I remembered my camera this time

I had another fun day in the park, this time with my new friends, Elena and Katrina.  These are the new Jessie and Aubrey... in the sense that they are from BYU and doing and internship here in Cordoba.

We headed to the park to enjoy a perfect fall day.  The park looks different sans leaves and a lot less green, but beautiful all the while.  We also climbed a staircase to encounter a beautiful lady:

And some gorgeous views from the top:

And watched the ducks play:

it's a wonderful life

Exam Time

The semester has ended.  Exams have commenced.  Let it be over soon.  Please.  I had a total of five exams.  Yes, yes, I hear your confusion.  I have four classes.  Apparently they really expect you to study for studying abroad.  Two of my classes are actually year long classes, but since I am only here for a semester, I was told that I would be required to complete the work assigned within the semester and my grade would be the average of these grades.  Our final for this class was termed a "parcial" as it was half of the class, so we would have a partial exam.  I worked diligently over the course of about a week and a half and proudly turned in my 5-page paper at the end of our last class.  As I handed it to the professor, she looked at me in her cute, slightly nerdy way and asked me, "We need to talk about your final--when would you like to turn that in?"  I glanced down at the paper in my hand, and then back into her spectacled eyes.  She must have sensed my confusion because she quickly clarified, "Oh no no, this is your parcial... you have to do the final exam."  Shocked and without words, I numbly nodded and left the classroom--somewhat fuming.  Over the next few days, I fought the power--insisting that since it was only a semester class I couldn't be obliged to do the work that the other students have a year to do.  Sure, the professor said it didn't have to be quite as long as theirs, but they also have three more texts from which to use and divine ideas.  Eventually, I gave up the good fight and resigned myself to do the essay.  What's another 6-7 pages in my life?  It's not so much the word that bothers me but rather the lack of notification.  Would it have been so hard for them to mention during orientation week that we are required to complete a final exam to finish the course?  Or at the beginning of the semester, when we were going over the plan for the next few months?  Notifying me a week before it's due is just bad business people.  Just bad business.  But I suppose, it is just all part of the cultural experience, no?  It is obvious that they don't hold the students in quite the same esteem as we do in the US.  Here, the professor's time and feelings are paramount to whatever the student might have going on in their life.  Perhaps this is a good lesson for us--perhaps the real world won't have such a satin cushion as do the universities in the US.  Slight favoritism, and discrimination, things that are usually peremptorily squashed in the US are all but common here, or so it would seem.  Contrary to all appearances, I'm not complaining.  I am actually thoroughly amused to find this cultural difference.  I was upset about my essay--I know studying is the reason I am here, but at the same point, I feel like the real lessons learned during studying abroad are not gained in the classroom.  But I'm not going to worry, because as a very wise person once said, "If something is wrong, fix it.  If you can't, then don't worry.  Worrying never fixes anything."  So true, so true.  Deep breath, chest out.  Here we go Argentina, I love you too much now.  Let's finish this essay.

T minus 1 month

Well folks, this is it... we are winding down.  I officially have no more classes at la Universidad Catolica de Cordoba.  I feel three things: thrilled, sad, and apprehensive.  An interesting mix no?  Let me explain.  I have been in class since February 1st--that was a long time ago.  Although it was an amazing experience to have classes in Argentina, all taught by Argentines and in Spanish, it is a relief to know I won't see the inside of a classroom until September.  However, the end of classes signals the end of an era--the era being that of studying abroad.  I've known I wanted to study in Argentina since I was a junior in high school.  This dream, and a dream it has truly been, is coming to an end depressingly quickly.  Finally, with every end is a new beginning.  This experience has changed and is changing me in ways I haven't even realized yet or could possible have the words to describe.  When I come home, I will not be the person that left.  This is a little scary.  Add on to it the fact that I have one year of college left and then nothing but the real world.  I have been blessed in so many various ways throughout my youth; I'm not ready to leave it behind just yet.  I feel the responsibility and weight of adulthood around the corner.  I'll still find a way to incorporate my jet-setting, life of the rich and famous, as my father calls it, but I'm leaving something behind that has been the experience of a lifetime--as if that even describes it.  The other day I was about to start on some homework, and I opened my computer.  The still black screen reflected my smiling face from a joke my roommate had just made.  I caught my eye, and I caught my breath.  Call me corny, call me cliche, but for a second, I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me.  Again, I was all at once proud, content, and terrified.  It has been a journey in self-awareness, and self-reliance above all else.  I just hope I've left my footprint behind in the best way possible.

