OK - here's a slight deviation but just had to throw it out there. This is a letter I just wrote to the Anonymous Lawyer, who's blog is now handily linked over there to the right, towards the top with the other links. He also relaunched their corporate website (including information on their Baghdad office) and has a new book coming out as well (1). All good shit.
Dear Anonymous Lawyer,
After catching pieces of your blog here and there I had to finally
link to it, a privilege that I usually save for close and personal
friends. Perhaps it was watching 'Legally Blond' last night for the
first time, dubbed in Spanish at 4:30am inspired me. Or maybe its my
new 'freelance' virtual sales job with Nolo Press out of Berkeley, selling
sponsored ads for their new nationwide attorney directory for the Fletch Monster, not really
sure.
But I do always at least smile if not laugh when reading the few posts
that I actually take time to read and I know nothing of the legal
profession other than through friends of mine in their late thirties or forties that
work as Paralegals or in the Legal Department, making lots of money and hating every minute of
it.
Keep it up,
Goyo (2)
1 - Here's what Alan Dershowitz, a professor of law at Harvard, and the author of thousands upon thousands of terrific books, including his latest, Preemption: A Knife That Cuts Both Ways, says [about the Anon's new book]:
"I know who the Anonymous Lawyer is! He's my former students, their bosses, and their colleagues at the big firms. This hysterically funny novel made me laugh and cry -- laugh at my profession, and cry for the talented students who sell their souls to these soulless law firms. This is Grey's Anatomy for lawyers, with a touch of Seinfeld. You don't have to be a lawyer to laugh out loud at Anonymous Lawyer. Everybody will be talking about this book and seeing a little bit of themselves in its exaggerated truths."
2 - And low and behold, the Anonymous Lawyer who now writes under the pen name Jeremy Blachman responded within about two hours, hard at work I imagine, late at night.
"Thanks. Your e-mail means a lot. I really appreciate it.
Being a paralegal seems really unbearable. I don't know how your friends do it. Although at least they get paid overtime.
Best,
Jeremy"
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Bar Britanico Y La Copa Mundial
Still hanging on for dear life, our beloved Britanico marches on. The deal is this: they are facing a rent hike of close to $6000AR/mo, which, for its prime ‘tourist-tested’ corner location on Parque Lezama in San Telmo could somehow probably be justified. But for the cheap drinks and the twenty four hour service that Manolo and crew dish up daily, its just too much.
But it still feels like old times, even at 4:30am over a Stella Artois on a Thursday night (Friday morning). A group of Espanoles order round after round of F& C’s (Fernet & Cokes), three large women come in with some very dark blacks, probably from Brazil or Northern Africa. The cat, simply named ‘Cat’ stretches our across the middle of the floor in front of us as we order another Stella.
Then, as if exactly on cue, in walks Tony, the drunken Welsh regular who is also the laughing stock of the Buenos Aires Herald. I first began to blog about Tony back in November when I first arrived, referring to him as simply, ‘Simply Red’. There’s enough of resemblance to warrant the reference. Now he’s just annoying and obnoxious, even when being critiqued from afar in secret.
Tonight he meets up with a lovely-enough younger woman and much to our chagrin begins the biggest mockery of a travesty of a sham that ever existed, as we are forced to shield our eyes and hang our heads as he starts making out with this young thing; brandy glass and cigarette in one hand together, dangling in the air. Luck be a lady tonight as I have to acquiesce, everyone deserves a little loving now and then, even I guess Tony.
Today is Argentina’s first appearance in the World Cup and they are leading over the Ivory Coast 2-0 with 72:00 on the clock. The streets are empty as almost everyone is watching. They cut away to Maradona sitting in the stands with who I think is his daughter. The Ivory Coast finally scores with 82 minutes on the clock and its 2-1. Argentina wins and the party begins.
Note: There is a great, and I mean GREAT exhibition of photos on right now all shot inside the Bar Britanico at a gallery on San Juan 427 (@ Defensa) that is entirely worth checking out. I’ll post more details (like the photographers name) and a few of his photos later.
But it still feels like old times, even at 4:30am over a Stella Artois on a Thursday night (Friday morning). A group of Espanoles order round after round of F& C’s (Fernet & Cokes), three large women come in with some very dark blacks, probably from Brazil or Northern Africa. The cat, simply named ‘Cat’ stretches our across the middle of the floor in front of us as we order another Stella.
Then, as if exactly on cue, in walks Tony, the drunken Welsh regular who is also the laughing stock of the Buenos Aires Herald. I first began to blog about Tony back in November when I first arrived, referring to him as simply, ‘Simply Red’. There’s enough of resemblance to warrant the reference. Now he’s just annoying and obnoxious, even when being critiqued from afar in secret.
Tonight he meets up with a lovely-enough younger woman and much to our chagrin begins the biggest mockery of a travesty of a sham that ever existed, as we are forced to shield our eyes and hang our heads as he starts making out with this young thing; brandy glass and cigarette in one hand together, dangling in the air. Luck be a lady tonight as I have to acquiesce, everyone deserves a little loving now and then, even I guess Tony.
