Guest Bloggers--John and Tenaya

Hello, it's John and Tenaya, Ken's sobrino and his novia, visiting from Seattle. Our trip was a mere 12 days--six nights with Ken and Helen in Buenos Aires, punctuated by two nights in Iguazu Falls (in the north, where Argentina borders Paraguray and Brasil) and three nights in Bariloche (a Swiss Alps aesthetic-obsessed town in the Andes foothills of northern Patagonia).

We've been looking forward to contributing our guest post since we read Charlie's, but now that Ken and Helen have chronicled so much of their ex-pat journey from F.O.B. (or, more precisely, F.O.P.) to Porteño, we've had to think a bit harder about what uniquely to contribute!

Ken and Helen were wonderful hosts, but because they've already have done a great job covering daily life in Buenos Aires, this post will focus on our travel beyond District Federal.
Internal flights. Semi-cama or full-cama, we didn't have time for overnight bus trips, so took domestic flights to go to Iguazu and Bariloche. Friends from Seattle who are spending a year in Cordoba (Argentina) warned us away from Aerolinas Argentinas, which has a reputation for scheduling twice as many flights as it intends to fly.

We opted to fly Lan, a Chilean airline which flies many intra-Argentina routes. Lan proved to be a great airline, with three flights on time and one just 20 minutes late, a far better record than we've experienced flying between Seattle and San Francisco on Alaska and Southwest. The airplanes (brand new!), service, and food were significantly better than on domestic American carriers (see the picture of Tenaya displaying our snack boxes of cheese crackers, lemon cookies, and Havanna brand alfajor). Amusingly, on one flight John bungled drink order in Spanish and "lost" his Spanish privileges--for the rest of the flight the flight attended continued to communicate with Tenaya in Spanish and John in English! Moral: Fly Lan.

Igauzu Falls. Spanning the border between Brasil and Argentina, Iguazu Falls is wider than Niagra Falls and rival Victoria Falls. The falls are an incredible natural wonder, but they are a self-contained international tourist destination and not really an Argentine cultural experience. Iguazu National Park has incredible infrastructure brings visitors to breathtaking viewpoints at the lip of the falls, but it's difficult to do anything else! Incomplete maps and the lack of a central information center frustrated our efforts to see wildlife (including the dog-sized rodent known as a Carpincho and the Toco Toucan), but we eventually managed to figure out a rushed, but nice hike in the sub-tropical forest on the Sendero Macuco.

Bariloche. Argentina's Lake District is in the Andes foothills in northern Patagonia. Bariloche is its largest city. Beautiful mountain and lake scenery, with a few interesting physical differences from comparable beautiful mountain and lake areas in the United States (e.g., there�s bamboo in the alpine forests, and deciduous forests are located between the evergreen forests and the tree line). Like Iguazu, Bariloche and the surrounding Lake District is very, very touristy. Indeed, tourism appears to be the primary industry in those parts. But it's different from Iguazu; the tourism seems to be largely domestic travel by Argentines, so even the touristy aspects of the area seemed more genuinely Argentine than they did in Iguazu.

Driving. We rented a car in Bariloche so we'd have the flexibility to drive around the mountains and go hiking on our own. After coming to Buenos Aires and watching the local drivers, we were a bit nervous about this, but we gave it a shot. We had a reservation with Budget. At the airport in Bariloche, there was no Budget counter, so John went to the Hertz counter to see what their prices were (for whatever reason, car rental companies don't require credit cards to secure reservations). Hertz's rates were higher than what we had reserved with Budget, so we asked where Budget's counter was. The woman at the Hertz counter told us that Budget is in town, not at the airport, but to look to see if they sent someone. For those of you who have rented a car in the United States, you're no doubt aware rental car companies do not "send someone" to pick you up. But this is Argentina. Indeed, Budget had sent someone with our car, delivered to us at the airport. He gave us a tutorial on how to put the car in reverse (pull up a ring, much like the 1984 Volvo wagon John learned to drive on), wrote down his cell phone number in case we ran into problems, and made sure we have the proper papers to drive into Chile in case we wanted to (we didn't even try). So, like Lan, fantastic service--far beyond what we are accustomed to from American rental car companies. But the car? Not so much. We reserved a midsize car because it wasn't much more expensive than the cheapest model, and we thought it would get us something a few steps up from an econobox. What we got was a tiny Chevy Aveo with removable radio, ~80K kilometers on the odometer (very high for a U.S. rental car), no power steering (lots of fun pulling out into traffic from a parallel parking space), and a trunk that could cause a concussion to the unwary.

