South America or bust…

Barreal and the San Juan Province

People always seem surprised at first when I tell them that I travel alone quite a bit. But really, it’s usually the best to go the way I see. I mean, what better way to meet the people? Without fail, every trip I’ve taken, whether here in South America or during my time in Central America, has always brought with it the most interesting people and the greatest opportunities that may never have come were I traveling in a group. And so, this trip was no different except that the people to meet were few and far between. I had been hearing about this remote, dreamlike little town of in the middle of the Calingasta Valley for a while and was determined to find my way there.

The trip began in my neighborhood with a quick stop at “Pollo al asado” to eat the best piece of chicken I’ve ever sunk my teeth into and then onto the bus terminal…

Soon the scenery began to change from the rolling hills of Cordoba to the endless plains that lie between the neighboring provinces, and finally giving way to the magnificent and at the same time imposing site of the Andes just beyond the city of San Juan. As we made our way deeper into the valley, little towns began to appear and then disappear just as quickly, each making me wish for all the world that I could let myself stop for a day or two. But Barreal was calling to me and the four days I had would never be enough to experience all there was discover in Calingasta.

After 16 hours in the bus I finally reached my destination and was every bit awestruck by this secluded paradise as I had imagined; as much by tranquility of its people as by its idyllic, serene location between the snow capped Andes mountains and the wrinkled, multicolored cordillera … suffice it to say I’m putting it high on my list of places to live one day.

I spent the first day getting to know the town a little better and knew that I was well overdo for some time to think, pray and play my guitar. Barreal proved to be the perfect place to do so and must have been one of the most relaxing, peaceful places on the earth. Unlike in Cordoba, the people of Barreal religiously practice and respect their “siesta” time enough to make a visitor passing through wonder if the town hadn’t been deserted and then left to the dogs that wander its dusty streets. I found a small place to stay and met the only two travelers in the area, Hugo from France and Rique from Germany. Don Pablo was the owner of the hostel and had been a long time mountaineer; leading climbing expeditions for numerous years and amassing quite a list of peaks he’d conquered.

It wasn’t long before I was itching to hike the Cordillera and see what I could find.

My final day in Barreal I met up with Hugo and hiked some while listening to his fascinating story of how he to came to Argentina with the goal of meeting his father for the first time. The interesting part is that when Hugo called his dad, pops had no idea that he had a son. Hmmm, wouldn’t that be quite the interesting phone conversation…

Here with Hugo from France and Rique from Germany

Click below to hear the conversation I had with Hugo about meeting his dad…

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Legend of the Difunta Correa

At three then next morning I left for the city of San Juan, hoping to make it in time to catch a bus to the “Valle de la Luna.” The bus left at 7:30 a.m. and as you can guess, I arrived to the terminal at 7:35. Well, being that my bus for Cordoba wasn’t going to leave until 11:00 that night, I decided to see what the area had to offer. What I came across must be one of the most fascinating cultural phenomena in Argentina…a shrine in the middle of the desert to the saint “Difunta Correa.” According to legend, during the Argentina civil war in 1842, a woman by the name of Deolinda Correa began following her husband’s battalion through the desert with her baby boy in her arms. The desert heat and lack of food and water eventually brought Deolinda to her death. However, when her body was found days later, her little boy was alive, still feeding from his mother’s breast. The people saw this as a miracle and built a shrine at spot of her death. Even up to the present time thousands upon thousands make the pilgrimage to the site asking for a miracle and offering a bottle of water to quench her still roaming soul’s thirst.

The shrine is built on a hill and over the years has become completely saturated with miniature houses, license plates, letters, candles and other objects, all expressing thanks and petitions to the Difunta Correa for miracles in their lives.

I soon met several elderly ladies who were there making their regular journey to the site. hey thoroughly and eagerly informed me all about the Difunta Correa. One came every three months because she had made a promise to the Difunta. She told me that if you make a promise to the Difunta and then don’t fulfill it, she will take away what is most precious to you.

You can hear her story below…

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San Juan

After checking out the shrine, I went back to San Juan until my bus left for Cordoba…

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The Revolutionary Cordobes

What distinguishes the Cordobes, or Argentines in general from the other countries I’ve been in? Well, while you certainly find discontent in other countries, you don’t find quite the affinity for public protest that you find here. These people are pretty darn persistent. And of all places that I could have landed in Argentina, Cordoba has got to be the most active in making their voice heard. I think one of my most marked memories of downtown Cordoba will be sitting in history class learning about about past historic protests and demonstrations that took place in Cordoba and at the same time hearing bombs, chants, and demonstrators marching through the streets outside the school walls…every singe day. The other day there was a march through the city in protest of an increase in wages that had recently been given to some local bankers. Then I saw on the T.V. the other day that students had stormed the university in objection to an increase in tuition. A little while back the main road between Cordoba and Buenos Aires had been cut off by farmers and their tractors, obviously causing a bit of ruckus among the truckers…

And then two days ago was the 40^th anniversary of “El Cordobaso” in which thousands of students and blue collar workers flooded the streets in disapproval of the government and the low wages given to the workers. The police and military tried to put down the movement and killed a guy in the process. You can imagine what happened next. The mob literally took portions of the city hostage until the military forces where able to break through the ranks of zealous university students and fiery workers. Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera on me when the people took to the streets in remembrance and in a continued fight for the rights of the working class the other night. I did have my recorder though and managed to capture a bit of the action…

Click below to hear…

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The recording below is of one of the leaders giving a speech to the “manifestantes”

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Here’s some thoughts from a couple of my friends on the manifestations that went on here on the 24th of March remembering the end of the countries last military government..

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Unos amigos

The people I meet here in Argentina continuously amaze me with the generosity they show and the open arms that they are so accustomed to extend without restraint. The couple below, Wendy and Martin, is from Santiago del Estero, a city in northern Argentina and I’ll be visiting them on my way to Bolivia next month. One thing that I try to do whenever possible (and whenever it’s not too awkward) is ask the people I meet to give a short message so I can remember them. Click below to hear a few of them…

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Cordoba – Cultural Capital of the Americas?

