Got a new camera--Blog functioning at full capacity

My nephew, John, and his novio, Tenaya, are visiting from Seattle. They arrived on Thursday morning and, well you know how it goes when you have out-of-country guests—not much time to update the blog. They are in Iguazu for two nights, so I’ll give you all an update. And . . .they brought me a new camera so the blog is back to full operation.

Thursday was our last tutoring session with Nieves. We had previously arranged to go out to sightseeing for our last class, and she said it was fine to bring John and Tenaya along.

We went to the Recoleta Cultural Center to see an exhibit on the Malvinas: Islands of the Memory . . . Public Images, Private Objects. It was very moving.

The war took place 25 years ago. My understanding is that the military dictatorship was growing increasingly unpopular and decided to express its territorial claim to these small islands off the southern coast. The islands are claimed by Great Brittan who refers to them as the Falklands.

Argentine troops, poorly trained and equipped, arrived on these islands, located near the Antarctic Circle, in fall as weather was getting cold. This was the first time many of these young men even knew the islands existed. They were not dressed for the weather and the Argentine military command did an inadequate job of re-supply.

The war began on March 19 with the Argentine reoccupation and ended on June 14 with the Argentine surrender. Argentina had 649 killed, 1,068 wounded, and 11,313 taken prisoner. For the British, 258 were killed, 777 wounded, and 106 taken prisoner. In the past 25 years, over 300 Argentine Malvinas veterans have committed suicide. That is more than the total of British war dead.

“Y por qué? Por nada,” I often hear. I have also heard that the 11,000 prisoners were well cared for by the British. I have also been told that the veterans have better feelings about their adversaries than their own superiors over how the war was carried out. I don’t know. It is just what I have been told. Mostly, it is just a sad thing. I believe Argentina has a legitimate claim to these islands. All the maps here show them as Argentine territory.

Argentine dead were buried quickly and only much later repatriated or placed in marked graves. The original wooden crosses that marked their graves are displayed in a moving three-dimensional array fronted by insult covered silhouettes of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher.

From there, we walked to the University of Buenos Aires law school. John and Tenaya are both lawyers in Seattle. We had a good discussion with Nieves about law and political attitudes of young Argentines.


John keeps kosher. For his first night here in Buenos Aires, he had found a kosher parrilla in Barrio Once. The four of us went out for kosher asado. It was nothing remarkable, just more expensive. The most fascinating aspect of the evening was the young Orthodox Jewish family at the table next to us. A young man, his infant son, and totally beautiful wife. Tenaya pointed out to us that she was wearing a wig. Not only that, but it was actually a really good wig, and tasteful make-up, nice boots with stiletto heels and a skirt to the top of the boots. She was very fashionably and totally in keeping with Jewish conservative rules of dress.

Friday, while Helen studied, I took them out for a sightseeing walk. We walked to Plaza San Martin, then down Avenida Florida (always an adventure) to Plaza de Mayo and the Casa Rosada. We saw the famous balcony where Eva Perone (and later Madona) made her heartfelt speech announcing she would not seek the office of vice president. Oddly, the speech is not made from the main balcony of the Government House, but from a smaller balcony much closer to the ground where people could have almost touched her.

From there, we walked to Puerto Madero—the new and trendy barrio where once abandoned brick warehouses have been refurbished into trendy restaurants and the like. I have been several times, but I have never been on the 19th century Fragata Sarmiento, a floating museum that was once an ice breaker. This is an example of what I love about Argentina. A docent in naval uniform welcomed us aboard, told us we were welcome to explore the entire ship except where indicated, to take as many photos as we like, to go below, to go above, and be careful and watch our heads. That’s it. We were left alone to negotiate the slippery decks, the steep ladders, and the low passageways. There were no nervous attendants telling us not to touch things, there was no part of the ship that someone else decided was too dangerous for us to explore. If we wanted to go below and thought we were physically capable of going up and down a steep staircase, go for. Take responsibility, make up your own mind if you can do it, assume the risk, and do it. Just don’t complain if you get hurt—he did tell you to be careful.