We learned by observation that parking on sidewalks is normal, that lanes were merely suggestions, and left turns are *sometimes* made from the right lane (yes, you signal left, but move right and stop to wait for all the traffic to pass....). We were feeling good until we went to go get gas on our way to the airport. We pulled into what seemed to be the last gas station on the airport side of town. The attendant came over, looked at the car, and told us that we needed a "NAFTA" station, something this station didn't have. To John, NAFTA is the North American Free Trade Agreement because he wasn't listening when Tenaya told him that gas was called "nafta". As it turned out, we passed no "NAFTA" stations before reaching the airport (with no time to spare), but the Budget guy just charged us 60 pesos for a tank of gas, which seemed fair. We're still wondering what was sold at the other fuel station--we didn't see any references to diesel.

That's our $.02 on aspects of Argentina Ken and Helen have yet to see. We've had a great time and look forward to coming back in a few years so we can see all the parts of the country we couldn't make it to in this 12 day trip.

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).

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.

Saturday, 10 March, Alta Gracia

It will be difficult to write about this day because so much happened. Monica took us to her hometown of Alta Gracia, 30 km from Córdoba. We first went to a shop that makes traditional Andean ponchos--Tadar. I was not planning on buying one, but they are soooo Argentine. And I though of being back home in the fall around the campfire with my friends, and the next thing I know, I bought one.


We next went to La Iglesia Nuestra Sra. de la Merced. This is next to the National Historical Museum of the Viceroy Liniers. It is a 17th century Jesuit residence. This is where we were in for a real surprise. Monica's husband, Eduardo, was born in this house. His family was the last to own it before it became a National Museum. Monica showed us through, telling us things that only an insider would know. She showed us where Eduardo's room was and the private room above and beside the church altar where the family would attend mass. Eduardo's mother insisted the children attend mass, but Eduardo fondly recalls playing cards in that room rather than paying attention to the service.

We then visited Monica's mother. At 84, she is the widow of a respected physician. Monica showed us this house that is the only other house she has lived in aside from the one where she now lives and raised her family.

From there we went to Eduardo's campo--his weekend getaway in the country. It is a 200 acre farm where he keeps his horses. His friends stop by for some male bonding. Eduardo prepared an asado for us and we ate with the guys, visited the horses, and walked around in the tranquil setting. They even bought Diet Coke (Coke Light) for Helen because they know she prefers that.


We next went to Museo de Manuel de Falla. De Falla was a famous 20th century Spanish composer and friend of Claude DeBussey. De Falla suffered from TB and sought the dry climate of Alta Gracia where he spent his final years. Monica's father told her of the time when he was asked to make a house call on the ailling de Falla. One thing I will remember is that DeBussey told De Falla that if De Falla wanted to be a serious composer, he must never write for the guitar. Years later, after DeBussey's death, De Falla wrote a piece in homage of DeBussey--he wrote it for guitar.





From there, we went to visit the boyhood home of Ernesto "Che" Guevara. The Guavara family came to Alta Gracia in 1932. Like De Falla, they were looking for a better climate to raise young Ernesto who suffered from asthma. Che is mythologised in Argentina. He is now more legend than man, it seems. Still, it was quite something to visit the home of a man who changed so much of modern political and cultural history.


After coffee overlooking the 18th hole of the Alta Gracia Golf Club, we stopped to buy some chickens for Sunday asado. Monica pointed across the street and told us that the building is her Uncle's funeral home. It is still in the family and his daughter runs it now. "Do you want to go see?" She asked--who could pass that up? We were welcomed by Monica's cousin who showed us around and explained that it is customary for the family to receive mourners for 24 hours. In past times, this was partly to make sure the person was really dead and it is now just a matter of custom. Bodies are not embalmed and no "theatrical" makeup is applied. In the back yard, where they once kept the the horses that pulled the wagon carrying the coffin, there is now a swimming pool and parilla. I have GOT to build one of these when I get home.





We returned to Monica's house where she began to teach Helen how to make empanadas--a traditional Argentine pastry with meat filling.

This was the best day we have had in our ten weeks in Argentina.

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.

So, I bought this bike . . .(Ken)