Ehh…well, at least according to Lonely Planet it is. Whether Cordoba takes the crown or not is irrelevant in my book though because it definitely has more culture than any other city I’ve ever been in. Spend a day or two roaming its streets and without a doubt you’ll leave feeling like you’ve jumped back in time a few hundred years if be not left feeling a bit more educated in the process. Numerous tango concerts, choirs, philharmonic orchestras, or theatrical performances happen every week and all at about ¼ of what you would pay in the U.S. Here are a few pictures, videos and recordings the concerts I’ve been to recently…

Click to hear some of the tango music from the night…

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Here’s part of song…

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La Manzana Jesuitica

The classes that I am taking at the Catholic University are amazing and have been a huge part in making Argentina’s history and culture really come to life for me. One class I am enrolled in is called “Historia de la Cultura” (Cultural History) and tends to have a bend toward Latin American cultural history. Every other Friday we as a class head to one of the numerous museums here in Cordoba. An important part of Córdoba’s history is wrapped up in the Jesuit missionaries who migrated here from Spain at the end of the 17^th century and set up schools, churches, and farms all over the southern half of the continent. You could say that Cordoba was somewhat of a capital city for these missionaries where they built numerous cathedrals, schools and the “Manzana Jesuitica,” an enormous complex in the center of Cordoba that includes a cathedral, a university, a primary school and the residence of the Jesuits. Here’s a little background on the Jesuits that I wrote up for a class por si te interesa…

La orden de la Compañía de Jesús, fundado por Francisco de Loyola, se formo en Paris en el año 1534 y vino para Córdoba en 1599 con el propósito de evangelizar a la población y educar a la juventud. La orden se estableció en la propiedad cedida por el cabildo de Córdoba que llegaría a llamarse “la manzana jesuítica,” en la cual se fundarían la Capilla doméstica, la Iglesia de la Compañía, la Universidad y el Colegio Monserrat. Esta orden causo un gran impacto en la cultura y sociedad durante los casi doscientos años que estuvieron en la ciudad. Para poder mantener las instituciones educativas y las iglesias que los Jesuitas establecieron en Córdoba, se construyó un sistema de estancias en el interior de la provincia.

Como uno de los objetivos principales de los Jesuitas en Córdoba era la educación, cabe mencionar que ellos tuvieron un papel muy importante en la fundación de la primera universidad de la Argentina, la Universidad Nacional de Córdoba. Es la universidad más antigua del país y la cuarta más antigua de América.

Of course there are so many more great people in my classes, but here are some pictures of a few of them…

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Alta Gracia – La casa de Che y la Estancia Jesuitica

Alta Gracia, meaning high grace, must have gotten is name for the grace God had on the place by giving it the cleanest, most crisp air I’ve breathed in a while. Its so refreshing that “Che” Guevara’s parents thought it best for their asthmatic son to move here and live out his childhood. Located about 30 minutes from Cordoba, the towns claims to fame, aside from its pristine location in the mountains, is that it is home to one of the most elaborate and oldest Jesuit Estancias that were left by the Italian missionaries over 500 years ago. More recently, Alta Gracia has had a jump in its number of visitors stopping by to marvel at the childhood stomping grounds of the radical “Comandante Che Guevara.” A controversial life he lived for sure, but a truly revolutionary one none the less. The state Cuba finds itself in today (for better or worse) owes itself to “Che.” The socialist movement running rampant through all of Latin America tends to be permanently accompanied by flags, t-shirts, hats, and banners plastered with the stoic face of this Argentine folk hero. Even Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez made a stop by the house to pay tribute (just to give you an idea of Che’s political stream, eh…) Well, being so close, Alta Gracia demanded a visit and so my Colombian friend Jonathan and I took the 30 minute bus ride to the famed little city…We met up with a friend from the university who lives in Alta Gracia and made our way to Che’s house.

Then we headed to the Estancia Jesuitica….

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Diving in head first…

I am finally beginning to feel like I am taking on the Cordobes life head on, with everything I’ve got. While I’ll always be a “foreigner” here, I think that I have never felt more a part of the daily life of the city. Lately, I have been realizing what an incredible place Cordoba really is and that were to live in another place, I would always be wishing I could visit Cordoba, wishing I could sit down outside of one its thousand cafes and drink a “mate” with a friend beneath the shadow of the Manzana Jesuitica Cathedral or pass the day reading in El Paseo del Buen Pastor amidst the hundreds of students that cover ever last inch of the park’s green grass. And so recently I have thrown myself completely into Cordoba, just to see what really lies beyond its touristic façade. If you care to join me, here’s what my last weekend looked like.

Friday

Tango

On Friday night I began the evening by going to a Tango lesson that the University offers weekly to its students. Far from making it the sophisticated, classy dance that it is meant to be, I ended up turning the dance into a clumsy and rigid march around the dance floor and considered myself lucky when I didn’t bump my dance partner into the other couples. Regardless, I gave it my best shot and am determined to at least make it through a song without stepping on someone’s toes or running into the other dancers…

Asado

After my attempt at Tango dancing, I worked my way through town to a friend’s apartment where we were going to have what’s called an “asado” on top of a 10 story apartment building. An “asado” is basically a barbecue on steroids; meat of all kinds, thick, juicy, and with the most amazing flavor you could imagine. It’s pretty typical here and Argentina can’t be fully experienced until you have been invited to an “asado.” Anyway, my friends from the “Hospederia” (I’ll explain that later) and I all met up on the roof of this apartment building with a clear sky above, a lively city spread out below and skyscrapers on all sides as the guys began to start up the fire.

Fiesta folklorica

Soon the guitar was broken out and Juan Manuel began to strike up one of Argentina’s folklore tunes. Just our luck, two of the girls there were folkloric dance instructors and I quickly jumped on the opportunity to learn some of the indigenous dances. Pepe, who is from the north, where Argentina largest indigenous population lives, jumped right in on the action and soon we were all dancing around the rooftop, building up an appetite for the feast that was to come. After putting down some of the best steak I have ever eaten, the eight of us sat around talking late into the night.

“Los Buscadores”

Before I go on, I need to explain how I know all these incredible people. One of the highlights of my life here in Cordoba is being part of the “buscadores,” a group of young people who meet every Tuesday night to pray for the city’s homeless and then to turn those prayers into action by taking food to the men in the streets. I found out about the group through a friend and joined up with them about two months ago. We meet at the homeless shelter called “La Hospederia,” split into two groups and then head to the “Peatonal” (pedestrian walk ways), outside the post office, and anywhere else the people sleep. Always welcoming us with smiles, we then get the chance to spend the next few hours sharing dinner and great conversations with the guys. Not only have I gotten the chance to make friendships with so many of these people on the streets, the other volunteers have become good friends too. Well, aside from getting together on Tuesday, the “buscadores” also meet once a month at someone’s house for an “asado.” (Hence the party of the roof!)

Saturday

“Musical” concert (if you can call it that)

Being that Cordoba was founded and built up mostly by the Jesuit missionaries from Spain who were expelled from the country back in the late eighteenth century, the most obvious feature of this colonial city in the high number of towering cathedrals and convents that seem to be on every street and bordering every plaza. A walk through the city is a history lesson in itself and its 18 museums and cultural centers are top class in presenting the city at its best. As I mentioned in a previous post, Cordoba has also been named “cultural capital of the Americas” and with good reason. On any given weekend night, two or three symphonies, operas, or plays are always being offered in one the cathedrals or ornately decorated music halls in “Nueva Cordoba.” Back to last Saturday; I made a point to see one of the symphonies and landed at a European contemporary classical music concert, only to be disappointed by some pretty terrible music (in my opinion anyway.) Maybe I’m not “open” or “modern” enough to appreciate the latest styles and maybe I’ll be “enlightened” one day and kick myself for my old fashion tastes, but for now I’m sticking to my idea of music as having at least a hint of melody and resonance. Click below to hear a bit…

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Asado al parilla ‘till your sick

After the concert, I hopped on the bus heading back to my neighborhood to meet up with my friend Juan Manuel (the folkloric guitarist) who had invited me to another “asado” and jam session. Once again, I met so many great Cordobes’ and feasted on yet another asado riquisimo!