Today is Argentina’s first appearance in the World Cup and they are leading over the Ivory Coast 2-0 with 72:00 on the clock. The streets are empty as almost everyone is watching. They cut away to Maradona sitting in the stands with who I think is his daughter. The Ivory Coast finally scores with 82 minutes on the clock and its 2-1. Argentina wins and the party begins.
Note: There is a great, and I mean GREAT exhibition of photos on right now all shot inside the Bar Britanico at a gallery on San Juan 427 (@ Defensa) that is entirely worth checking out. I’ll post more details (like the photographers name) and a few of his photos later.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Ten Dollar Holla
Bad TV (and bad movies on TV) is soo much better when you're in some lawless border town that borders on not just one country but two (that's three countries sharing the same border, thus the triple border region that is Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina). "Hey, I'm not a lesbian, I'm bi-sexual," says the hot blonde and only female member of Average Joe's Dodgeball Team as she finishes making out with some other hot red-head and grabs Vince Vaughn by the shirt and mad kisses him too. They defeat all the odds (50-1 underdogs) and take out Ben Stiller's team and win in the finals in Vegas.
Now I'm watching the Simpons dubbed in Spanish and the phone rings. I imagine its Ethan or eNano as he is known down here which translates to a cross between dwarf and midget, calling from NYC baked off his ass and wanting to talk some more about his pending return to Buenos Aires. He'll be second in command of the USS 'Dos Polares' or 'Two Poles' Antarctic exploration team based here in BA, which we successfully resurrected from the ship grave yard and kept afloat a few months back. Plus no one else knows where we are staying in caudate del Este, at least not which room.
"Hola," I answer.
"Si, yo soy Aldolfo," says the mysterious voice on the other end. "Sam just left en collectivo [bus]," the voice continues but only now in pretty good English.
"He sold his car?" I ask.
"Yeah, we make a good business," says Alfredo.
I had received a note from the front desk upon my return from the car lot saying Sam was with some guy and they had driven 112km. outside of the city to some Ranch (which turned out to be a German Mennonite colony) to sell his car. It sounded a little sketchy but what was I gonna do - there was nothing too do at this point except to continue to watch the Simpons.
"How much did he sell it for?" I ask.
"$1,200USD," says Adolfo.
"And when is he going to be back into town?" I ask again, trying to get all the info I can up front just in case something goes wrong, or already did thinking that now this NOS is riding on a bus in the middle of nowhere with all those greenbacks on him.
"Maybe about an hour, hour and a half," says Aldolfo again in decent English.
"Thanks for the call," I say and hang up, taking a sip off of the Old Smuggler whisky that I smuggled into Paraguay and add a little Coke to it and smile. We can't get Makers down here even if we could afford it. At least the car is gone and off his hands, mind and heart and we can do Ciudad del Este up right on a Friday night despite the repeated warnings.
Outside dusk was approaching and the city swiftly shuts down right at dark leaving its streets deserted and dangerous. I headed out anyways and bought a small Paraguayan flag, changed some money on the street and kept my wits about me despite a few warnings that its not safe to be walking around alone and I didn't even have my camera with me. What a great country!
Now I'm watching the Simpons dubbed in Spanish and the phone rings. I imagine its Ethan or eNano as he is known down here which translates to a cross between dwarf and midget, calling from NYC baked off his ass and wanting to talk some more about his pending return to Buenos Aires. He'll be second in command of the USS 'Dos Polares' or 'Two Poles' Antarctic exploration team based here in BA, which we successfully resurrected from the ship grave yard and kept afloat a few months back. Plus no one else knows where we are staying in caudate del Este, at least not which room.
"Hola," I answer.
"Si, yo soy Aldolfo," says the mysterious voice on the other end. "Sam just left en collectivo [bus]," the voice continues but only now in pretty good English.
"He sold his car?" I ask.
"Yeah, we make a good business," says Alfredo.
I had received a note from the front desk upon my return from the car lot saying Sam was with some guy and they had driven 112km. outside of the city to some Ranch (which turned out to be a German Mennonite colony) to sell his car. It sounded a little sketchy but what was I gonna do - there was nothing too do at this point except to continue to watch the Simpons.
"How much did he sell it for?" I ask.
"$1,200USD," says Adolfo.
"And when is he going to be back into town?" I ask again, trying to get all the info I can up front just in case something goes wrong, or already did thinking that now this NOS is riding on a bus in the middle of nowhere with all those greenbacks on him.
"Maybe about an hour, hour and a half," says Aldolfo again in decent English.
"Thanks for the call," I say and hang up, taking a sip off of the Old Smuggler whisky that I smuggled into Paraguay and add a little Coke to it and smile. We can't get Makers down here even if we could afford it. At least the car is gone and off his hands, mind and heart and we can do Ciudad del Este up right on a Friday night despite the repeated warnings.