When I went on the bike tour of Tigre with Ana Inez, she told me I could probably get a used bicycle for about AR$100. Last Sunday, I checked Craig's List and there was a USAmerican from New York (Brooklyn) who was going home the following Wednesday and selling his bike for US$40 (AR$120).
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I contacted him and, as luck would have it, he lived a few blocks from where I go to school. I had to be back to Recoleta for an appointment right after school on Monday, but I would pay him and get the bike Tuesday. He showed up, I paid him, we met the next day, and I rode the bike back to Recoleta from Palermo.
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Traffic here is really crazy during the week. I probably told you that 3 million people live in Capital Federal, but 8 million people work here. So, it was a pretty scary ride home for a novice biker like me. The bike sat on my terrace all week until today, Sunday, when I tool it for my first long ride.
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Despite Sra. Ana´s misgivings , I headed back to the ecological reserve south of Puerto Madero. Today it is hot. It is 9:30 at night now, and it is still 84F and 74% humidity. WhenI was out this afternoon, it was over 90 with a heat index of 106.
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Things were going really well. I was exploring the city much faster than on foot and with a greater degree of personal safety in the dodgey areas. I was having a good time at the Ecological Reserve. There were lots of bike riders and joggers and families picnicing.
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I went about as far as I wanted to go and began to head back home when. . . the pedal broke. The metal just snapped. I was 3 or 4 miles from home. I began walking. By now all the sunscreen had been sweated off, and it was high noon with the summer sun as high as it could be in the diminished ozone layer of the southern hemisphere.
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I took off my shirt and fashioned a head dress somewhat akin to those hats worn by the French Foreigh Legion in the old movies. I hiked for about 25 minutes until I came to a slight decline in the otherwise-level path. I hopped back on the bike to coast. I thought I´d give the pedal nub a try to see if I could get a few more yards out of my bike when I realized that I could kind-of make the pedals work. Yeah! Things are looking up!
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It took me as long to get out of the Ecological reserve as it took me to get there from my apartment with a significant side trip near the port. And I still had to get back to Recoleta from Puerto Madero. It was not really that bad. I think I can fix the bike. There is a bike shop on Scalabrini Ortiz a few blocks from where I to school. Tomorrow, it is back to class. I guess I'd better finish my homework
¡Chau, Suerte!

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.

Lost Horizons and Neon Signs (Ken)

This is my week off from school. My new class at Universidad de Buenos Aires begins Monday, so I have been trying to cram a lot in this week.

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Today, I my goal was to see the horizon. I have been here just over 40 days and have not seen the point where the sky meets the earth since my plane landed. All I see are buildings. I have a new appreciation for the phrase "Concrete Jungle."

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So I set out today to see el Río De La Palata y la Reserva Ecológica Cotenare Sur--the Ecological Reserve. During the military dictatorship of 1976-83, plans were made for a new city along the river. Sediments dregged from the river were deposited as landfill for this new city. As usually happens here in Argentina, the money "disappeared" and the city was never built. However, native trees and grasses took hold. The area has now become a nature preserve.

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I walked from my barrio of Recoleta to Puerto Madero (you may want to take a look on Google Earth). It was a pretty hot day today. You can imagine my surprise to see this guy in my path. You don't often see these guys wandering across the trails in the Catoctin State Park abck home.

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He stared back at me for a while, and it was only when I knelt down to get his picture that he strolled back into the treeline.


As I said, it was hot today and I knew I was going to do some serious walking, so, for the first time, I wore the combination of jeans and sneakers.

I have worn blue jeans with my brown loafers, and I have worn my Nikes to run, but I had not worn the combination. I felt like I was wearing a neon sign. I have not been approached by so many people asking of money since I got here. I look around at what the men are wearing, and I dress like they dress. I even bought clothes here to blend. But today, I dressed like a USAmerican and I looked like one.


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Lesson learned. Tomorrow, it is back to dressing like a Porteño. Maybe it's just that I was self conscious about my appearance and that gave off that "I am not from here" vibe. I don't know--perception is reality. Tomorrow, I am back to altering my reality.

Sala de Slots a Hipódromo de Palermo (Ken)

This beautiful building is the entrance to El Hipódromo de Palermo. Behind it is a huge horseracing track. Under it is a cavernous complex of modern, well lit room containing thousands of slot machines.

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Helen and I ventured out last night to see how this "racino" differed from our usual haunt back home, Charlestown Races and Slots." You´ll have to settle for this outside picture because here, like so many plaes I have encountered in Buenos Aires, does not allow photographs. This is the most camera shy place I have ever been. I actaully had a street magiciam--working for tips--tell me I could not video him the other day. I mean, what was I going to do? Use my video to expose him as a fraud to the world? No modedas for him.

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We wandered around and couldn´t tell if the machines took bills, or coins, or vouchers. I took a $100 peso note and went up to the cash window. "Me puede decir cómo jugar." He broke my hundred into smaller bills and told me just to feed them into the machine and start pressing buttons. The machine will print out a voucher of my winnings and I bring that back to him when I am done and he converts it to cash. If you are done playing a certain machine and still have money in it, you can have the machine print out a voucher and use that vouchers to put your winnings in another machine.

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At this point, you probably want to know how we did. For those of you who know me, you understand that I enjoy a wager now and again. I am also aware that the object of playing a slot machine is to play--not ot win. Anyone who believes otherwise is destined for disappointment. So you can believe our amazement when we actually came home with a modest profit.

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OK, I did manage to go back and take a clandestine photo: