Lost in a Culture… Come Find Me!

It was a sunny afternoon in Reñaca. After an exhausting session of sand-boarding, we decided to wash off in the Pacific and catch some sun. The sun was unopposed by clouds and illuminated the gorgeous ocean view. We sat, chatting and listening to the waves crash upon the beach when suddenly everyone went quiet. All that could be heard was a parent’s frantic cry for their son, who was lost on the beach.

As the father continued in our direction, he was followed by a wave of claps along the beach. Every person present stopped what they were doing, stood up and began to clap as they looked around the beach. As the father continued down the beach, the wave of claps followed, better coordinated than “The Wave” commonly found at most sporting events. Several minutes later, the father returned, child in arms. I was left with a chill from the tremendous sense of community and care for one another.

Later I asked my friends about the incident. It was explained that the clapping is to signal to everyone that a child is lost; a common occurrence on crowed beaches. Everyone claps to alert others on the beach and help the family find their child.

This is something I could never imagine to see in the US.

It was a warm Saturday evening and I was arriving just as locals were descending on the public pavilion and practicing dance steps.

Within an hour, the spacious dance floor became overflowing with people dancing to tango in a harmonious flow.

Some arrived as couples, some arrived alone. Either way, it was irrelevant; all came to dance. I watched as men wandered in search of their next partner, waiting for the next song to begin. I witnessed occasions in which words were never exchanged, just a simple glance, nod, and embrace followed by a swift move upon the start of the music.

The tango danced was elegant, intimate, and sexy. Absent of over-thinking and analysis, the dancers relied on feel, touch, and flow as most moves were improvised. Many times the female partners danced with eyes closed as they listened to the beat of the music and followed their partners lead.

The event attracted people of all ages, styles, and expertise. Twenty somethings paired with sixty somethings, experts paired with novices. None of it mattered because they all shared a love for the dance. I was enamored! A smile lay sprawled across my faces as I over-looked the pavilion; it was a beautiful thing to see.

It’s easy to find a tango show for 300 pesos, just as one would find a cabaret show in Las Vegas. But this was different. This was a true snapshot of the people of Argentina and their love for life. I was lost in their culture!

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25 and Counting…

After a two countries, two buses, 1 stop and 22 hours, I arrived in Buenos Aires. My 25th birthday was just two days out and I was looking forward to spending it with friends I had made in the city.

Now, I’m 25. If you had asked me 6 months ago what I thought I’d be doing for my 25th birthday, I probably would have said something like go out to dinner with some friends, have a cigar with the boys, meet my friends out at 5th to put down a few Two-Hearteds and party the night away. Never would I have guessed that I’d be in Argentina!

In the past 48 hours, I have been treated to a great home-made breakfast, complete with an orange-mango-coconut smootie, spent the day relaxing by the pool side, sipped on pisco and cola while overlooking the Buenos Aires city-scape, treated to a lavish Argentinian restuarant that would put most American restuarants to shame, and danced until 5a at a typical Buenos Aires disco. Though I´ve missed spending it with my friends back home, it has definitely been a great experience here! Even as I sit now, writing, I’m taking in a classic milonga in a public park, as locals gather to dance tango and enjoy the night. As my Cuban cigar burns slowly, hanging precariously from my index and middle fingers, I take a cool sip of Quilmes beer while tango music sings from the pavillion.

Often times it seems people are depressed by birthdays. I´ve always found that to be curious. It´s amazing how the label of a new age can have a dramatic affect on someone´s mood and emotions. Yesterday is no different than today, 24 is no different than 25. Now you have a few more memories and experiences that define your life.

I suspect some feel as though they haven’t accomplished as much as they would´ve liked or done enough with their lives; they feel as though they´re running out of time. If you would´ve asked me when I was 15 what I´d be doing when I was 25, I thought I would have been a millionaire… maybe at 30!.. 😉

Rather, I feel as though it is a good time to reflect and look forward to the next phase of your life. In the past quarter century, I´ve been a first chair cellist, won several hockey championships and have been named MVP. I´ve loved and lost, I´ve become a licensed real estate agent, bought my first house, learned to SCUBA dive, and jumped out of a plane… twice. I´ve traveled around the US, Spain, Argentina, and Chile. I´ve graduated college with a degree in engineering, started a fraternity, and learned to speak Spanish (in the loosest sense of fluency!) I’ve learned how to ride a motorcycle and bought my first Triumph, been snowboarding in Colorado, and have been paragliding in the Andes… Surely these aren things to be depressed about on the day you turn another year older.

I can only look forward to what´s next. Traveling to other parts of the world, starting my own company, loving and being loved, holding my first child in my arms, and playing with my grand-childeren…

So yes, I´m a quarter century old; half-way through my 20´s (some of the best years of my life). I can only hope to have a few more quarters to live!