The music never stops…

After eating we set up the instruments, playing and singing ‘till five in the morning. We then left for a boliche and the night ended for me around seven a.m. While I’m not usually up for the all-nighters, there is really no way to fully understand the Cordobes way of life by light of day alone. All, and I mean ALL those who are 30 and down come out of hiding in the late hours of the night and usually into the next morning. Here’s how is works here.

These Cordobes party likes there’s no tomorrow!

Previa- During the previa, which lasts from around 9 pm to 2 am, everyone meets up in someone’s house or at a park and usually feast on an asado, break out the guitars and pass the time catching up with everybody there.

La salida – Around 2:00 am is when the night actually begins. In other words, when the boliches open. The crowds move from the house to dance floor and absolutely pack out the dozens of boliches that are scattered throughout the city breaking it down until 6 am or so. A boliche can be instantly recognized from the street by the mass of students waiting outside to get into an overcrowded psychedelic light show accompanied by pounding beats and smooth talkin’ “chamulleros.”

After – As if the night wasn’t enough, these party animals then begin to migrate to the “after” boliches which open at 6 am and keep the music going ‘till 1 pm! For some, that means 16 hours straight of non-stop partying! I honestly have no idea how they do it, and on top of that how they do it 3 or 4 days of the week!

While I have to say it is not my style at all, I had to go one or two times to see what all this was about.

Sunday

I have found an amazing church that is full of college students, good music, solid preaching and plenty of opportunities to get involved. The first two months I was here, I felt pretty isolated and really needed to be part of a community of believers. Just at the time when I was becoming convinced that this kind of community didn’t exist here in Argentina, I stumbled on “Cristo Jesus,” and quickly met some really cool people who love God and are serious about their faith. I now go on Sunday nights to the main service and on Wednesday nights to meet up with the college age small groups.

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Pepe is part of “buscadores” group and a good friend of mine who invited me over for lunch the other day. (Not a bad chef either) He’s from a province called Jujuy in the north and has taught me plenty about the way of the “Norteno;” ranging from the different kinds of Andean folkloric music, to the customs, to the traditional indigenous dances.   I figure a good way to end this post is with some clips that Pepe gave me of the “Carnaval” festival that happens each year in his home town.

June 1st, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized | Comments (1)

Despite always feeling a bit overwhelmed at the onset of these posts--by all the ground that has to be covered to really do the experiences justice--I always find it well worth the time in the end for several reason. One, a great trip or experience seems to always be better when shared with people who are important to me. Second, writing for me sheds a whole new light on what is going on around. When I take the time to write and look back on what I’ve done or experienced, it all seems richer, more meaningful and helps me put everything in perspective. If you skip over the writing and just check out the pictures, then that’s great too. They tend to tell the stories for themselves either way. So where do I even begin?

Day trip to Cosquin

Living in Cordoba has its perks and one of them is that the city it pegged up against “Las sierras de Cordoba,” a mountain range filled with quaint little towns each holding their own charm and unique feel. A day trip to any of them makes for a far more interesting place read or catch up with some homework than staying in the house. Alta Gracia is home to the childhood stomping ground of the famous revolutionary “Che” Guevara, Capilla del Monte is the alien infested town I visited a while back and Cosquin is a town that stands out for its folkloric music festival and beautiful location beside a river and among the Cordoba mountains. And, of course, a perfect place for me to get away for a day…

The infamous Tango

Since the inception of the city, Cordoba has been known for its highly educated people, its numerous universities, rich culture and sophisticated architecture. It would seem only appropriate that perhaps the world’s most classy dance would find such a stronghold in the city. Saturday night is the time when all the “milongueros” come out of hiding and gather under the open sky in the Plaza de San Martin. I stumbled across this phenomenon one evening as I was walking around the city streets and heard the faints strains of the violins coming from the plaza. I came around the corner and saw a mass of people swirling and side stepping with graceful and seductive movements as the rest stood on the sides and watched. Though I did get out there and give it my best shot, I’m pretty confident I won’t ever be asked to dance again by the same dance partner, if you know what I mean.

Mendoza, Argentina

The last two months that I have been in Cordoba have really been a time that I’ve learned so much about myself. And even more specifically, my trips to Chile and Rosario were what forced me to step back see things a little differently. So, it began on a Thursday morning when I left on a bus for Mendoza, a city located on the western side of Argentina at the foot of the Andes Mountains, a Denver of sorts that is known worldwide for its numerous vineyards and excellent wine. On the way I sat next to Rosana, an architect from Mendoza who I had probably the longest, deepest conversation in Spanish with on record. Politics, religion, family, work, and philosophy were just a few of the themes we touched on. I like interviewing people from time to time to get their take on things and didn’t let this chance pass me by…Here a couple of the question I asked Rosana…(Click below to hear the interviews)

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I arrived late to Mendoza and found a hostel right in the heart of the city, a heart that never sleeps and never stops beating. Never have I seen so many people out late in the night and early into the next morning. And not just kids, grandparents and families too packed out every single restaurant for blocks (All outside of course under the stars, soaking in the last string of summer’s warm nights) Walking up and down the streets was a spectacle in itself and seemed to hold promise of meeting plenty of Mendozinos.

The following day was somewhat of a disaster as I learned something about myself…the best way to get me to do something is to tell me that I can’t do it. I don’t necessarily mean that its not permissible for me to do it (though that at times has been more than enough motivation for me to take the plunge!) but rather that it would be really difficult to do. What was it this time? Biking to the vineyards a mere 15 kilometers away. How hard can it be? Besides, I wasn’t about to pay the big bucks they wasn’t to take me there. So, my bright idea was to rent a bike and be my own tour guide. Well, as enthusiastic as I was as the start of my day. Countless hours later, after having gotten lost a good five times, I wasn’t quite as convinced that my pride was the best chuffer to have hired.

In spite of having spent the entire day wandering around the outskirts of town, I finally found my forbidden “bodega.” Quite the operation going on here…

A flat tire on the way back seemed an inconvenience but really allowed me to see the true Mendoza. In addition to being an extremely clean and picturesque city, the people are its true charm. In the few days I was there, I was blown over by so many people willing to go out of their way to help me when I needed it. After my day long trip through the Mendozan countryside, I came back to yet another vibrant night along Mendoza’s restaurant strip. The best part of the night was sitting down to a hot plate of lasagna with six year old Rodrigo across the table as he told me all about himself, attempting to give me material for my next song. He then wanted to try on my glasses and drew me a picture. Great people come is small packages I guess.

A slight change in scenery…The great Andes Mountains

Saturday morning I left for the Andes Mountain with the end goal being to get to Valparaiso Chile. If ever the phrase was true about the destination really being found in the journey, it was now. After an hour long nap I woke to find out my window that the scenery had drastically changed from the flat, arid plains of the vineyard country to a world marked by rugged, and at times, snow capped peaks, deep blue skies, free roaming horses and crystal clear mountain streams and rivers. Welcome to the Andes…

I stepped down from the bus in a little settlement called “Puente del Inca” and quickly made my way around some of the venders to strike a deal on a jacket made of “alpaca” to fight off the brisk mountain wind. I had no idea of where I would stay and so asked around until finding out that an Argentine military base was just up the road. Why not ask if I could stay with them? Though I couldn’t pull off a free night, the relatively stoic soldiers (jamming out to American hardcore in the main office, hmm) agreed and I quickly settled in.