We headed back to the apartment in Recoleta and got ready for an expat gathering that night at Cheff Iousef restaurant in Palermo. The event was the monthly gathering of the BAExpats group. There were about 40 members and friends there that night to meet and have Lebanese food. I knew several: Pericles, Maya and Tom, Alan, Kiki, and I also met Igor who was very helpful some months back when I had computer trouble.

Buenos Aires has an active expatriot community that is valuable for newcomers. These people have been here and made all the mistakes already. That didn’t stop me from making the same mistakes, however, because I didn’t know what mistakes I was going to make until after I had already made them. This group, however, let’s me know I am not alone. We also send news of ATM trouble, where to find peanut butter, and the best place to find sushi, a tutor, or how to start the residency process.

Saturday, Helen and I took John and Tenaya to La Boca. What is there to say about la Boca? Well, like it or not, it is the iconic image of old Buenos Aires. Its colorful buildings and dilapidated wharf are symbols of a storied past. Today, however, it is little more than a tourist stop—and not a very good one. I think we spent more time in the colectivo coming and going than we did in the barrio. I did get to see the Bombanera—the Boca Junior’s home football stadium.

We got our required “pose in front of the Caminito sign” photos, watched some street tango, browsed some souvenir shops, and headed back. John and Tenaya had a much better time in Coto—the grocery store. Grocery stores are really fun. Seeing how the whole food thing works in another culture is really fascinating. While taking them through the store, I was lamenting that we didn’t have anyone to walk us through our first time: “Efectivo? Un pago? Disco Plus? Para enviar?” all these embarrassingly awkward moments could have been avoided.

This morning, we took them for a quick look at the Recoleta Cemetery before their remise picked them up for two nights at Falls Iguazu. Helen and I are planning a trip there, so John and Tenaya can return the favor and give us travel tips when they return Tuesday (for one night before they head out to Bariloche).

Our day (Ken)

Apparently, there are two routes for colectivo #37. The one we took got us nowhere near the MALBA this afternoon when the driver told us to get off because this was the last stop on his route.

We were right near the US Embassy. The flag was at half mast in respect to victims of the Virginia Tech tragedy. It is tragic news here. The story has been on the front page of both Clarín and La Nacion for the past two days. People here ask me about it and why things like that happen in the United States. I have to tell them I don’t know.

It’s not because I don’t think I have enough Spanish to explain. It is because I honestly don’t know. If I had a clue as to why this seems to be a USAmerican problem, I’d certainly try and explain it in my broken Spanish. But I just don’t know. It’s not that we have a lot of guns. Canada has a lot of guns. It’s not that we have a lot of violence. I read everyday here in the news that someone was shot because he resisted a robbery. But the rest of the world does not seem to think that killing dozens of people followed by suicide is an appropriate means of self expression. If I had a clue, I would try my Castellano-best to explain. But I just don’t.

So we finally made our way to MALBA. We passed the planetarium. (I mention that simply because it gives me an excuse to use an old photograph, as my stolen camera is yet to be replaced.) There is a new exhibition of Brazilian artist Alfredo Volpi that was interesting. But we went to see the David Lachapelle photo and video exhibit. That stuff was intriguing. They also had a showing of some of his music videos. They were live-action realizations of his photos and a bit redundant. We watched Gwen Stefani and Christina Aguilera do just about the same schtick in two separate productions.

We made out way home—on foot and (eventually) by collectivo. I used some of the spices Suzie sent us to make chicken parmesan that turned out pretty well.

Feria de Mataderos (Ken)

There are many fairs throughout Buenos Aires each weekend. We have been to Recoleta, San Telmo, and Puerto Madero, but, by far, the best we have been to is La Feria de Mataderos—the Fair of the Slaughterhouses. This fair has Argentinos in mind—not tourists—and it is a fascinating and fun afternoon.

This fair is in the barrio of Mataderos, or Nuevo Chicago on the edge of Capital Federal. It is called that because it is the former area where all the cattle were brought to be slaughtered, just like Chicago in the USA.

This fair began in 1986 as a place where Argentinos could explore their cultural roots. Unlike the other city fairs that focus mostly on Porteño culture, like the tango, this fair focuses on the culture of all the provinces.

Over the past 20 years, it has become a place for all Argentinos to gather and share their common culture. There are three basic types of culture: traditional crafts and food, artistic crafts, and Gaucho skills.

Dance groups and music groups from across the country are scheduled as featured performers each weekend. Additionally, fairgoers can participate in traditional dance right in the street—many in traditional costume, many not. Everyone is welcome to join the dance.

The most fascinating event is the Carerra del Sortija—the Race of the Ring. A strip in the center of a city street is covered with an inch or so of sand. Upon this surface, men race their horses at full gallop toward a small ring suspended from a metal frame 100 meters away. They stand in the stirrups and attempt to spear a ring—no bigger that the diameter of an American quarter dollar coin—with a pointed stick not much bigger than a pencil.

Because this is Argentina, spectators can stand as close as the wish to the action. They can experience the thrill and power of a horse at full gallop less than a meter away. When the gaucho spears the ring, the crowd cheers. He returns holding his trophy high as the boys and girls hold their hands high to see if he will give them this souvenir.

This was the first Sunday of the regular season for the Feria de Mataderos. It is a long bus ride—about an hour on the 92 colectivo from Recoleta—but well worth the effort.


Thanks for the pictures, Tom

Cementario Recoleta

Yesterday, Helen and I went on a guided tour of the Recoleta Cemetery. We took the English tour with an international group of about 15. There were about 6 or 7 USAmericans, two Canadians, some French, Swiss, and an Argentina.

Our guide, Florencia, we charming and witty. She would often say, "Come close. There are gossips I must tell."

I have been to the cemetery at least a half-dozen times before, but just wandering around by myself. With Florencia, we were shown the historical, the interesting, and the downright strange.

"All the streets of Buenos Aires are buried here," she told us as she began to show us the tombs of Argentinas political and historical figures. There are many past presidents, military heroes, and a large mausoleum build for a Nobel Prize winner.

The cemetery is full. There are over 30,000 structures there. Rent is due each month, and cemetary property can be seized for tax auction after 40 years of non-payment. The catch is, there is no pre-paying. The rent must be paid every month. The currency here is so volatile that the cemetery board is afraid that next year's rent--paid in advance--will be nearly worthless when next year arrives. What makes it more difficult is that Argentinos do not use checks to pay bills. Almost everyday, we see lines outside of bank with people cued up to pay their bills in cash. All-too-often, the person in front of us in the supermarket line, who looks like he has but a few items, will reveal a stack of bills he wants to pay. Each of these must be paid individually. Anyway, back to the cemetery . . .

Florencia also told us that whenever there is a financial crisis, old, establish, aristocratic Argentine families will sell their cemetary property. These properties sell for almost the price of an apartment to well over a million dollars--not pesos--dollars. While we were there she pointed out some sarcophagi that were for sale and one that had recently sold. that one was open and being repaired. We peered inside and were surprised to discover how deep the tomb goes--at least 10 meters.

Of course, Evita is there. Now anyway. Florencia joked that Argentinos travel more in death than they do in life. Several times, she told us of political grave robbers who would hold remains ransom for political gain or political statement. Eva Peron's died in 1952 and she was embalmed--something that Argentinos do not regularly do. She was not buried, however. Her embalmed body was found by the military dictatorship that overthrew her husband, Juan. Fearing that she would be made a de-facto saint by her throngs of impoverished followers, they sent her off to Italy to be buried under a false name. It was later discovered who and where she was, and Juan Peron, having been re-elected and restored to power, arranged to have her returned in the early 1970s; he died before that could happen. His wife, who was his vice president and successor, did not want them--Eva and Juan--buried together, and gave the body to Eva's sister who had her buried in the Duarte Family crypt.

It is rumored that Evita's coffin has a glass cover over where her face is so that her family can view her embalmed remains.

Visiting the cemetary, we were told, is something that is odd to Porteños. It was strictly a tourist thing. Until ten years ago, nobody visited the cemetery. Now, with its popularity with tourists, the school kids take field trips there.