15 minutes of fame

So remember all that cheering I've been doing for Argentina?  Well it's been paying off!  I've been in the newspaper and on Argentine TV!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After a big Argentine win, the whole of Cordoba (or so it seems) flocks to Patio Olmos to yell, cheer, hoot, holler and otherwise good-time.  Here's a few pictures of what it looks like from the 5th floor:

So anyway, while we were down there, yelling, cheering, hooting, hollering and otherwise good-timing... we happened to be in the back of a journalist's picture!  Here we are in the newspaper (it's a little hard to see, but I promise we are there):

Who would think that during the next game, we'd get another brush with fame?  Kelsey was leaning out the window, yelling for the world to hear about how awesome Argentina was, when a few men with cameras asked her to come up and take pictures from Austin's balcony.  Being Kelsey, she let them.  After chatting with us, they decided we'd make a good news segment, and we were featured on Channel 26 here in Cordoba!  Kelsey may or may not have asked Higuain out on a date...  Here's a shot of the camera men:

....and a video, courtesy of Juanita.  My favorite part.... Austin saying:  Look at Kelsey making a fool of herself on national Argentine television.  I love my friends!

I'm famous!

GOOOOAAAAALLLLLLL

Cante y une tu voz

Grita fuerte te escuche el sol

El partido ya va a comenzar

Todos juntos vamos a ganar

Uh-oh, Becky's speaking Spanish again... here's your translation....

Sing and unite your voices

Yell so loudly the sun can hear you

The game is about to start

All together we will win

The FIFA World Cup.  It's a big deal.  I guess ignorant me didn't realize how big of a deal it truly is.  It is the biggest sporting event in the world and it really has the power to bring nations together.  I have some opposing views on what it means for South Africa--let's get into that.  First of all, the amount of money that was spent building and renovating stadiums could have built more than 9,000 schools and libraries in South Africa.  Are we teaching the world's children how to read, or how to kick a ball?  At the same point, as the official song of the World Cup says... "waka,waka This time for Africa."  I can't say I know exactly what Shakira means by waka, waka (other than to do the very addicting dance) but I do know that Africa in general will be blessed by this event on their soil.  The revenue and awareness gained are, perhaps, innumerable.  

So what have my experiences been with the world cup?  Well, I've watched every game Argentina has played/won this far--and will keep cheering them on until the end.  The USA is still in my heart, as is Mexico... I must admit I even smile when Brazil does well (but DO NOT... under any circumstances tell an Argentine that) Case in point, I was at the gym last week while Brazil was playing.  They scored a goal at the end to win the game.  Argentines are absolute football fanatics and will get into any game--trust me.  However, I have never seen a room full of such stone-faced men as when Brazil scored and won.  I accidentally let a smile slip out, and it was greeted by a look from the man on the machine next to me of such a mixture of horror, shock and disgust that I finished my set and left the gym in a hurry, watching my back the whole time.  But back to the point.  I've had the pleasure of watching the Thursday morning game in a bar surrounded by all too enthusiastic Argentines at 8 am.  Yesterday we watched the game against Greece in Austin's apartment, right over Patio Olmos (one of the main plazas in the city).   For a bit of comic relief, our channel was about 3 seconds ahead of the channel that the people were watching in the bar below us.  Every time something scream worthy happened, we all got a chuckle of waiting for the rest of Cordoba to catch up.  

The game had us on the edge of our seats as our boys battled it out on the field.  I was sorely missing my preferred player-- Gonzalo Higuain.  He scored 3 of the 4 goals in Thursdays game--and he looked darn good doing it.  Move over Messi--we've got a new stud in town.  Palermo was a nice addition to this game though--especially when he scored an awesome goal!  Nobody beats watching Maradona on the sidelines though.  Let's have a quick and dirty Argentine football history lesson.  They played football for many years--and then Maradona came along... and things got interesting.  Maradona is widely regarded as the best football player in history. In his career, he set world record contract fees and played in four World Cups--including the '86 World Cup where he captained the team to victory.  Don't get me started on the history of that World Cup or the previous--but suffice it to say that he scored two of the goals that have football fans the world over, and physicists, still admiring him to this day.  Then, in 1991, he tested positive for cocaine, and failed a drug test in the 1994 World Cup as well.  You'll often hear the term "disgraced" thrown around.  However, he's back in the saddle, or should I say, on the pitch--drug free, as the manager of the Argentine team.  I think he forgets sometimes that he isn't a player anymore.  If you watch carefully, he kicks the ball whenever he has the chance and will often fall to the ground in a fit of anger at a missed goal and have a temper tantrum like a two year old.  Entertaining to say the least.  On the current team we have a nice young man named Messi.  Messi is the best footballer in the world, currently.  He plays for a team in Barcelona, Spain, but comes back to play for his homeland of Argentina.  Quite a team, quite a team.  