-Puente del Inca, Cerro Aconcagua, Cristo Redentor-

I stepped down from the bus in a little settlement called “Puente del Inca” and quickly made my way around some of the venders to strike a deal on a jacket made of “alpaca” to fight off the brisk mountain wind. I had no idea of where I would stay and so asked around until finding out that an Argentine military base was just up the road. Why not ask if I could stay with them? Though I couldn’t pull off a free night, the relatively stoic soldiers (jamming out to American hardcore in the main office, hmm) agreed and I quickly settled in.

Puente del Inca, a stone bridge naturally carved out by the Rio de las cuevas, is one of the more unusual rock formation I’ve seen and still has the remains of a naturally heated spa that’s no longer in use.

I spent the rest of that day and the next wandering around the area, along the railroad tracks, and hiking on the trails through the wild high country that surrounds the world’s second highest peak, mount Aconcagua. I even had the chance to see the famed gaucho at work, rounding up his horses.

Like I said at the beginning, this trip taught me a lot about myself. And little did I expect the next lesson to come from a few dead camera batteries. I’ll do my best to describe the scene and how I felt. It was around five or six in the afternoon and the sun was just beginning to set. The shadows of the surrounding mountains were stretching further and further out across the valley as if recuperating from a long day. The colors were slowly transforming into a rusty orange as the falling sun shed its melancholy light all along the ravines and rocky mounds. Sharp, dark lines accented the terrain, revealing its rugged and at times rolling nature. The wind had died down and a heavy stillness had settled over the expanse lying in front of me, perfectly serene and beautifully arranged. The moment had to be captured.

——-Now, before I go on, let me just say that this has been my life for the last five years. Trying hard not to exaggerate, I have to say that life has presented itself to me as a feast to be savored and treasure to be prized. I can’t say how many times I have been almost embarrassingly overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and satisfaction that I experience on a daily basis in nearly every aspect of my life. However they present themselves, the instances are countless. Sometimes that joy has come through being with a person that I care about or from sitting in a classroom and soaking up all the rich knowledge and experience of the professors and other students; At times that igniting sensation of satisfaction has come through a song that I’m playing on my guitar or during a run at full speed through the city, or when talking with foreigners about their lives and distant countries, or it even comes, you know, that feeling like cold fire in my chest, while using the Spanish language or eating with the migrant Mexican families around a dinner table and hearing of their past and present lives, or dancing Salsa with my sisters to an aging Colombian record in my faded green farmhouse, or when imagining the possibilities of living in the same way Christ did, or gathering around a campfire with friends in Mexico, or sharing and expressing a common vision with a brother in Christ on the phone, or hearing the same song again and again without it ever losing its significance. I know this sounds crazy, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t know how else to explain what happens to me when I get on a bus or meet a family or listen to a well made song or take part in something meaningful or think about the future, or the past and present for that matter…I am experiencing life in a way that is exhilarating, mysterious, invigorating, beautiful, revitalizing, and rich in every way… or at least I had been.——--

Which brings me back to that evening there in middle of the Andes as the night was approaching and all seemed to come to a culmination of perfection in that quickly passing moment. I hurriedly pulled out my camera and began to take a series of panoramic shots in an attempt to capture it all and take it with me.

And then the batteries died.

Should this really be such a big deal Eric? Come on. Relax. It’s not a big deal, right? I was surprised by the strong sinking feeling that came over me and left me feeling a real sense of loss and discouragement. What the heck? Why am I so bummed about it? It was just a couple of photos. But it was in that moment that the last five years of my life came into focus. You see, anyone who knows me knows how much I like to record things. The very first year that life for me really began to take on that golden quality was my first year at the Honor Academy at the age of nineteen. The relationships that I made and the experiences I had there were enough to make me realize that the possibility of this ”life to the fullest” Jesus spoke of in the book of John was actually attainable…..and I started to journal. The next year I went to school in Iowa and discovered the immense power (ahh, this sounds cliché!) of being grateful, which completely altered my whole way of seeing everything…..and I started video recording. The following year I returned to the Honor Academy and learned how much I desperately need Christ and His grace and turned the video camera into a permanent fixture on my hand. The next year I moved to Central America, lived in complete bliss for 7 months…..and started taking still pictures. The next year I started school in Omaha, got vision for my future, made incredible relationships…..and bought a voice recorder. Can you see the pattern? Life kept getting better and I kept finding more ways to record it all. So what does this all have to do with my camera batteries dying in the Andes? The last six months or so, I have been really fighting to keep the view of life that I have had for so many years. I have slowly been losing that sense of wonder and complete fascination with so much of the world that I have know since I was nineteen. It has been harder and harder to maintain that childlike enthrallment alive in my heart and that love for simplicity, passion and meaning. What was so natural for me has since become almost a chore or a rigorous mental discipline. In other words, what I feared since that first year at the Honor Academy seems to be playing out in reality; a fear that life would lose its glimmer and that what was extraordinary would become common; that the immense passion which relentlessly burned in me would fade away and that the boundless explorer and discoverer that I was would become a merely functional man who worked and schemed to get by and overcome problems and inconveniences. That was and has been my fear for these year…and so how did I react? I captured every single moment of my mythical world and clung to a life that seemed far too good to be true. Oh, I never sat down and came up with a plan of how to grasp and grasp and grasp and grasp. I never even did it intentionally in my mind… But regardless, I have felt like it all has been slipping through my fingers and all I can do is clutch and do my best to catch the last few drops as they empty out of my hand. I realized in that moment the batteries died that while taking pictures, journaling, making videos, or recording was not intrinsically wrong, in one way or another I tended to use all these things at first as a mode of preservation and prevention and then as one of recuperation and invention. Where am I going with all this? The dead camera batteries revealed in me a lack of trust in God’s perfect plans for my life; a need for control over my future, a desire to cling rather than to surrender to Him. And God was about to take away my method for clinging. (rest of story later on)

Portenos are the greatest…

The sky on the following day was clear and the sun bright. The wind had died down from the day before and twelve hours of sleep in the army bunks did me good. It was bound to be a great day. I hiked around the area some for a few hours and then needed to figure out how to get to the border of Chile. (Preferably without paying.) My answer came through a young couple from Buenos Aires. After Andres and Mariana, a lively pair who had been passing through the area, agreed to take me to the border I grabbed my stuff and we set off toward the west. We hit it off so well in those first ten minutes that they invited me to go with them to the mountain “Cristo Redentor” before continuing on to the border.

