Thursday, January 18, 2007
Buenos Aires
This is the first time in three months of travel that we don’t stand out like typical tourists. It is the middle of Summer and the locals of Buenos Aires are dressed in shorts, t-shirts and sandals. Compared to our brief experience of Latin America so far, this city appears very affluent and very European. I knew that Argentines had the shared ancestry of many European countries, but it is still a surprise to see such a wide range of appearances. People look English, Irish, Scandinavian, Spanish, Italian, or anything apart from what you might expect Argentines to look like. Until we open our mouths, we could be a typical Argentine family. Opening our mouths, however, has been the biggest challenge so far. My fair to middling grasp of Spanish/Castellano had enabled us to get by in Chile and Peru, in shops, taxis and restaurants. Buenos Aires is another story altogether. For the first few days I could barely understand a single word of what was spoken. For a start, the usual y-sounding double-l is pronounced as a soft “sh” instead (“cah-shay” instead of “cah-yay” for calle, and “poh-show” instead of “poh-yo” for pollo). Next, there is an entirely different inflection in sentences that makes the language sound very like Spanish being spoken by Italians. Top this off with a collection of slang words and colloquialisms that could almost match the Irish, and I’m beginning to feel like someone from Utah who has just landed in West Cabra. This unique form of Spanish is known as Rio Platense, after the Rio Plata which borders Buenos Aires and Uruguay. The most popular, and undoubtedly the most endearing, colloquialism has to be “Che Boludo!” which roughly translates as “Ya Bollix!”. “Che” (mostly) means “Hey!” or “Hey, you!” Our hero, Ernesto “Che” Guevara, apparently received his nickname because of his nationality and the use of “Che” distinguishes Argentine from other Latin American nationalities. Regardless of age, everyone here seems to call everyone, and everything, else “Boludo”.
We are blessed, yet again, with our accommodation. My old friend Flavia, whom I have not seen since 1987, has insisted that we make ourselves at home in her gorgeous house while she and her family are away on holidays. With its shuttered windows, dark interiors and heavy, antique oak furniture, this house is straight out of a Jorge Luis Borges story and fulfils perfectly my mental picture of Argentina. It is in a leafy suburb of Buenos Aires and provides a perfect oasis for “down time” after climbing Machu Picchu. Best of all, this house has a dog and four tortoises, and the children are delighted to be in the company of so many animals for a whole two weeks. Isis, the family dog, is a Dogo Argentino, like a mastiff, a giant, white dog, one of a breed that was developed to hunt wild boar. Despite her immense size, she is extremely gentle and, Flavia reckons, has only ever hunted wild boar by the tin.
Meat is the food of choice in Argentina. With four Argentine Pesos to the Euro, it is so cheap to eat out that I don’t know how I will ever cook dinner again. The grill, or parilla (par-ee-sha) seems to be the name of every restaurant. The supermarkets have vast selections of meat and around the corner is a shop selling every form of barbequing equipment ever invented. I pity the vegetarian traveller in this country. Apart from the parilla, sweetness is omnipresent in the food again. It took us a while to work out what Dulce de Leche was. Its literal meaning is “sweetness of milk” and it is the national flavour of Argentina, contained in pastries, ice-cream and even drinks. It turned out to be an extremely sweet caramel paste, made from condensed milk, exactly like the sticky part of banoffee pie. It is stocked high in supermarkets and locals buy it by the jar and spread it on bread and just about everything else. It also comes in solid form, sold on the deli-counter and eaten sliced, accompanied by cheese. The coffee is better, thank God, as long as you know how to order it (solo, or cortado) but yerba mate tea is everywhere, and is drunk by young and old from the traditional gourd-shaped cup through a metal straw. A common sight is a local getting their flask of boiling water from a café, to fill up their mate cup for sharing with friends.
My understanding of Argentine history is patchy at best, but I do remember being aware of the military regime of the late 1970s and early 80s when I was a student, and hearing of those who had “disappeared” during what became known as the “dirty war”. According to the Argentine government commission appointed at the time, about 10,000 people were listed as "disappeared" after being arrested for their political views during the years of the military government. The Argentine human rights organization, Movimiento Ecumenico por los Derechos Humanos, says it is closer to 30,000 people. Even though a civilian government was restored in Argentina in 1983, some of the lawyers and relatives of the disappeared are still being threatened and harassed for their high profile role in seeking justice for what took place so many years ago. And so it goes on, and on. We visited the Plaza de Mayo in the centre of Buenos Aires and saw, on the ground around the fountain, the painted headscarves that represent the Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo or The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, a group of Argentine mothers who walked silently around the Plaza de Mayo every Thursday afternoon for thirty years, in remembrance of their abducted children. They made their final walk just last year and now concentrate their efforts more on political activism.