Listen carefully during the next game, Sunday at 3:30 my time.  You'll probably hear me screaming from Cordoba.   


**lyrics from "Wavin' Flag" by K'naan, image of Higuan courtesy of World Press

Viva el Fuego

... it's my new saying for Buenos Aires, and Argentina in general.  Directly translated, it says, "The Fire Lives."  Nothing could be more true about this impassioned people and country.  So often I avoid traveling to the capital city of a country because every capital in the world is alike, to an extent.  Now, now, before you go throwing examples in my face, let me explain.  The capital city, seat of government, etc. is bound to be a bit more metropolitan and a bit more busy than your typical city in any given country.  Try to prove me wrong.  Also, capitals are often known for their people--sometimes a different breed than the rest of the country.  Case in point, Buenos Aires is known as the Paris of Latin America and both Paris and Buenos Aires are known for their slightly snobbish, very proud inhabitants.  Having traveled in both, I concur.  It's not that I dislike the people of either, they just know that they come from a special place, and want to make sure you know it too.  However, Buenos Aires surprised me in ways I haven't even comprehended yet.  Buenos Aires appears to be the epitome of all that is Argentina, especially during the festivities for the bicentennial.   The fire lives--in Buenos Aires.

So what of this fire?  Well, pardon the very general and somewhat stereotypical statements I am about to make: Argentine's are not hard-workers.  In fact, as a whole, they avoid anything that appears like hard work as if it was an infectious disease.  The result is apparent in the lack of customer service, and the general lethargy of their economy.  I know that there are Argentine's with sweat on their brow working hard every day; I just haven't met them yet.  The general public has been swindled and taken advantage of for many of its 200 years as a nation--you can't blame them for being less than thrilled about giving it their all.

However, their passion has remained alive in other ways.  The resilience of these people astounds me.  They stand by what is Argentine and they defend it to the bloody end.  They are fiercely proud and fiercely protective of their culture and their loves.  It's not a cultural cliche, the tango absolutely defines these people.  The tango is a dance of passion, a dance of forsaken love, a dance of yearning.  They don't need to be told they've been subjugated in the past, but you can't hear how they've stayed strong.  Instead, you can only see it.  You can see it in the fire that truly lives.

Walk into a futbol stadium, any stadium, and see the fire.  See the fire in the eyes of a father as he holds his child's hand and points out a favored player.  See the fire in the pointing finger as the grandpa next to you shouts rather colorful insults at the referee who is clearly blind, and/or watching a different soccer match.  See the fire in the ferocious waving of the Argentine flag at every goal.

The fire is always there... just below the surface.  Even sitting in cafes, the fire is there.  Argentines are known for their cafe culture.  The fire is tangible in the way they sit, the way they sip.  The conversation is always lively, people interrupting, half rising in their seat to be heard above the rest.  An Argentine loves nothing more than a good discussion--the more heated, the better.

Like other Latin American cultures, they take things a step slower here.  Everything is relaxed, including time schedules, meals, and friendships.  It should never be mistaken for a lack of caring or a lack of passion.  At the beginning of my experience here, I think I made that mistake.  But, after a lot of time and a lot of interaction,  I see the fire.  I feel the fire.  I live the fire.  To find your passion, to find your fire, makes life a bit sweeter.  To take what you care for and magnify it---amazing.

The fire is absolutely tangible.  The fire is absolutely real.  Viva el fuego.