Click bleow to hear Mariana and Andres

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Haciendo dedo a Chile

I was half sad that after meeting such great people we had to part ways so soon. I could have spent the next week with them. They dropped me of at the border and I was left to find my way to Valparaiso Chile. I asked around for a while and finally was picked up by “Tito,” a trucker from Buenos Aires who was making his regular route to Santiago Chile and back to Buenos Aires. Thirty seven years of truck driving, 15 grandkids, and an aversion to Chileans were all under his belt and he spoke of each of them with great pride. The rest of that afternoon was spent talking about nearly everything under the sun with Tito and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

Tito dropped me off along side the road outside of a town called “Los Andes” as the sun was setting. I walked a short distance to where the bus was to pass by on its way to town and heard laughing and loud conversations coming from a little house on the side of the road near the bus stop. Inside the fence I noticed a group of men joking, drinking and finishing up the last of homemade dinner. I was starving and asked if there was any food left. Turned out it was a little house restaurant that mainly served truckers but the girls standing by gave me the okay and let me in. Steak, rice and a coke did me just fine and I even got in on the friendly argument between the half drunk truckers from Buenos Aires and Cordoba over which city was the best. It was a lot of fun and I wouldn’t have been able to imagine up a better welcome into the new country.

I finally made it to town and caught the bus headed toward Valparaiso. I arrived at midnight with only a little piece of paper with a crude map in my hand that a man in the terminal had made of a hotel I could stay in. Well, it was worth a shot, and the only option I had.  I was dropped off in a more than shady section of town and for as hard as I looked, “Senora Maria´s” didn’t exist. Great… Well, thankfully, a man who had been sitting by me in the bus had gone with me to look and when we saw that my hotel was non-existent, he invited me to come with him to the pension where he was staying. I accepted and followed him to yet another suspicious part of town and waited with him outside the unmarked door of a seemingly abandoned pension. Finally a lad answered and took us in.

Gonzalo was his name and had to have been one of the coolest guys I have met thus far. I immediately felt at home and after talking with Gonzalo ‘til 3 in the morning, I called in a night.

Vina del Mar, Chile

I only had a day in Valparaiso and Vina del Mar and so reluctantly decided to do the tour bus thing. Turns out though that it was a good decision because I ended up meeting my good friend from Colombia Carlos.Vina del Mar is basically a really rich city with castles, casinos and some killer sea food. Not much to say beyond what ya dicen las fotos.

Valparaiso, Chile

Valparaiso, on the other hand is a unique city that begs for you to walk its narrow, historic streets. The city is located on the side of a hill overlooking the ocean and is home to one of the most important ports in South America. Along with its port, the “acensores,” (elevators) which lift passengers to the upper section of the city are unique to Valparaiso.

I woke up the next morning and took a bus heading to Mendoza, where I would change and then continue on to Cordoba. On the bus I met some really great people. Jose was a really quite spoken, humble guy from Buenos Aires who now lives in Valparaiso trying to take care of his new little girl. And Claudia, a writer from Mendoza, came to Valparaiso looking for work… (Click below to here from them)

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Semana Santa en Rosario…birthplace of the Argentine flag and none other than “Che” Guevara

I made it back to Cordoba in time for my night class and thankfully downloaded all these pictures to my computer. The following morning I took off for Rosario, a city about six hours to the south east of Cordoba right off the Rio Parana to meet up with my Porteno friend Alejandro.

We stayed at a girl’s place who regularly houses travelers for free and met a ton of fellow travelers from Germany, Holland, the US Brazil, and Argentina. Our time in Rosario was really laid back, getting to know people, playing music and plenty of cookin’. The real fun started on Saturday when Alejandro and I tried going to the beach along the river bank…

(Should have been doing this)

Alejandro and I decided to save visiting the birthplace of “Che” Guevara until later and so instead hopped on a bus going to “La Playa Florida.” (Florida Beach) The sun was bright and we both were feeling pretty optimistic about the day and maybe too confident of our modeling abilities. We had about two more blocks to walk till the beach and were taking some pictures along the way in a neighborhood that is known for its intense police patrol. Just as Alejandro and I were walking down some stairs located between a building and some tall bushes I turned around to find two guys right behind me with a pointed gun. They hurriedly said to me “Dame todo! Dame todo!” (give me everything) and took my new camera. When Alejandro started to run they told him to stop or they would shoot. It wasn’t until they threaten to kill me that Alejandro actually stopped. They then went on to take my wallet with my identification, money, bus ticket back to Cordoba, and my voice recorder. Alejandra had managed to toss his cell phone under the bushes when they were cleaning me out and used it afterward to call the police. Within minutes they had arrived and we started driving around the area with about fifteen other cops looking for the guys. It kinda felt like we were on cops or NYPD Blue. Anyway, after having no luck we went to the station, filled out the robbery report and then the cops brought in a suspect. They made the guy strip down and showed us his clothes. When we couldn’t recognize the clothing we went in to take a look. Turns out the motorcycle thief they caught wasn’t our guy.

Thankfully the bus station gave me another ticket and the next morning I made plans to return to Cordoba. Well, at least they hadn’t taken my cell phone. Unlike usual, I had left it in the place we were staying. Just my luck, it fell out of my pocket on the bus en rout to the station!

Well, I was thankful that I still had my guitar. The one thing of material value that I still had with me was the guitar and all I wanted to do was get it back to my room in Cordoba…You can imagine what happens next. I arrived to Cordoba and when they pulled out my guitar from under the bus I noticed it was really hot. No!! You gotta be kidding me?? They had stored my guitar right by the motor where it was more that a hundred degrees. As usually happens with guitars in the heat, the neck was warped and I walked back to the house with a near complete abandon. I kind of hoped someone would try to rob me just because they would have nothing left to rob!

I write all this with a smile on my face now, not because I wanted to get robbed, but because for one, I have a cool story to tell! And two, I think its pretty ironic in light of everything I had just recently realized about myself regarding all my devises…(recording and then some!:) )  Though the photos I took in Rosario were lost, one of my friends there gave me some of the pictures she had taken…

Cordoba 10 K

I’ll always be a runner. Its one of the first things I try to do when I visit a new place—run through the city, along the beach, up the mountain, wherever there’s firm ground I’m running. It’s by far the best (and cheapest) way to get around and really get to know a new place. Córdoba is a great city to live in if you’re a runner and its numerous parks and trails spread throughout just about every section of town. Turns out that I made the local news the other day when I ran in the 10K race. Yeah, I was one among thousands of other runners, but oh well. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that I’m a local star. That’s good enough for me.

And finally, I just had to put this video of the boys from the IOC at the Honor Academy…man, we had some good times

May 2nd, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized | Comments (6)

After my time in Mar del Plata and Buenos Aires, I hopped on a “colectivo” and made my way to Cordoba, a city situated just off the central sierra mountains in northern Argentina where I would be picked up at the bus station by dona Olga Quero, the most laid back, welcoming, uncomplicated host mother I could have stumbled upon.

I settled right in to my room and was, to say the very least, pleased with my new home.

