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. 

A Love Story

Like most South American countries, Argentina's population is a mixture of indigenous persons and European immigrants.  However, as Olga was explaining to me yesterday, Argentina is singular in the fact that the two groups have mixed less than in other neighboring countries.  She proceeded to tell me the lovely tale of her immigrant ancestors, which I would now like to share with you:


Olga's paternal grandfather was from Barcelona, Spain.  Olga's great-grandmother died when Olga's grandfather was very young, nothing more than 7.  Soon after her death, her husband, so afflicted with pain and torture, married a woman from France and ran off to the north to live with her.  Olga's grandfather and his four siblings fell under the care of a loving aunt.  This aunt and uncle raised him as if he were their own son.  However, when he was 15 years old, his uncle had to go to Argentina on business.  He was a blacksmith and was commissioned to work on some iron gates leading to the university here in Cordoba.  Hoping to give the young man a global perspective, he took him along.  They stayed in Argentina nearly two years--during which the young man met a beautiful girl, a criolla--meaning of European and indigenous mixed decent.  The two fell in love and passed every day together.  His uncle was furious with this pairing and returned to Spain as soon as he found out they were in a relationship.  He insisted that Olga's grandfather return with him.  As Olga explained to me, this was a time when children obeyed their elders without question and without fight, so her grandfather returned to Spain, with the promise that he would come back to Argentina and marry his beloved.  When he stepped off the boat in Spain, his uncle turned out his pockets to remove but every dime from his pockets, jeering, "Let's see you return to Argentina now."  He knew he would have to work very hard to save the money he would need to return and marry in Argentina.  


He started working and saving but less than a month later, he was called to military service.  He knew that if he entered this bloody war, he would die.  Therefore, he pretended to be a deaf-mute during the examination.  The poor fellow was put through the ringer with their tests.  They shoved instruments down his throat to try to get him to scream out... and dropped money/ books behind him to see if he would react to the sound.  He was patient and put up with all their tests--and passed.  


Meanwhile, his beloved waited.  And waited.  And waited.  At some point, she befriended a different young man, studying in the seminary.  Although he was about to take an oath to dedicate his life to God, he still fell a little more in love with this beauty everyday.  Eventually, he gave her an ultimatum.  He came to her house, dressed in regular clothes and asked for her hand in marriage.  He had given up his robes and his place in the seminary for the possibility of her love in return.  Absolutely disraught, she asked for but a day to make her decision and chose between these two wonderful men.


That night, at the strike of midnight, there was a knock on her door.  It was Olga's grandfather, returned from Spain.  He had secured passage by working on a ship during the trip.  Of course, she chose him.  She is Olga's grandmother, and the heroine of a fantastic love story.