Colonia, Uruguay (Ken)

Today, Helen and I had an expat rite-of-passage. We went to Colonia, Uruguay to renew our tourist visas for another 90 days. When you enter Argentina on a USA passport, you are automatically granted a 90-day tourist visa. Since we are here much longer than that, the most expedient way of extending the stay is to exit and re-enter the country. It is rumored that thousands of expats have lived in Argentina for a decade or more on nothing but a passport and a series of every-three-month visits to Colonia.

Originally named Colonia del Sacramento it is a city in southwestern Uruguay, by the Río de la Plata, facing Buenos Aires, Argentina. It is the oldest town in the country and capital of the departamento of Colonia. It has a population of 21,714 most of whom are involved in, benefit from, or are employed by the tourist trade.

It was founded in 1680 by the Portuguese, Colonia del Sacramento. This is still evident in the architecture of the town and its culture. The Portuguese claim was later disputed by the Spanish who settled on the opposite bank of the river at Buenos Aires. The colony kept changing hands under treaties like the Treaty of Madrid in 1750 and the Treaty of San Ildefonso in 1777, until it settled, for a time, with the Spanish. Then back to Portuguese control again, and later to the Brazilians.

Today the original part of Colonia still keeps the odd, terrain-fitting street plan in the oldest part, built by the Portuguese, contrasting with the wider orthogonal calles in the Spanish area. Between “traveling” streets are “drainage” streets were it is difficult to walk, but the protruding stones slow the drainage water from above as it makes its way to the river below. It is a walled city and the original gate and part of the fortress remain.

We took the Buquebus from Puerto Madero at 9:45 and arrived in Colonia in about an hour. The experience was interesting to say the least. In Buenos Aires, we got our tickets and headed to immigration. There, we waited in line a short time before being summoned to a desk with two people. We gave our tickets and passport to a young woman, whom we later determined was the Argentina immigration official who processed our exit from Argentina. As this was day 90 of our 90 day visa, there were no problems—thankfully. Once she stamped our passports as leaving Argentina, she handed them to the man seated next to her who examined them and stamped them indicating we had entered Uruguay. We them went through the x-ray and metal detector, and boarded the ferry.

It was a rainy, windy day in Southern South America, and the Rio de la Plata was choppy. It was a bumpy ride on this high speed ferry and Helen was all-too-happy to be on (relatively) dry land again.

We rented a golf cart and tooled around in the rain and drizzle for the better part of three hours. We returned to the ferry for our voyage back to Argentina, and the process was reversed. We checked in (and paid our port tax of $10 to leave) and headed back to immigration. The Uruguayan official processed us out of Uruguay and handed our passports over to the Argentine official who granted us an additional 90-day tourist visa.

That’s it. We walked on the ferry.

The ride back, with the wind at our stern, was fine. We exited the ferry expecting to clear customs again, but, because we had no checked baggage, we walked right out on to the street.

At first, I was a bit surprised, and then I was delighted that there are still places in the world where the people don’t see Al Quida lurking around every corner.

So, Helen and I have experienced an expat rite-of-passage: our first (and apparently last) out-and-in visa renewal.

Blog backlog: The trip to Córdoba (Ken)

We returned to Buenos Aires this evening after a 12 hour bus trip home from Córdoba.

We wanted to travel home by day so we could see what Argentina looks like--the 700km from Córdoba to Buenos Aires anyway.

We were surprised by how much it looks like North America. At one point, I told Helen that if I had been drugged, and put on a plane, and woke up here, I would have thought I was on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

We saw miles and miles of fertile agricultural land. There is a bit more poverty here than in the USA--visible poverty anyway. But this is a beautiful country.

We were in Córdoba visiting Monica and her family. Monica is a friend of Carol, the president of the college where I teach in Maryland. As high school students, they were exchange students. Monica stayed with Carol's family in New York State, and Carol stayed in Córdoba. They have kept in touch all these years.

When my sabbatical was approved and Carol told me about her Argentine sister, I asked Carol to put me in touch with Monica. We exchanged emails and Monica invited Helen and me to visit and stay in her home.