Apart from the ideal living place, Olga is one of the best cooks I know and spoils us to the extreme with the food she makes. I dedicate this next section of pictures to dona Olga’s great meals. Suffice it to say I have picked up the number of miles I run each day for a good reason…

Orientation began the very next day at the University and I spent the that week getting to know the other international students from France, Mexico, Germany, Colombia, Italy, Switzerland, and a few other countries. I always love meeting people from other countries and am convinced that one of the greatest ways to learn and grow is by being with people who are different than you. The way many of my new friends here think, talk, and go about their lives is so different from me and I really like it. As I go along I am sure that I will find things I want to adopt and thing I would rather not, but nonetheless, I have determined to try and learn from every one of them, regardless of where they come from or the culture they were raised in.

Let me take the chance to introduce the “cultural capital of the world,” as Cordoba has come to be known. This is the city that every Latin American city should be, or at least how I always imagined Latin America cities should look like.

But as is usually the case, the greatest part of the city is the people. I could spend hours and hours just sitting down on a park bench in the plaza de San Martin and never tire of people watching…

Cordoba has this curious tradition where after you graduate from the University, your present is some paint, egg, or a variety of other…uhh…substances…..in the face, smothered in your hair, and splattered all over. About every other day as I’m walking to class, some lucky student is taking his turn.

Walking its streets gives you not only the feeling that you are surrounded by a rich history filled with numerous stories to be told, but also the sensation of energy and vigor that comes so naturally to a city which boasts seven universities. Students are absolutely everywhere, and there is no escaping them even if you wanted to. The parks, the cafés, the sidewalk, the bus, the stores, the soccer fields, that ice cream shop, and any other place you could imagine. And I love it. The last several years I have come to really enjoy being with University students. What other group of people has such drive and vitality? What other group is more free, more expressive, more passionate, more relational? And if any group of University students had these characteristics it would be permanently those of Latin America, or to be more specific, los Argentinos. After spending 7 months in Central America I thought I had seen revolutionary. But never have I seen such fight in a group like this. It may have something also to do with the fact the legendary revolutionary “Che” Guevera was born about 45 minutes from here and the Cordobeses have picked up a bit of his ardor…maybe, I don’t know but countless protests and “manifestaciones” can be frequently heard or seen, in Cordoba on a daily basis. Surely it also has something to do with the fact that Argentina has a long history of government corruption, military takeover, and abuse of its people. The people have reason to protest. It was, in fact, the student’s movement of the University of Cordoba that set off a world wide “university reform” that had dramatically positive effects everywhere in the 70s. The apple of zeal hasn’t fallen far from the tree and the students roaming the city of Cordoba are just as fired up and feisty as their parents were. But I love it. I really feel privileged to be the age I am and to be right in the middle of it all. I hope I never stop caring about the things that I do now. Here are a few pictures of the smaller of the two campuses of the UCC.

Being that Spanish is my second language and that I tend to be a little on the slow side while reading in general, I have already spent more than one weekend locked up my house trying to catch up on all the reading in Spanish that I had to do for my classes. Other than that, I really enjoy my classes. Historia Argentina I and II, Literatura Latinoamericana, and a political science course called Historia de la Cultura. There’s not a better place I could be to learn about Latin American history and culture.

However, one of the weekends I wasn’t stuck in the house reading, I left for a town called “Capilla del Monte” with several of the international students.

We all met at the bus station and made the 3 hour trip over the Central Sierras, the highest mountain ranges in Argentina apart from the Andean cordillera, and arrived to Capilla del Monte by midday. On the way though, as usual, I was able to meet some really great people. Ezekiel, a 30 year old rugby player, was a really likable guy who had this enthusiasm about him that would make anybody feel comfortable around him. I managed to get a quick interview out of him and get his perspective on a few things…unfortunately the file was too big to put up here though.

Now, before I go on, the little town of “Capilla del Monte” and its legends deserve a bit of story space. I won’t say that the people of Capilla del Monte are strange, just interesting and completely convinced of the town’s myths. People all throughout the place have story upon story of having seen “Ovnis” (UFOs) hovering over the mountains, especially above the highest peak Uritorca. Along with the UFOs, the people claim that strange lights appear in the night sky, illuminating the surrounding the country side. The theory behind all the sightings? One is that Cerro Uritorca is the site where the knight Parsifal brought the temple of the grail of the holy cross near the end of the 12^th century. Another explanation for all the extraterrestrial activity is because the legendary underground city of Erks draws them. According the saga this subterranean city is where the “regeneration” of the human species will take place and where three mirrors exist which can communicate with other galaxies in addition to possessing the capability to tell the details of every human beings life on earth. One man I talked to said that he knew a lady who had seen large men coming from beneath the ground, emerging from the underworld of Erks. Hmmm… Now tell me, what am I supposed to say to that? I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or ask if his friend had the chance to interview the giants or ask one of them on a date. Either way, it makes for an interesting story and surely has boosted the tourism in the area…

Anyway, back to the story… We got settled into out hostel and the rest of the evening was really relaxed. We explored the small town and then found a swimming hole in the middle of a park on the edge of town.

For dinner, it had to be “asado” for sure and the main street was the place to go for a delicious steak.

Mexico and Holland

France and Germany

Mexico

One thing that immediately stands out to me about Argentina is how the people seems to hate the indoors. In other words, wherever you go you will always find the best of Argentina outdoors. This small town was no exception and outside of nearly every restaurant in town were tables filled with people chatting, eating, drinking wine (Argentina’s claim to fame), or occasionally stepping away from the table to dance along with the inescapable Latin music coming from all sides. After dinner, we strolled around until happening upon a live Salsa band playing some all so familiar Cuban hits.

There a few things better that I could have stumbled across that night. Only one couple had taken the floor and seemed to have captured the attention of all the dinners there. When they stopped I knew my time had finally come to make some moves for a live audience!! I grabbed the nearest girl around and forced myself to at least pretend like I knew what I was doing. It was all an act, but we seemed to pull it off. By the end of the dance everyone was clapping and soon thirty people were on the dance floor.

After spending quite a while dancing salsa, we went back to the hostel in hopes of getting some rest for the hike up Cerro Uritorca. This of course didn’t happen as I got absorbed in a conversation with some of my friends from Mexico and France late into the night and then early on into the morning. Regardless, I felt rejuvenated the next morning knowing what was to come.

We awoke early, slapped on the sun screen and began the 30 minute walk through and then out of the town to the foot of the mountain.

From the very start the view was impressive and only got better the higher we climbed.

We came across the remains of a small church that had been built half way up, giving the devoted ones a bird’s eye view of “capilla del monte”  below.

And after three hours, we finally made it to the top…

After the two hour decent, the rest of the group decided to catch the bus for Cordoba than night to get back for classes.

There was still plenty to see in the area and since I had no classes the next day I opted for staying behind another night. In the hostel I met Fernando, a Porteno (from Buenos Aires) who had a few days vacation and so decided to check out the mysterious town and its bizarre extraterrestrial activities.

We got a bite to eat and ended up talking about so many different things, sharing stories, and conversing till the next morning at about life, religion, Sara (of how I miss her!), and just our views of the world. It was a great time and really made me think about a lot of things. Fernando is yet another one of these Argentines that make you feel like you’re interesting or have something important to share. I want to treat people like that, not because I want to trick myself into thinking its true, but in affirmation that it really is true and that the people in my life, whether that’s my family or someone I only know for a couple of hours, really have a unique story, that they are worth the attention and effort to engage and connect with. When Fernando asked me if I wanted to grab something to eat, I at first told him that I was too tired and was going to bed. Thankfully I recognized the opportunity and changed my mind. These are the things that make this trip worth all the while. A big mountain is great to see, a few hours with one of these Argentines is by far a step up the ladder.

