September 11 is a date that carries with it a heavy sense of infamy. Perhaps it will for fifty years or more, the way December 7 remains significant because of Pearl Harbor. Since I wasn't in the States for the passing of 9-11 this year, I cannot say as to the reactions this time. All I have is the perspective from Buenos Aires, a new reference point that has shown me new ways of looking at many things.
So when 9-11 passes here in Buenos Aires, the event that rests most predominantly in the minds of people here is not what happened in New York two years ago, but what happened in Santiago thirty years ago. It was on this date that an insurgency invaded the government of Chile and led to the death of Salvador Allende, the newly elected prime minister with inclinations to socialist ideals. This moment was a low point of American involvement in South American political affairs. It was widely known that American funds had armed the coup, and that, at least indirectly, were responsible for the overthrow of the properly elected leader of another country. This is what September 11 recalls in the minds of Chilenos, as well as Argentinos, due to their close proximity to the events. I watched the television and saw news clips of Pinochet, the leader of the coup who would then become a reckless dictator of Chile for years, celebrating the annniversary. Like many people here, I cannot understand why he has not been brought to some kind of justice. Obviously there are some political forces at work ensuring his safety, even as he remains a senile old man.
Fortunately, things here seem much better and more stable than they used to be. Yet the States still has involvement in Colombia and Venezuela, of which I can only hope is truly for the best and does not lead to the misfortune of thirty years ago.
Meanwhile, I managed to find the bus station here and purchase a ticket to Capilla del Monte, where the research into lake monster culture takes a bit of a sidestep. There I hope to gain another reference point, a control setup of sorts, to see what constitutes not a lake monster town, but an OVNI town. OVNI's are "objeto volador no identificado" - more commonly known in the United States as UFO's. Apparently this tiny town has a record of several sightings. As a result it's built up something of a reputation and has become a bastion of some of the more new age culture in Argentina. I'm going to get a closer look at this gathering of culture and see if this is a common symbiot for eccentric mythologies. The bus leaves tonight and it feels very strange to leave this place that has found a very permanent spot in my memory.
A few things I've forgotten to mention along the way:
- Playing street chess with huge plastic pieces versus about twelve year olds (about ten of them).
- Oranges, mandarins, bananas, on the super cheap at nealy everyy corner. Yet where are the vegetables?
- The man who came flying out of his apartment and ran headfirst into me as we crashed cabeza's. What is it with me and head collisions?
- The biker who was hit and then traped under a city bus, causing a massive gathering of onlookers and commendably rapid emergency response. Traffic here really is intense.
- The dominance of soda as a popular beverage. The language teachers thought I was strange to order an orange juice for lunch.
- The fantastic and cheap barbecue diners, known as parillas, to be found throughout the city.
- The mate phenomenon, similar to tea, but all about the process, not the product, so to speak, as well as the conversation that follows the mate container.
- The vibrance of the Spanish language. (Okay, I have already mentioned this ealier, but it's worth reiterating).
- Being supported by two Israelis and a Swiss after some hooligans decided to be rough... (This will remain unelaborated.)
So, there you have it. Buenos Aires has captured my heart. It will be sad to go, but I know it is time to jump back on to the research. This evening, I jump on the bus, and I can only hope that some of the Spanish I've picked up here jumps into my cranial luggage on the way to Cordoba province.
P.S. This just has to be mentioned... How is it that these two hats of mine continue to get lost right around the same time... then magically reappear or are found and returned, usually at exactly the same time. If you´ve given me a touque before, you´re one of two people, so you know which hat(s) I´m talking about... it´s really starting to get eerie.
hehe..."It's a magic touque, eh?" Bring back any memories of the Senior Variety Show? And speaking of the vibrance of the Spanish language, do you find South Americans to be as passionate about EVERYTHING they talk about as I found Europeans to be? I felt like I could have a conversation about tap water with some of the French/Italians/Spanish/Swiss/Germans I met and they could be completely engaged in the conversation with full-on hand gestures, facial expressions, and total body movements. It's like they were describing the Maradona hand-of-God goal, when in reality they were explaining how when you turn the knob to the right the water stops coming out.
The mentioning of the Mate process earned you something more of a casual glimpse here... bastard.
When I was in Morocco, I was introduced to the elaborate and honorary tradition of preparing the tea. It was one of the most common forms of invitations that I witnessed while there... walking down the street, a stranger would invite you for tea... eating at a little stand, the owner would invite you for tea... riding a taxi, the driver would... and so on. I loved it. But what totally enraptured me was the delicacy and passion that went into making the tea.
Basically, the recipe would be left entirely in the hands of the honored brewer, as it was up to them how many leaves of mint to add and how much sugar to put in (often more than an entire candy store, I kid you not).
As I mentioned before, the process was more than the product. After steeping for a little bit, an elaborate method of pouring out the concoction into the numerous little glasses (always numbering more than the number in attendance, as if expecting more to arrive anytime soon). This was done to, I assume, aerate the tea, and always was done with an aerobatic display of pouring from an incredible height (2ft+ above the glass).
The result was a very, very sweet warm mint beverage that had a slight nod toward a tea flavor.
So there you have it... an outdated memory of Moroccan Mint Tea.
What happens if you see an OVNI?
To Shuttsy: I imagine if you mix the passion of the Spanish and the Italians you´ll get something of the Argentines.. this is apparently where much of their accent is from (the Italian side) Right up your alley eh?
And yes, I have had very animated conversations about... por ejemplo... how to concoct the perfect mate (accent on the e - no i´m not talking about finding mates)
To Keith, yours sounds even more active an experience than mine.. i haven´t been pulled off the street yet for tea, but i have seen many various ways of making the tea. Some are diehard ¨sin azucar¨ fans and others insist on it. I´ve been enjoying the education but haven´t bought my own mate holder yet.. still looking for the perfect one.
BTW.. if you can, try to find ¨Yerba Mate¨ around in the states.. if I remember right I think it´s available but expensive? Its being sold around here for about 1 peso / kilo. Maybe I´ll stock up.