Argentina photos on Flickr
This is the first time in three months of travel that we don’t stand out like typical tourists. It is the middle of Summer and the locals of Buenos Aires are dressed in shorts, t-shirts and sandals. Compared to our brief experience of Latin America so far, this city appears very affluent and very European. I knew that Argentines had the shared ancestry of many European countries, but it is still a surprise to see such a wide range of appearances. People look English, Irish, Scandinavian, Spanish, Italian, or anything apart from what you might expect Argentines to look like. Until we open our mouths, we could be a typical Argentine family. Opening our mouths, however, has been the biggest challenge so far. My fair to middling grasp of Spanish/Castellano had enabled us to get by in Chile and Peru, in shops, taxis and restaurants. Buenos Aires is another story altogether. For the first few days I could barely understand a single word of what was spoken. For a start, the usual y-sounding double-l is pronounced as a soft “sh” instead (“cah-shay” instead of “cah-yay” for calle, and “poh-show” instead of “poh-yo” for pollo). Next, there is an entirely different inflection in sentences that makes the language sound very like Spanish being spoken by Italians. Top this off with a collection of slang words and colloquialisms that could almost match the Irish, and I’m beginning to feel like someone from Utah who has just landed in West Cabra. This unique form of Spanish is known as Rio Platense, after the Rio Plata which borders Buenos Aires and Uruguay. The most popular, and undoubtedly the most endearing, colloquialism has to be “Che Boludo!” which roughly translates as “Ya Bollix!”. “Che” (mostly) means “Hey!” or “Hey, you!” Our hero, Ernesto “Che” Guevara, apparently received his nickname because of his nationality and the use of “Che” distinguishes Argentine from other Latin American nationalities. Regardless of age, everyone here seems to call everyone, and everything, else “Boludo”.
We are blessed, yet again, with our accommodation. My old friend Flavia, whom I have not seen since 1987, has insisted that we make ourselves at home in her gorgeous house while she and her family are away on holidays. With its shuttered windows, dark interiors and heavy, antique oak furniture, this house is straight out of a Jorge Luis Borges story and fulfils perfectly my mental picture of Argentina. It is in a leafy suburb of Buenos Aires and provides a perfect oasis for “down time” after climbing Machu Picchu. Best of all, this house has a dog and four tortoises, and the children are delighted to be in the company of so many animals for a whole two weeks. Isis, the family dog, is a Dogo Argentino, like a mastiff, a giant, white dog, one of a breed that was developed to hunt wild boar. Despite her immense size, she is extremely gentle and, Flavia reckons, has only ever hunted wild boar by the tin.
Meat is the food of choice in Argentina. With four Argentine Pesos to the Euro, it is so cheap to eat out that I don’t know how I will ever cook dinner again. The grill, or parilla (par-ee-sha) seems to be the name of every restaurant. The supermarkets have vast selections of meat and around the corner is a shop selling every form of barbequing equipment ever invented. I pity the vegetarian traveller in this country. Apart from the parilla, sweetness is omnipresent in the food again. It took us a while to work out what Dulce de Leche was. Its literal meaning is “sweetness of milk” and it is the national flavour of Argentina, contained in pastries, ice-cream and even drinks. It turned out to be an extremely sweet caramel paste, made from condensed milk, exactly like the sticky part of banoffee pie. It is stocked high in supermarkets and locals buy it by the jar and spread it on bread and just about everything else. It also comes in solid form, sold on the deli-counter and eaten sliced, accompanied by cheese. The coffee is better, thank God, as long as you know how to order it (solo, or cortado) but yerba mate tea is everywhere, and is drunk by young and old from the traditional gourd-shaped cup through a metal straw. A common sight is a local getting their flask of boiling water from a café, to fill up their mate cup for sharing with friends.
My understanding of Argentine history is patchy at best, but I do remember being aware of the military regime of the late 1970s and early 80s when I was a student, and hearing of those who had “disappeared” during what became known as the “dirty war”. According to the Argentine government commission appointed at the time, about 10,000 people were listed as "disappeared" after being arrested for their political views during the years of the military government. The Argentine human rights organization, Movimiento Ecumenico por los Derechos Humanos, says it is closer to 30,000 people. Even though a civilian government was restored in Argentina in 1983, some of the lawyers and relatives of the disappeared are still being threatened and harassed for their high profile role in seeking justice for what took place so many years ago. And so it goes on, and on. We visited the Plaza de Mayo in the centre of Buenos Aires and saw, on the ground around the fountain, the painted headscarves that represent the Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo or The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, a group of Argentine mothers who walked silently around the Plaza de Mayo every Thursday afternoon for thirty years, in remembrance of their abducted children. They made their final walk just last year and now concentrate their efforts more on political activism.Argentina photos on Flickr
# posted by Ruth @ Thursday, January 18, 2007 