Monica is a clinical psychologist and the mother of three sons and the grandmother of one. Her husband, Eduardo, is a lawyer. He is a strong and intelligent man with a love of horses and the outdoors. His law practice specializes in issues of "el campo."

It was a wonderful trip that has, so far, been the highlight of our time here. I kept a paper blog while we were there and have posted them below.

Sunday, 11 March, Córdoba (Ken)

In Argentina, Sunday is traditionally a family day.

We had some breakfast and walked around the corner to the almacen to buy some bread and charcoal (they call it carbon) for the asado. Eduardo then showed me how to use the parilla to make an asado. We had chicken because Helen happened to mention in conversation that she liked chicken. Eduardo has a neat way of butterflying the whole chicken and placing it on the parilla in one piece.


He showed me the proper way to start the fire and how the cooking begins with coals placed around the perimeter. A batch of hot coals is kept ready nearby to regulate the heat. This is slow cooking. The boys--Eduardo, Nicolás, and Ignacio, came over with Ignacio's wife, Laura, and their one-year-old son, Valentine. A s the first grandchild, Valentine was the center of atttention for the better part of the day. Edu's girlfriend, Cecilia, also came. Her family owns the paraderia where we bought bread our first day here in Córdoba.


Monica and Helen finished making the empanadas they had begun the night before while Eduardo and I sipped some Malbec. He was very kind to me as he talked to me about things he thought I would be interested in. Eduardo does not speak any English, so he was careful to use simple words and concepts so I could understand the stories. I enjoyed it very much.

We had a great meal with the whole family and then we all played guitars together. Ignacio is a very good bass player who studied music in Buenos Aires and played with a popular group for a while before returning home to start his family. Nicolás and Eduardo are also good players, and we sang songs and drank mate for hours. It was really fun to sit and play with some good musicians. I have not had a chance to do that since I got here. (These Argentino boys are all about the Beatles!)

We all went into town to the Paseo de Artisans where artists and craftspeople show and sell. I bought a handmade asado knife to use with the parilla I am going to build when I return to the USA. Monica got us each a little gift to remember Córdoba. Then we said goodbye to the boys and their wives and friends and returned to the house. Monica, Eduardo, Helen, and I sat around the table, ate leftover chicken and empanadas, and talked about Argentina.

I will be melencholy about leaving tomorrow. These are lovely people who have made us feel very welcomed. Spending time like this, with an Argentine family, is something I had hoped for as I planned this 6-month trip.

This visit to Córdoba was everything I had hoped for--and more.

Friday 9 March: Córdoba

We arrived in Córdoba this morning after an overnight bus trip. It was comfortable enough. We slept right through the night and arrived 40 minutes ahead of our scheduled 7:30 a.m. arrival. This caused some confusion being awakened from a sound sleep with flourescent lights and an anouncer saying something like, "Córdoba, y Córdoba unicamente." So, what the hell does that mean? Half the passangers got up and off and the rest stayed behind. It was not yet 7:30, so I showed the porter my ticket and asked him if this was my stop. He said, "No, el proximo." So I got back on the bus. He came to my seat and asked for my ticket again. He looked at it and said, "No, por aca." So we got off the bus. And the bus pulled away.

Monica, our hostess, said she would meet us at the platform, but, as it was 40 minutes early, we just waited until after 7:30. Mostly I waited because I dreaded figuring out how to use the telephone. This may seem like a small thing to you--trying to understand how to use a public phone--but, half asleep and not even entirely sure I was in the right town, I just was not up for another challenge no matter how small.

I managed to make the call, and she met us a few minutes later. We went to her house, had some coffee, and then she took us for a look around Córdoba. At 1.3 million, Córdoba is Argentina's second largest city. It has a good collection of Spanish architecture left over from the time of Spanish rule. Monica took us to the oldest part of the city.

We spent the morning in and around plaza San Martin. Gen. San Martin is the George Washington/Simon Bolivar of Argentina, Chile, and Peru. Every town has a park with a statue of him, and he always faces west--toward the Andes where he made a daring horseback mountain crossing to liberate Chile and force the Spanish from Southern South America.