Madres de la Plaza de Mayo

Every Thursday, at 3:30 p.m. on the dot, a group of grandmotherly women, wrapped in white head scarves, take to the Plaza de Mayo in front of the Casa Rosada (the Argentine equivalent of the White House) to demonstrate as they have for over three decades now.  During the Dirty War in Argentina, 1976-1983, thousands of people disappeared.  It is a misnomer, it wasn't a war so much as a highly corrupt and violent series of military dictators that ruled with an iron fist and a quick hand to jail people.  The issue is, once they were jailed, they were rarely heard from again.  To this day there is little to no evidence of where they went, what happened to them, or sadly even, where their remains are.  Since April 30th, 1977, the mothers of the disappeared have gathered in the plaza to beg for information.

We gathered with them last week, and watched their solemn and steady procession.  We heard as names of some of the disappeared were announced for one and all to listen.  It was powerful, and shaking to the core.

After the procession, I had the opportunity to talk with some of the mothers.  I met one of the original fourteen.  She has been coming to the Plaza every Thursday since that first day, always with photos of her daughter and son-in-law, and a blank sheet for the grandchild she will never know.  Her daughter gave birth in a concentration camp, but she has found no further record of the child, or of the parents.  To see first hand the emotion in this mother's eyes was so moving and profound.  Often people throw around statistics of this many casualties in a war, or that many disappeared.  Statistics don't show you the personal horror that these women face and have faced for thirty-three years.  I admire their strength and their determination to return rain or shine and let their message ring true.  True love never fails.

 

La Boca y el Baile

There are so many stories to be had in Buenos Aires, how can I select but just a few to share with my beloved readers? This one is famous enough to be told.

Buenos Aires is and has always been a city of immigrants.  Most notably, Spanish and Italian immigrants.  In years past, they flocked to Buenos Aires to work the port, and the factories surrounding it.  Many immigrants grouped together in a neighborhood that is today known as La Boca.  Some parts of it are still strongly working class, and somewhat scary for the casual tourist, but other parts have definitely jumped on the tourist wagon.  La Boca is famous in photographs for it's buildings.  After finishing their work painting ships, signs or whatever their job entailed, workers would often bring the extra paint home with them, to slap it on their corrugated steel homes, giving the neighborhood a vibrant, colorful appeal.

But the buildings aren't the only vibrant thing La Boca boasts.  Argentine tango was also invented on these streets.  The tango is a sensual dance, all about the push and pull of love.  There is always a hint of sadness in the steps, a longing desire for the unreachable.  The immigrants that developed this dance style felt that same yearning for a life they could only reach through dance.  The footwork is fancy, but the emotion is expressively poignant.  I am working on loading a video that I took at a tango show on our last night in Buenos Aires, check back for that.  Until then...

Bicentinario 1810-2010: Yo estuve

I am incredibly blessed in the life I lead.  I've had some absolutely incredible experiences in my 21 short years.  This trip marks one of the highlights.  I was already falling head over heels in love with Argentina--and this just cemented it in my heart forever.  With Superglue.

May 25th is the Dia de la Revolucion in Argentina--basically the 4th of July :).  This year market the 200th anniversary of the beginning of the Argentine Republic.  I was very excited to spend this day in the capital city and it did not disappoint.  All weekend there were special activities throughout the country, culminating in this special day.  All the plazas and main streets were completely shut down all weekend for crowds to gather and listen to musical performances, speakers, etc.

During the afternoon, we walked on the main fair grounds, eating delicious local fair, including the infamous Choripan sandwiches.  They consist of two ingredients, chorizo sausage and pan (bread).  Chorizo is a flavorful sausage, but not the spicy sausage we associate with Spain.  It has a fairly high fat content, which makes it all the more delicious, and is fried to a perfect crispy outside.  They are addicting.  The grounds had a bit of everything: booths of the different provinces, displays from various groups, balloons, stages, vendors, you name it.  We walked around for hours, soaking up the sun and the fun.

However, the highlight of the day was the parade.  The first people to walk down the street practically knocked me over.  Eight Latin American Presidents and one ex-president marched past us, only to take their place on a stage a stone's throw away.  We moved closer and finally got to stand about 30 feet from them.  I was losing my mind it was so cool.  It was hard to get a great picture, but this is the best our collective effort could do:

It's hard to spot them but Chavez, Lugo, Lula, Morales, Kirchner, Pinera, Correa, Mujica y Lazo all are there. Plus, good ole Nestor Kirchner, Cristina's husband.

This in itself was cool enough for me, and for the whole trip, but a spectacular parade followed.  It followed Argentina's history in the past 200 years.  The floats were huge and impressive and inventive.  Here are a few of my favorite shots:

It was really quite something

Vamos, Argentina.... VAMOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSS

Futbol.  (aka soccer). It's a way of life here.  And I got to experience it first hand!  The World Cup is coming up in a few weeks and the national team of Argentina had one more match before the real deal.  After much haggling and some frantic text messages between Leslie and myself, we finagled ourselves a spot on a bus to the stadium and tickets to the show.

And a show it was.  It reminded me of a Packer game, or maybe a Badger game, where all you see for miles around is a sea of the team's colors and fans cheering and hooting at every opportunity.  Before the actual game started, there was jets flying over and streamers and gallivanting about the stadium.  From the start, Canada didn't stand a chance.  My theory is they arranged this game so that Argentina could kick some tooshie in celebration of the bicentennial festivities.  Really, Canada, stick to soccer.  I love my northern neighbors--but the goalie literally ducked out of the way of the ball once.  I realize I am not a soccer expert, but my intuition tells me there is something fundamentally wrong with that move.


The energy in the stadium was at a fever pitch.  The cheers were loud, long and strong.  Argentina absolutely rocks the wave.  It slithered around the stadium multiple times.  These folks know how to do it up right. It was incredible to watch people come together so much over a sport.  It just shows how passionate this country is.  I love it.

 5-0

Unstoppable

...Be Our Guest...

That's right... I saw the Broadway musical Beauty and the Beast
Yes.  It was a dream come true.

I wasn't aware that it would be in Buenos Aires when we were, but my friend Leslie was able to get discount tickets through her bank so we all piled into the theater.  I make it sound so easy.  Here's what really happened:

Brice and I were late leaving the market (he finally caught the shopping bug and decided to make some last minute purchases, I have a bad influence like that [see Shopping Bliss for more information]).  As we began walking to meet with Leslie and Filipine at a cafe, the rain started.  The skies opened and rain flowed from the sky like Niagra, Iguazu and Victoria Falls all put together.  I have never seen/ felt rain so strong and so heavy in my life.  The umbrella proved useless against the torrential downpour.  We finally arrived a soaking, cold mess.

No matter how damp or cold I was, my spirits couldn't be dampened in the least.  It truly was magical.  It was in Spanish, but the songs sounded exactly the same, just the words were in Spanish.  The sets were absolutely brilliant.  It was better than the movie.  They were fantastic and dreamlike.  The acting was stupendous and all the actors were incredibly talented.  The dance numbers were astounding.  The "Be Our Guest" was played out just like the movie, and there were people dancing as plates, knives, spoons, forks, desserts and moving parts on the stage.  Captivating.  Magical.  I may or may not have cried while Belle and the Beast danced.  You would have too.

Shopping Bliss

BIENVENIDOS A BUENOS AIRES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We arrived very late at night, so our first night in the city consisted of a pizza dinner, not recommended by Lonely Planet but still delicious.  It was a deep dish pizza--the first of it's kind I've seen south of Chicago.  I must say, it definitely put up a fight to the Windy City versions.  Although we were tired, our French amigos invited us to check out an "internationally known" club called Pacha.  It was quite an experience.  DJ's spinning some crazy good beats in the different areas of the club provided a nice backdrop to dancing and good timing with friends.  Lonely Planet encourages you to stay until sunrise on the patio but we did not make it that long.

The next day was full of surprise and adventure.  We woke up and headed to a neighborhood south of the Microcentro called San Telmo.  There is a huge artisan's market there and I was in shopping heaven for hours.  Brice wasn't nearly as impressed with opportunities to shop, but he was impressed with my ability to spot the deals and consequently make them mine.  Let's just say, I'm bringing home a lot of presents for you!  I looked for Argentine goods.  This market was full of authentic artisan crafts--not all the fake junk that sometimes infiltrates these open air markets.  My favorite purchases of the day include a fancy leather belt, a beautiful tango photograph and a special necklace.  Thank goodness for the peso/ dollar exchange rate!

Mi Querida Argentina

It's official.  It is my beloved Argentina.  

I've kept my blog posts as up-beat and focused on the positive as possible.  But let's take a reality check.  SPOILER: Honesty moment alert.  Studying abroad is an experience of epic proportions.  In definition it takes you away from everything familiar, everything normal and throws you headfirst into a foreign culture, where they speak a different language that you've only ever learned in a classroom, operate differently, think differently, act differently, eat differently... It's an adjustment and acceptance process.