The next day I slept late and woke up in time to lazily stroll down to one of the local restaurants on the main drag and put down another juicy streak. As I was getting ready to leave, a man and his wife sat down at the table with me and soon we were accompanied by another couple and right into a great conversation. Unbelievable… These Argentines amaze me and while not all are alike, there is definitely a thread of generosity and pure friendliness that runs through them each one. We spent the next hour or so talking and then exchanged info after finding out that we all were from Cordoba.

Something I have noticed about myself since this trip started is that I have this rebellious spark in me that automatically wants to do the very thing that someone tells me is impossible, or at least improbable to do. It almost assures that I will do everything possible to do what they said I couldn’t. Well, time was running out and the sun would be setting within a few hours and I had yet to make it to my planned destination: Los Terrones. The lady at the bus stop told me that I could never make it there and back in time to catch the bus and that it was improbable to find someone who would pick up a hitchhiker. Well, that was all I needed to send me in that direction.  I was determined to try and so I started to walk along the long dirt road leading to the rock formations called Los Terrones.

Within fifteen minutes I was in the back seat of an Argentine couple from Buenos Aires’s car and within a few more I found out that these were two people I could really get along with. We arrived just as the final group was leaving for a tour of the Terrones. It was a pretty cool place…

…but the real surprise came as began to hike upward out the coliseum-like formations, coming over the crest of the rocks and being greeted by the most remarkable scene I think I have ever seen. I have to at least mention this, but know that no picture can do justice to what I saw.

I feel a bit silly describing what I saw and felt because I realize that talking about “beauty” can quickly fall into an immensely and perhaps unbearably cheesy category, and so will do all possible to keep my thoughts free from cliché and sentimentality. But before, a quick sidestep I recently had a conversation with my Latin American Literature teacher about the overwhelming power of beauty that every so often takes you by surprise and completely paralyzes you. He mentioned that nature is not static and that’s its instinctively conversational. As strange as it may have sounded, when he went on to explain what he meant, I couldn’t have agreed any more. He mentioned that what when we see something astounding in nature it always demands a response. In a sense, it makes the first move in the conversation and we can’t really help but respond in a number of ways. Our response to devastating beauty can be silent, it can be verbal, in the case of an artist it can be drawn, painted or composed, our response can be to worship, or as Edgar Allen Poe said “Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.” I had never really thought about it quite like a conversation before, but it made perfect sense in light of the two minutes that I stood on top of that rock overlooking the valley. I was completely staggered by what I saw and as strange as it may sound, it could hardly sleep that night because of it. I felt like my breath was cut short and that I had been hit in the chest and left paralyzed in every way. Am I completely weird? Sometimes I really wonder that. Anyway, here’s the video of when I first ran up the that hill…

We began to make our way down the terrones and while en route our guide began to tell us about some of the “Ovni” (alien) activity om that area.

There is s much more I write about living in Cordoba, but I think this post is already long enough. I will say that getting to know the local Argentines has been incredible and a cultural experience in itself. And while I am by no means an expert, I have learned a thing or two on how to make an “asado” argentine style.

Just this morning I returned from a week long trip to the Andes mountains and Chile so there will be much more to come….

Now, before I finish this off, I have to say that as much as I have been enjoying my time here it hasn’t made being apart from Sara any easier. Now over three months that we’ve been together and the day I get to see her again will be a good one, that’s for sure.

But…thank God for skype

April 8th, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized | Comments (3)

Seasons are the exact opposite the U.S. in Argentina and so while Nebraskans are scraping ice off their windshields; all of Argentina is lying out at the beach. At one specific beach to be exact: Mar del Plata. Now normally I would try to avoid such swarming places in search for a more solitary, restful setting. However, Alejandro is a craftsman and I a musician, and we both love what we do; why not try and try and make a buck or two doing what we love. We decided that Mar del Plata was the perfect place to go and left with the goal of paying for our trip with the money we would make playing music and selling crafts on the streets. A modern day hippie, you could say. We bought our train tickets, bid farewell to Ale’s parents and set off on our journey.

We arrived seven hours later, an hour before day light, and made our way to the beach to see the sunrise. As we waited for God to begin to paint his work of art, two shady looking fellows approached us looking for trouble. One of the men tried telling us he was a policeman and that we should turn around and put our hands behind our backs.

(Here we were waiting at the beach when just before the guys came up wanting our money)

Thankfully Alejandro’s a pretty quick thinker and talked our way out of the fix. The light ordeal didn’t set us back though and we still started the day with a spectacular view of south Atlantic ocean.

We met a couple of fellow travelers and shared a tune or two…

We found a cheap hostel that proved to me more like a gathering place for musicians and a lot of cool, care-free people. Every time we came back to the hostel it felt like we were being welcomed back home…smiles, kisses (it’s the argentine way) and a hot “mate.” (the typical drink of the country that passed around to everyone like a peace pipe)

What a change from what life has been like over the last several months. I have gone from working full time on a tight schedule to lazily strolling along the beach, enjoying long, care-free conversations and singing until my voice is gone. Here are a few pics of the time we spent in Mar del Plata.

Numerous hours were spent on a street corner or on the “peatonal” singing in hopes ofmaking enough to pay for dinner. It usually worked and whatever wasn’t cover in money was made up in shear satisfaction from the music and air of the whole setting.

Alejandro met a really cool girl named Vanina (who he seemed to have thing for) and she ended up hanging out quite a bit with us. That night I experienced for the first time a real “Parrilla” at a “tenedor libre” which is basically an all your can eat buffet of Argentina’s finest steak and all kinds of amazing food. I could hardly move afterward, but would never be able to live with myself if I went all the way to Argentina and never experienced the country’s famed “carne asado.”

Vanina taught us how to Tango…

Before moving on to the other places we visited, I have to share some of the best parts of our time in Mar del Plata. The beach seems to attract the most laid back, friendly people who have such great way of projecting themselves to others. The next video is of a man who was staying in our hostel room and has been a flamenco street musician for 40 years. His love for the music was contagious, a true Argentine through and through. Here is one of the songs he played for me…

Then, one afternoon I met another musician and his wife in the hostel. The guy made you feel like you had known him for years and he had such crisp, fresh and tranquil way of doing things that I felt he belonged back in the pueblo of Cahuita on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica with the other Jamaican like vagabonds. We passed the afternoon hours sharing songs and enjoying the company of all who cared to join. Click on the link below…

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We jumped on a bus and moved down south to a beach called “Playa Serena” (Serene Beach)…and that it was. Far less people scattered across the white sand, and the light breeze and blue sky were more than enough to entice us to stop.

To get to shoreline however, we had to make our way down a steep sand dune…

Huge hill, plenty of sand…its was just begging me to roll down—and so of course I did

Moving on from there, we jumped on another bus that hurried along the coast line until reaching a small town called “Miramar.” Our first objective was to find lunch. All across Argentina you can find the most delicious, affordable “Roticerias,” which sell empenadas, tartas, keesh, and plenty of other things. We feasted on some chicken and pork empenadas.

We walked from there to Vanina’s where we were to crash that night before heading back to Mar de Plata. Before long, we had mounted a couple of bikes and on our way in search of the “bosque energetico” (forest of energy) a supposedly enchanted forest where energy was transmitted to those who could balance a stick on one of its tree’s branches and then hug the tree. Quite an interesting idea, but what the heck, it was worth a visit… In getting there we took a detour along the ocean’s edge.

Off to our right, just over the sand dunes that lined the shore, was a forest that was standing between us and our destination…since we couldn’t find the trails that lead to the forest we were looking for, we made our own and got lost in the process. Nevertheless, two hours later we finally came upon the mysterious forest.

Quite the day we had. The next morning we took a bus back to Mar del Plata and met up with some family friend’s Alejandro and spent the afternoon in great conversations, meeting great people. Pablo, Luciano, Gerardo, Alejandro and myself.

Our time in Mar del Plata come coming to an end and all we had left to do was enjoy the train ride bck to Buenos Aires.

I’d have to ay that the best part of this whole trip to Buenos Aires and Mer del Plata was meeting Alejandro. He’s a really great guy who has a personality like no one I know and is sure to be a great friend for a long time…

March 6th, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized | Comments (3)

It’s been about two weeks now since I arrived to Argentina and thinking of sitting down and writing about it all seems like an awfully daunting task, but I think that with all the pictures, videos and recording that I’ll include here the bit of writing necessary won’t be all that lengthy. So, let’s get started.

All around me was snow, white, clean and certainly the furthest thing from what I was about to step into in a matter of hours. Omaha, gleams in February and its temperatures are only tolerated by the most diehard. I, on the other hand, was ready for summer and for that wish Argentina was the fulfillment. Hot, humid and swarming people, Buenos Aires is a haven for culture, pride and of course…tourism. It was hard to find a place not already teeming with backpacked, camera carrying day-trippers trying to get their fair share of the sights. I keep telling myself I am not “one of them,” but I suppose that I just need to accept the fact that there are times when everyone is a tourist in one way or another. In fact, it’s all the people who continue coming to see Buenos Aires who have help keep the city a somewhat safe, cultured, well kept place.

Being that I was loaded down with six months worth of luggage, was ready to find a place to stay, drop of my things and explore the city. “Hotel Nancy,” a colorful place with high ceilings, open hallways and a bit of ancient charm was where I settled for the next few nights. Located in the birth place of barrio San Telmo, the hostel was perfect starting point to experience the rich culture of Buenos Aires.

Though I’ve never strolled the streets of Madrid, Italy, or Paris, it’s well know that Buenos Aires is a taste of Europe and is replete with Italian influence. From the music that is played on the streets, the dance and even the language, a mixture of a European way of life meets Latin America at its best. Meandering around the city, I found my eyes always wandering up at the immaculate, striking architecture over head and my ears replete with sounds of merchants, musicians and the rumble of old cars riding over brick streets. People everywhere, buying, selling, talking, laughing, sitting on the doorsteps of their shops, some begging, others parading themselves…movement and energy always.

This is the “Plaza de Mayo” which is a large, openpark that is surrounded on all sides my massive, colonial building and centers on a pure white statue around which numerous protests and endless marches have taken place in disapproval of the injustices carried out by the Argentine government. Over twenty years after the event “Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo” still march each Thursday to protest the kidnapping of their children. It’s a place where people can freely express their voice…

It was only my first day in Buenos Aires when I met Alejandro; a young, charismatic, smooth talking “artesano” who was suspiciously friendly when I slowed down to look at the hand made products he had strewn out on the pedestrian walkway “Calle Peru.” We talked for a while and I soon found myself in a rather involved conversation with this perfect stranger. Soon I was walking to a pizza shop in search of some dinner to bring back to Alejandro’s “puesto” so as to prolong the conversation. I found out he was a med student who seemed to have been pressured into the career by his parents and yet was pulled strongly in the other direction by the lure of the unconventional and free spirited life of the “artensano” (street vending craftsman). I liked him a lot. I also found out he loved Christ and sincerely wanted to serve him with all his heart. He was happy to find out that I too was a “creyente” and invited me to a pizza/movie party at a church the following night. I of course quickly accepted the offer to get out of the tourist scene and see the real life of an Argentine.

We packed up his things and walked back toward my hostel. Alejandro continued on home and I decided to get my guitar out and play for a while in the plaza near my place. It was here that I saw a whole other side to the city. I was soon joined by a guy on his jimbae, and a few other soon-to-be friends. We had been playing for a while when the flame throwers came out and put on their show for the hundreds of people crowding the plaza’s elegant dinner patio. I have never seen a city so alive when the sun goes down. I really don’t know when these people sleep because Buenos Aires at night was just as electrifying, frenzied and yet sophisticated and appealing as it was during the day. We stopped playing the music just long enough to hear the tango strains drifting through the air from across the plaza. A French guy and I headed over to listen and were able to get a glimpse of the reason for Argentina’s fame…El Tango.

The music of course was also impressive and had the feel of a Spanish night in Madrid. (At least according to my French friend Mr. Nicolas Dupuy)

Nicolas and I hung out the rest of the night and I ended up being the one to give in early sleep (4:30 am) before the rest of the city. Quite a different style of life than in Omaha Nebraska…

Of course one the greatest part of Buenos Aires is that music fills the air both day and night.  After a dinner at the local “Parrilla” (Grill-Argentina has the best steak you’ll ever sink your teeth into) I was making my way toward my hostel when I heard the sound of drums and voices. Passing on by just wasn’t an option. Here’s what I heard…

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The next night I met Alejandro and we met so many people at the church, ate plenty of pizza and labored our way through “The Dark Night.”

I ended up meeting Alejandro’s family and immediately knew I had stumbled across a gem. They invited me to stay in their home and made me feel right away like I had a family. It would take a book to talk about everything Alejandro did and all the places we went over the next three days but needless to say we had a great time exploring the city and the surrounding area of “La Tigre.”

Alejandro’s dad, Jose, is a Pastor and we even lead worship at the church that Sunday night.

As for his mother, Antonia, she must be the sweetest lady I have ever met (aside from my mom of course!) and would go to the end of the earth for her son.

It took the chaos and frenzy of the city to make me realize something about myself. I NEED to be alone sometimes. After several days in Buenos Aires, I knew I needed to get away to someplace where i could think, pray, and just be still for a while. The “Jardin Botanico” turned out to be just what I needed. A haven in the middle of this enormous city, the park was filled with trees, statues and paths to get away from it all.

Midway through the week, Alejandro and I decided that playing music and selling “artesania” on the streets of Buenos Airs was great, but to play and sell on the beaches of Mar del Plata would be even greater. The next five days would be spent on the coast of “El Mar Argentino.”  That post will be coming right along here in a week or so…enjoy

March 5th, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized | Comments (15)