Marble Graves, Blood Sausage, and Argentinian Hospitality

As we arrived to our airport of 3 gates, I took a deep breath and exhaled with exhaustion. The past 3 days have been bursting at the seams with activity.

On day 2, we spent the morning sleeping off the previous night. When you arrive from the clubs at 6a the next morning, the days seemingly melt together. The plan for the day was to venture to Recoleta, a barrio within Buenos Aires. Recoleta is best known for its famous cemetery in which each tomb is a shrine for the deceased; they are made of marble and stone, accented with ornate statues and artwork. In many cases, these tombs contain entire families and act as not only a place of burial, but also a place of prayer. From what I could gather, the entry floor provides a place to pay your respects while a narrow staircase leads to a basement cellar in which the caskests reside. Normally, I’m not one for churches and historical sites but you can’t deny how impressive these omages to the dead are; displays of love and affection while also proclaiming their status in society.

After wandering the lonely streets of the dead, we made our way to La Flor. La Flor resides in a city park and can only be compared to The Bean in Chicago. Six silvery metal petals reflect the city skyline as they curve up around the center of this artistic flower. After admiring the work of art and cooling off under a park shower, we set out for the south side of the city. There we found an extraordinary collection of books in what was once an opera house. Books lined the space which once housed hundreds. The balconies were no longer for a place for the wealthy but travel and sci-fi books. Rather than thesbeians and scenery, the stage housed a cafe in which you could chat with friends and sip on cafe con leche.

When we arrived back at the hostel, we settled into our ritual nap, as this is necessary if you want keep up with the locals at night! Later that evening we decided to head to Avenida de Florida, known for its many stores and street vendors. It was clearly past the peak hours but many still remained in the streets, from street vendors selling trinkets to tourists, to artists, to a break dance crew encompassed by an audience. After a few blocks of walking, we stopped at the first parrilla in sight for dinner. The choices were simple: meat or meat? The steaks in Argentina are savory and succulent, so tender they can often be cut with a spoon! This meal, we decided to get a little adventurous and try a meat platter, complete with blood sausage and sweetbread… Whatever that is. Let’s just say… It was interesting… After a few bottles of wine and a great meal, it was time to reconvene at the hostel and head out to the club.

We shared a cab with a few cute Aussies to a bar called Esperanto. The scene was much more mellow than the previous night, but nonetheless lively. While chatting with a few friends and sipping on a beer, a cute, curvy Argentinian girl grabbed my hand and yanked me onto the dance floor; shy, they are not! We spent the rest of the night on the narrow, sweaty dance floor until early in the morning. After a few hours, we decided we wanted to check out another bar in the popular barrio of Palermo. We popped in to the next place we saw that seemed interesting only to be greeted by a swift pat-down by a security guard. Slightly confused, we entered the bar and grabbed a beer. There wasn’t much to the bar other than a stairway to the level above, a few guys sitting around drinking and a table of women wearing not so flattering clothing… I think it was a brothel… After being approached by one of the women from the table, we decided it was time to leave!

Our third day in BA was spent accomplishing some much needed planning and running of errands. Three hours and 2200 pesos later we had the travel arrangements for the remaining week completed. For the remainder of the day we decided to just wing-it and wander the barrio of Palermo. On the way, I picked up some minutes for my unlocked iPhone; this will undoubtedly be of value when I’m on my own!

Palermo was by far my favorite neighborhood yet. Quaint, quiet, and clean until the evening when the many bars, restaurants, and clubs come to life. Here we wandered the streets, checked out the shops and enjoyed a few beers.

Our first night in BA I was invited to dance with a gorgeous Argentinian girl. Given I have vey limited cellular access, I was was forced to succumb to means I thought I never would; Facebook. Never did I think I’d become so dependent on the popular social site, but here I am using it as my main form of communication. Fortunately, Argentina is more wired than any city I’ve seen in the states; every restaurant, cafe, and shop seems to have WiFi. Thus each meal, beer, or coffee offers a chance to sync up. That night the Argentinian and her friends invited us over for a few drinks before we headed out to the clubs.

After returning home and showering, we determined we’d have to forfeit our ritual nap if we wanted to get to dinner at a decent hour, which is like 10p in “Argentinian time.” Decidedly, Palermo was our destination for dinner where we feasted on an amazing steak dinner at La Cabrera. Though a bit touristy, it was amazing!

Conveniently, the Argentinians lived only a few blocks away in Palermo. To our surprise, we arrived at the 15th floor of one of the few high rises in the area. There we sipped a mixture of champagne and the equivalent of red bull while over looking the city and conversing in Spanish and English, to accommodate varying skill levels.

The remainder of the night proceeded as usual. Dancing to once, popular American hits, sipping champagne, cervezas, and more dancing.

The next day, Iguazu Falls!…