Before I left for Argentina, I was required to take a class to prepare.  This class, although it seemed silly at the time, has proved to be a huge help to me.  If nothing else, it kept me thinking as positively as possible through the ups and downs of culture shock.

Oh culture shock, two nasty little words.  The funny thing about culture shock is that you cannot really recognize it while you are going through it--it is a very retrospective process.  I first experienced culture shock this past summer when I traversed the European continent.  I definitely didn't recognize it at the time but just felt incredibly overwhelmed and exhausted and sad and a million other feelings.  After being in the class, I realized that what I had felt wasn't me being "weak" or "unworldly" but rather a very normal and very expected reaction to encountering new cultures.  I thought I was much more prepared (i.e. invincible) this time around, but the culture shock virus did eventually catch up with me--in new and unexpected ways.

So first in the Culture Shock Curve comes the honeymoon phase.  This is also known as the "tourist" or "cultural euphoria" stage. Usually when just visiting for a short period of time, you stay within this phase the whole time.  Everything is peachy-keen and you see the world through rose-colored glasses.  The words exciting, cultural, new, happy are thrown around a lot.  Next, we start to slide down the curve into the deep dark oblivion of "cultural confrontation."  Just like the class warned, I found myself here about a month ago, almost exactly halfway through my experience.  I knew it might come, but at first I struggled to recognize that my homesickness feelings or frustration with my life here came from culture shock--but they certainly did.  It wasn't as intense as I experienced this past summer, but it was there.  I felt out of place and sad.  I missed home, missed good ole American food, missed my family, my friends.  But more than missing, I felt a little lost here.  I felt like my Spanish wasn't improving anymore, I felt like I was missing out on opportunities to improve it.  I was basically grumpy for about two straight weeks.

Like magic, I transitioned into the "cultural adjustment" phase.  According to my manual, this means I have reached "significant cultural adjustment."  I beam with pride.  It was as much a conscious decision as a unconscious one.  I looked at the calendar and realized I had less than half of my time here and rededicated myself to taking advantage of every opportunity.  Also, the people here really helped me.  I started to realize how much my friends that I've made meant to me.  And also, how much I would miss not seeing them everyday.  I maybe haven't gotten as much sleep the past few weeks, but I've had the best times.  No worries, I'm still making time for school, and sleep--both pivotally important I know.  I feel myself falling in love with this experience a little bit more everyday.  I know I am changing.  I feel it, I see it every time I look in the mirror.  I know I am more self-reliant, I've learned to not sweat the small stuff as much, I have an ever-increasing capacity to relate cross-culturally.  Call me a cliche, but I am becoming the person I've always wanted to be.

I don't think I've quite reached the "cultural adaptation" stage.  I'm not completely accepted as a Cordobesa quite yet--but I'm getting there.  I must say again, it's easy to focus on the language and say, "Wow, look at that-- I've gotten so much better at Spanish."  It is very true; but it is so much more than that.  I've gotten better at being Becky.  I can't wait to find out what the last two months here has in store for me.  Stay tuned.  

Catch the travel bug.

I have it and I would like to spread my germs to you... in a non-gross, micro-biotic way.

This is a really cool interactive map that shows the most and least traveled places on earth.  Any and all fellow travelers will love it--as will anyone who likes pretty colors and wants to be more informed!

Enjoy:

Tourist Map : Google Earth

Come on baby let's go to Vegas

Class was canceled on Thursday.  A day with nothing to do?  Let's jump on a bus!

Leigh, Juan, Austin and I headed to the town of Carlos Paz for the day.  Carlos Paz is some 40 minutes away from Cordoba, and it a common escape for the Cordobeses.  The day was dreary, but our spirits were high.  I was most looking forward to the chairlift that takes you up, up and away into the mountain.  Alas, it was under construction.  Rain pending, we headed to a small restaurant on the main strip and indulged in a healthy lunch of pizza and french fries.  Yes, yes I know.  I say again, don't judge.  It was delicious.

We wandered about the town, eating ice cream and taking in the sights that this place has to offer.  Finally, getting chilled, my companions and I decided to head inside, and check out something else Carlos Paz is famous for.... casinos.  I felt like I was on the set of Ocean's 11!  It was fun just to walk around and take in the lights and glamor.  My friends tried their hands at some blackjack and it was fun to watch.  Afterward, we headed back to Cordoba, but it was a nice way to spend the day seeing more of what this great province has to offer.