Here, we toured two churches. The Catherdral de Córdoba was started in 1577 and not finished until 1785. This 200-year project shows signs of changing styles and construction methods. The Baroque interior is magnificent. Another interesting part of this church is that the outline is reproduced in the tiles of the plaza below it.


Next to this is the Cabolito Historico, the colonial town hall where people gathered for over 300 years to discuss the politics and issues of the day. During the 1976-1983 military dictatorship, it also served as a prison and torture facility for political disidents.

La Iglesia Compania de Jesus is the other church. This stone structure was built in 1640. The interior dome is made from the wood of a ship's hull.








At the nearby Universidad National de Córdoba, the first University in South America, we witnessed a unique ritual. When students complete their final exams before graduating, they are drenched and doused with sand, their hair and clothes are chopped with scissors before they sit down to food and drinks with friends and family to celebrate. There is a fascinating old library that is closed to the public, but Monica got us in. She even got us into the restricted area where we saw a set of maps that once belonged to the King of France.



We returned to Monica's house where we met two of her sons--Nicolás and Eduardo (Edu for short), Nicolás' girlfriend, Gabriella, and Monica's husband, Eduardo, and her adopted son, Juani. We played guitars together before taking a ride to see the city at night.

I have been in Argentina for 10 weeks now and finally saw the night sky for the first time unobscured by city lights and tall buildings. I got my first glimpse of the Southern Cross.

Bici parte dos (Ken)

I fixed my bicycle and headed out in a new direction today (Saturday). I went to Palermo and to the park next to the river across from Newberry Airport.



It is March now, and I find the weather this week to be similar to the beginning of September back home in Maryland. There was a strong breeze at my back on the way out that I had to contend with on my return, but it was a beautiful day to explore a different part of the city.



All along the Rio de la Plata, there were dozens of people fishing. I didn't see any actual fish, but I guess that is why it is called "fishing" and not "catching." (I heard that from a patient at the VA psych hospital where Helen worked. He was fishing at the time.) The fish in the river are not very attractive, I am told. The portero in my building told me upon my return, "Los pescos son feos." And the river is not really a river, but an estuary like the Chesapeake Bay back home. Wikipedia says The Rio de la Plata "is the estuary formed by the combination of the Uruguay River and the Paraná River. It is a funnel-shaped indentation on the southeastern coastline of South America, extending 290 km (180 miles) from the rivers' confluence to the Atlantic Ocean.

Where the rivers join, it is 48 km (30 miles) wide, and it runs to the southeast growing to 220 km (136 miles) wide where it opens on the Atlantic Ocean, making it the widest estuary in the world. It forms part of the border between Argentina and Uruguay, with the major ports and capital cities of Buenos Aires in the southwest and Montevideo in the northeast.
The basin drained by the main tributaries of the Río de la Plata (the Uruguay and Paraná, and the important Paraná tributary, the Paraguay) covers approximately one fifth of South America, including area in southeastern Bolivia, southern and central Brazil, the entire nation of Paraguay, most of Uruguay and northern Argentina. An estimated 57 million cubic metres (2 billion cubic feet) of silt is carried into the estuary each year, where the muddy waters are stirred up by winds and the tides."



The path along the river was a happy scene with Papa, Abuela, and the hijos together at the river. There are many food vendors and bait and tackle vendors. I stopped by a food stand in a pretty where families had set up for a day near on the river. I had a hamburger that was pretty close to the USA hamburger experience. Here, a haburgesa completa is a hamburger with a slice of ham and a fried egg on a bun with lettuce and tomato. I opted for la hamburgesa con lechuga y tomates.



I headed back through the Palermo parks where more families were out for the day near the pond beside the planetarium. They had it all set up for people to view this evening's Lunar Eclipse that was, unfortunately, upstaged by rain.



At one intersection there were three chicos juggling for cars stopped at the red light. They weren't having much success and saw me watching them. The light turned green and they ran over to me. I got out my camera and asked them if I could take their picture. They were all smiles because they knew that meant I was going to give them some money. The little one quickly took the money from me. As I rode away, he was figuring out how much each chico's cut was going to be.

Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar

Helen and I went for a walk this evening and passed by la Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar. Is is a baroque church built in 1732. We had walked past it dozens of times, but had never gone in.


