote a Spanish paper, went to a foreign student and Chilean student meet n' greet/colloquia, made some friends, eat several empanadas, and bought tickets to Buenos Aires.

More updates when I get back from the desert.
Hope you all are well,
Turista Suprema

Mientras Chile Exista Habran Pinochetistas

On a clear Saturday afternoon in Santiago, one can see the cordilleras rising above the city. Their high, snowcapped peaks seem to be within a mear few blocks' walk. Yesterday, the sky was clear and the mountains felt close enough to touch. Meanwhile, in front of the Hospital Militar as men in red shirts raised a plaster bust of Augusto Pinochet over their heads and older women waved the Chilean flag defiantly in the faces of camera clicking reporters, it was the past that seemed to sneak up closer than expected.


There's quite a bit to report from Chile.



Has this made international news? It's certainly a big deal in Chile. On Thursday night, all of the Pinochet family, as well as many close associates of the former dictator, were arrested for stealing millions of dollars out of public funds. 23 people in all are set to go to trial for embsconding (and transfering into American bank accounts) 20 million dollars of public funds. Lucia Hiriart, Pinochet's widow and , had some sort of heart attack upon hearing the news and was admitted to Hospital Militar in Providencia (i.e. my neighborhood, and a few blocks away from the Stanford center!).

In the two days that Hiriart has been in the hospital, there have been a handfull of small Pinochet rallies. Friday on the news there was footage of two teenage girls getting into a fistfight outside Hospital Militar. One a Pinochetista, the other a, presumably, more left leaning byclists. Byclists said something scathing about the former Supreme Commander whiling pedaling by, Pinochetista was not pleased, pretty soon the two found themselves clawing at the face of their political opposition in the first spot of the nightly news and on the front page of the majority of national Chilean newspapers.

Oh yeah, Friday was also the anniversary of the 1989 plebiscite/"No vote," in which a plurality of the Chilean population voted Pinochet out of power.


Naturally, Friday night I went back to La Casa en el Aire (my socialist bar from last week), to listen to some classic, Chilean, political folk rock and sip pisco under the stern but idealistic gazes of Allende and Che portraits. (went with two Stanford kids, so it was a little less fun than last time, although the guy performing stopped at one point and asked why we were speaking Gringo and where we from, he then preceded to play an incredible acoustic version of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall," the three of us rocked out while the rest of the Chilean filled bar stared blankly with their half smoked cigarettes wondering "¿What is this shit (que es esta mierda)?")

Saturday, in light of sleeping late and eating a huge lunch I decided to go for a walk around Providencia...i.e. walk to the Hospital Militar and gawk at any potential action. (When I have time, I´ll tell you about Fabia, my program's main organizer and Stanford´s risk management representative, but she would have been freaking out if she knew my afternoon plans) Sure enough, my political voyeurism paid off. When I got to the hospital there was already a horde of reporters, camera men, and news vans waiting outside the front gate. I watched from across the street, occasionally masking my intentions by standing at the bus stop but mostly just blantantly gawking. After a solid fifteen minutes of waiting, the press seemed to come to life and they began to hurry and cluster around the front gate as a small silver car tried to pull out into the street. From across the street, I could see the passenger in the back seat. It was a woman with brown hair and huge black sunglasses. I would later learn that this was one of the Pinochet daughters, I think it might have been Jacqueline, the youngest. All five of the children were released from jail on Saturday and went to visit their mother in the hospital. They go to trial tomorrow.


Not long after the first car pulled out of the hospital´s lot, the Pinochetistas arrived. The first wave were a group of four middle aged to elderly women carrying a large Chilean flag. As they approached the grassy lawn in front of the hospital they sang loudly in boisterous Spanish. The few words I caught: "liberty..something, something...PINOCHET!" Soon the group grew larger when a few men arrived, they carried small flags and the aforementioned Pinochet bust. After a few minutes of hugging, kissing, and back slapping, they grouped together to wave their flags and and hold up the Pinochet bust pointed up at the hospital. They were joined by another group of women who pulled right up front in a green pickup truck, blasting music and grooving out in their seats to the tunes of Pinochet Pop. One women propped a home made sign up onto a bus like a sort of mission statement: Mientras Chile Exista Habran Pinochetistas. As long as Chile exists there will be Pinochetistas.

From my post across the street I was mostly alone, save for two middle aged women in cardigans and spectacles who watched on with serious faces. I assumed they too were spectators, until from the green pick up trunk across the street the music blasted: "¡Dame (give me)...Pinochet! ¡Dame...Pînochet! Dame...." And suddenly a few feet to my right, I heard a passionate response of "¡Pinochet!" I now saw that this nice looking Chilean lady was gripping onto a small blue bumper sticker bearing the name of Chile´s former dictator.


As the Pinochet supporters chanted and the reporters waited for more of the Pinochet family to leave the hospital, lots of people passed by. The scene would provoke a short glimpse from passerby, and sometimes the occasional car slowing down to look. But for the most part people would just shrug and walk on, they had better things to do on a Saturday afternoon. My hostfamily, who I have discovered is mostly apolitical, watches the news about the Pinochets as if it´s a spinoff of an old telenovela. They make comments at footage of the Pinochet children like: "Oh, she´s gotten so ugly," or "Wow, he´s lost a lot of hair." Even at the socialist bar on Friday night, there was less celebration than I thought. It was just a regular Friday night. Turth be told, I could only count about 10 Pinochet supporters in all.I have this sense, that a large majority of Chileans just want to move on. Chile´s come along way in the past 19 years. When you´re in Santiago you can feel the urge to progress to continue to update and build new high rise apartment complexes and invest in the arts and keep the streets clean and tolerate gay couples and divorce and a woman president.


As an hour wore on four more cars came out of the parking lot which caused the reporters to scramble around pointing their zoom lenses into the back seat and the Pinochetistas to cheer. I assumed that these were the remainig Pinochet children. The sun was getting low, and I was getting hungry. In the late afternoon sun the snow on the cordilleras turns a faint pink that seems close enough to touch.