Thanks for another fun day Cordoba!

Llamas, Chickens and.... Dancing Elephants?

I went to the Zoo!

Yes.  I'm 21 years old.  Don't judge.  You know you love the zoo too.  The zoo is located within the lush greenery of Parque Sarimientos, the largest park in the city.  Juliette and I decided Wednesday morning would be a lovely opportunity to take in the Argentine version of a beloved pastime.

Results? A nice and relaxing afternoon.  Back in February, Brice proffered that perhaps the zoo was nothing more than a stray dog chained to a tree... Luckily, this was far from the case.  The zoo has a beautiful landscape, which is almost better than the animals.  The animals are varied, but mostly  focus on the wildlife of South America, specifically Argentina and Chile.  It was funny to see some of the "exotic" animals... like the north American buffalo.

My father should be happy to know that I've finally seen a donkey... in the zoo.  Before I came here, he insisted that my host mother would take me home on the back of our burro.  I keep trying to convince him that this a developing country... he's a good sport.

The elephant came out to say hello, and she did a little dance for us.  I don't know if it was on purpose.. but it certainly seemed like it!

Unfortunately, we missed the Aquatics show, renowned as the highlight of the zoo adventure; we'll have to catch it next time.

The zoo was a fun and silly way to pass the morning.  It was a beautiful setting to walk and talk and have a little nature time.

Alta Gracia... take two. ACTION

The province of Cordoba offers free admission to all museums and historical sites on Wednesdays.  Armed with this wonderful newfound knowledge, my friend, Will, and I have dedicated every Wednesday to a cultural adventure of one sort or another.

Last Wednesday, we started with Alta Gracia.  Now for you diligent readers, you will remember that one of my first weekends here, we went to Alta Gracia for the World Fair.  However, we didn't see much of the town itself.  Plus, the bus ticket there is $7 pesos argentinos.  That is, just over $2 USD.  It's about 40 minutes to the south of the city and is a marvelous little town.

The center of the town is a small lake... glorified pond really.  Not to discount it, for it provides a beautiful fall backdrop this time of year.

After walking around the lake, we found the
tourist office and set to work.  The friendly woman at the office outlined a quick tour of the town for us.  It was a quite circle around the town ending at the bus station... "from where you can leave," she told us in a very matter-of-fact way.  I would venture that Alta Gracians don't appreciate the day tourists too much, but put up with them none the less.  Or maybe it was just this woman.  She also thought Will looks like an Argentine doctor.  No, better said, she insisted Will was an Argentine doctor.  I don't see it... but tell me what you think:

Regardless, map in hand, we set off for an adventure.

Now for the less linguistically inclined of my dearest readers, Alta Gracia directly translated means High Grace.  Not knowing the origins of the town, I assumed it had a religious significance.  It undoubtedly does, but I believe it also refers to the many hills the town possesses.  Sure, maybe it is a place of grace, but you will have to be up pretty high to receive it!

Our first stop is probably the hallmark of Alta Gracia--Che's house.  Formally, it is the old residence of Ernesto "Che" Guevara--the communist revolutionary war hero.  This house (where he actually only lived for about 10 years) has been converted into a museum celebrating his life and legacy.  (See post titled El Che)

Che's house...

Manuel de Falla...

Next, we ventured to the house of Manuel de Falla, a Spanish composer who spent his later years in Alta Gracia.  I've been absolutely in love with classical music lately and I think he is a great composer.  His works ebb and flow beautifully and are just a joy to listen to.  Check out El Amor Brujo, one of his best known works.

Tired from all the hills and culture, we sat at a nice outdoor cafe and had a tabla--a wonderful little snack.  Tablas consist of various finger foods which are great with a refreshing beverage to relax in the afternoon.  Usually, tablas have peanuts, cold slices of ham, bread, cheese, olives, and other treats.

After this, we felt rejuvenated to tackle the Jesuit Estancia in Alta Gracia.  Estancias are a fancy words for a home or compound.  A bunch of Jesuits lived and worked here back in the day.  It was full of interesting old things, including a buffet that was over 12' tall... apparently they were giants back then.  Unfortunately, I didn't plan ahead, and my camera ran out of battery before I could snap a photo.  Regardless, it's always nice to learn more about the Jesuits, as they have influenced Cordoba so much.