We looked around a bit and noticed that the place was filling up. A few women were doing the Stations of the Cross and then a group started reciting the Rosary. It was then (good Catholics that we are) that we remembered that it was Lent. We decided to stay for Mass.


Being a Catholic is a little like riding a bike. You can feel at home in the Liturgy even if you have been away for a while. Even in Spanish, it was very familiar. We just said our responses in English because trying to remember the prayers and phrases was a difficult enough task without adding the one-the-spot translations.


It is a beautiful and ornate interior with many features you don't find in your local parish sanctuary. All catholic churches have relics--bones or blood or hair--from a martyr or saint for whom the church is dedicated. These are often encased in the altar itself. I was told by my parish priest that this is reminiscent of when the early Christians hid in the catacombs and actually held rituals on the tombs of deceased Christians.

Here there are actual sculls visible behind glass surrounded by elaborate ornamentation. Lifelike full size statues show Jesus and Mary in states of compassion pleading for the souls of the faithful.

Although we are not strict practicing Catholics, we go every year to the Easter Vigil back home. It is a lengthy ritual held at dusk on Easter Eve. It has all the old pagan rituals from millennia past: bonfires, intense, ritual mixing of fire and water, initiation of the converted, and, of course, the ritualistic cannibalism of the Eucharist. It is really kind of cool. I think we'll make a point of seeing what that is like here this Easter

Buenos Aires Zoo (Ken)

I had a rare weekday off of school today, so Helen and I went to the Zoo. El Jardin Zoológico is a short ride to Palermo on Colectivo #10. Twelve-and-a-half pesos (a bit more than US$4) gets you into this 45 acre urban zoo that was first built in 1874. An even less expensive general admission of $6.25 gets you into everything except the reptile house, aquarium, tropica rain forest, and boat ride. However, the boat was being repaired, so we didn´t get to set sail on the zoo´s pond.



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The zoo is full of quirky buildings like an egyptian temple that houses the Miercat colony and a gothic aviary where the birds live. There is a pond that meanders through much of the compund and it is stocked with huge Japanese koi.



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Remember the old days when you could feed the animals? You still can here. For $6 you can buy a small pail of approved food. They even provide troughs for kids to slide the food pellets to the waiting mouths of the camels and zebras. You can even throw peanuts to the elephants if you brought some. Some cages have signs saying not to feed these animals unauthorized food, and some animals are not to be fed at all. Everyone seems to follow the rules and there is an attentive and courteous staff to make sure the animals and visitors are all kept safe.


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There is a small aquarium with some nice exhibits. The Megelanic penguins are always a hit. It was realy fun to hear the litte Porteño kids scream "Nemo!" when they saw the clown fish.



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Recently, this zoo made world news for its successful breeding of white tiger cubs. This is the best angle I could get. They were tucked in a shady corner away from the summer heat and there was some glare on the glass. But they are getting big. Mom was back there keeping them clean.





There are plenty of consession stands that, curiously, do not sell empanadas. Hotdogs adn hamburgers were the main item. Unlike in the USA, a fella can get a beer at the zoo, though. You gotta love that. You also have to admire the inginuity of the Argentine salesman. A man was selling cheaper-than-on-the-inside icecream from a cooler on the street through the fence. He had a rod with a bag on the end. Kids would put their money in the bag. He would take it, make change, and he would put the icecream in the bag and poke it back through the fence.





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As always, the most fascinating exhibit are the chimpanzees. Since they share something like 99% of our DNA, these little guys are something to watch. We got there just in time to see them get fed. The keepers first threw heads of lettuce to each of the three, a male, a female, and a young one. Then came bananas, ears of corn, peaches, apples, and baguettes.
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By the time the food was all there, the female had vegetables and fruit in both hands and both feet and walked around like that. They made sure each got a decent share. Then, each chimp picked out a spot to eat. The male then displaced the little one and the female moved into the male´s spot where she picked through his leavings. At one point, the youngster screamed at the female until she gave up some food. He quited down after that.

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We had a nice day at the zoo, now I have homework to do to get ready for tomorrow's class.