Thanks Alta Gracia, for a full and educational day...

   

El Che

~ An in-depth analysis of all that is Che~

Image property of World Press: http://dchd9.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/che-guevara-serna.jpg

So what of his life and legacy?  He is El Che.  Che is the common Argentine interjection and therefore demonstrates so much about what this man means to Latin American culture.  Che is almost equivalent to how people could say, "Hey buddy, man, dude, etc" But is used much more frequently among people of all ages.  For example, "che, que hora es el examen?" (Hey, what time is the exam?) "che, me prestas un boligrafo por fa? (Dude, can I please borrow a pen?) "che, cuanto cuesta esta falda?" (Excuse me, how much is this skirt?)  It can be and is used with any person, in practically any situation.  Ergo, El Che represents Every Man--the epitome of culture.  He has become an international symbol of fighting for the rights of the poor and depraved.  Che is absolutely revered throughout Latin America.  The following picture is compliments of my friend Hector Bautista.  He encountered this on a pillar in the center of Cordoba a few weeks ago:  

Meaning: Che Lives

He was born in Rosario de Santa Fe, Argentina on June 14, 1928.  He passed his boyhood brilliantly, although very acute bouts of asthma caused the family to eventually move to Alta Gracia.  He was an avid reader, and athlete as well.

In his teenage years, he truly became the Che that we know today.  He took a year off from medical school and traversed South America on motorcycle with his friend, Alberto Granado.  Che was so astounded by the absolute poverty they found in the hills of the Andes, and in the communities throughout their journey.  They went from place to place, doing good for the people--eventually spending weeks in a leper colony--something that made international headlines.  

In 1953, he started another journey, this time traveling all the way to Mexico, and fatefully meeting Fidel Castro.  The two planned the coup d'etae to overthrow the Cuban dictator, Fulgencio Batista.  They considered Batista to be a puppet at the hands of the US's money interests and wanted to take matters into their own, Latin American hands.  The important thing to remember is ideologically, they were Marxist in thought.  Culturally, we've been trained to have such a strong aversion to anything resembling "dirty commies."  However, at the start, they had noble goals of helping the poor and raising up the common man.  It's just a fact that Marxist thought can never work... anywhere.  It's too philosophical of an idea and has no practicality for human nature nor the world in which we live.  Okay, maybe that's my opinion a little bit.  We all know what happened in Cuba, and the results thereof, so I need not expound upon that any further.  

Eventually, Che tried to encourage a communist uprising in Bolivia and was killed.  Now we come to another interesting crossroads.  In American textbooks, it will say that he was captured and killed by Bolivian militants.  However, the museum declares without shame, and with reason, that he was assassinated and blames the CIA.  The CIA did train some Bolivian forces and aided their effort, but Bolivians carried out his actual execution, to the best of my knowledge.  It's just interesting how history changes tone a little bit, depending on who is writing it.  

My overall thoughts:  Che is known for his catchphrase: !Hasta la Victoria Siempre! and some remember him only as his battle instructor deemed him, one of the best guerrilla fighters known to man.  However, I think there was a lot more to this man than his guerrilla tactics.  Call me victim of the propaganda, but since being here in Argentina, I can see the valiant hero behind the hype.  I'll never be a fan of any sort of Marxist/ Communist thought, but I can respect how he dedicated his life to working to improve the conditions of the people of Central and South America.  Even today, there is a huge disparity between our continents--believe me.  I plan to blog about this very soon.  Che was more than a revolutionary war hero, he was a philosopher, a writer and a family man.  I cannot be a true Che fan and follower like so many are, but I hope that you, like I, can find respect for this man, even if we cannot find admiration.  I was exceptionally affected by this poem in the museum, set in front of Che's infamous garb, that Che wrote (translation mine):

To read and write is to march forward

young people must create

a youth that does not create is an an anomaly

all must be endured

without ever losing tenderness

university should paint

black, mulatto, worker, farmer

so that it paints the people

we must unite the worker with the conscience

of the importance the creative act contains

so that he accomplishes it day to day, that he does the work

something created, something new

The requirement to be human is to

come closer to the best of humanity

so that man is purified through 

the work, the study, the solitary exercise

continued with the people.