Outside dusk was approaching and the city swiftly shuts down right at dark leaving its streets deserted and dangerous. I headed out anyways and bought a small Paraguayan flag, changed some money on the street and kept my wits about me despite a few warnings that its not safe to be walking around alone and I didn't even have my camera with me. What a great country!
Friday, June 02, 2006
El Raton Peréz is NOT from Paraguay!
June 2, 2006 - Ciudad del Este
11:45 AM - Barrometric Pressure down to 29.36 inHg
It´s our third or fourth day of hanging just outside of town on a used car lot drinking tereré (cold mate w/o sugar) and talking... about anything and everything. Our guy who owns the used car dealership has invited us to lunch. Sam declines deciding to check out his last two possible buyers and we walk across the street with the owner's daughter and her boyfriend, I think. There´s a bus attendent hanging out of the side of his bus looking for fares with a colorful shirt that just says 'Albert Einstein'.
We eat at the busy comedor about the supermercado and next to the paint store and chat. The Paraguayan version of their history over the past 200 years is very different than say what the Argentines would say, also very different than what the LP South American Guide says, no fault to Morgan Konn I´m sure (also in my previous post I credited Carolyn Hubbard with the Ciudad del Este hotel recommendation when credit due goes to Morgan. We also think Morgan and her writing on Paraguay is some of the strongest in that guide - hats off Morgan!)
It´s always hard to get accurate information about what is really going on and about what has really happened in the past anywhere, especially if you´re a poor thrid world country in Latin America recovering (or still living) under a vicious Dictatorship like Paraguay. Our guy at the car lot is trying to help us but comes clean this afternoon and says he doesn´t have a buyer for the car. We´ve already decided to leave tomorrow morning regardless of what happens today. I´ve been so tempted to jump from here up to the North of Paraguay from some more solo exploration but need to get back to BA and back to real work, RealBuenosAires.com work.
The thing is before arriving in Paraguay I had given up on the speculative rumors of the clandestine US Military base up in the Chaco desert as nothing more than lefty conspirist theories and bad journalism by the Argentine press. Just recently the US Department of State´s 'Identifying Misinformation' Branch updated this report (a MUST READ for anyone that cares about how the US decieves the rest of the world)and completely denounced these rumors as purely false, but inside of Paraguay its a completely different story indeed.
"Not only do they have the base in the Chaco, they´ve got one in Concepción as well," the assistant to the Consul at the Paraguayan consulate in Posadas, Argentina tells me. "They are right next to the Paraguayan bases but no one is allowed near them, not even the Paraguayan military." Since arriving inside of Paraguay, EVERYONE I´ve talked to agrees with him and encourage me to head up to that area to see for myself, but not this trip. Our used car salesman who is also organizing a group to overthrow the current and continuing Dictatorship which hides under the political smokescreen of the current Paraguayan President Nicanor Duarte and his Red Party told me he´s actually seen the US top seceret 'UNO' planes landing and taking off in the desert.
I´ll come back later, better prepared and with a plan. It´s not like I´m going to just run up to the Chaco, take pictures of the bases and get a couple of interviews wtih some US Marines on why they are here in Paraguay. "They´ll put a bullet in your head," one source tells me. But if they do indeed exist as the Consulate in Posadas confirms, Rumsfield is an even bigger liar than I thought cause he was year just last year and denied it over and over. But what was he doing here? This isn´t Iraq, there are no terrorists and its not about emergency medical aid or democracy or even freedom, that much abused and overused word. It´s about sucking the blood out of our neighbors to the South so we can preserve our way of life and stay on top at the expense of most others. But its really about our 'precious bodily fluids...'
After lunch while waiting for Sam to return with or without the car the car sales man stands up and points across the street towards some shacks. "How can those poor people live and cook on the street like that with all the dust and car pollution while two powerful and rich countries just across the rivers from us swim in US Dollars?" he rethoically askes. "You see that guy pissing on that tree? It hurts my eyes and makes my heart ache because I planted it thirty years ago, but where else can he go? There´s no running water and no toilets but yet they [the politicians] drive around in their fancy Mercedes and look the other way," he finishes while sitting down and wiping his eyes.
Black, blue, yellow and green butterflies duck in and out of the shaded overhang as I wait another thirty minutes for Sam chain smoking the worst cigarettes I´ve ever tasted in my life - they smell and taste like rat poison is the closest way I can describe them. That then reminds me of El Raton Peréz which is the Rat named Perez and is the Argentine equivilent of the tooth fairly, only its a rat not a fairy. Two more guys piss on the same tree and then boss tells me he´s got another small meeting to attend but if I need anything to just call him. He gets into a huge white custom pickup truck with tinted windows darker than black smoke and drives off. I wait the thirty minutes for Sam who doesn´t show and grab a cab back to the hotel. [TBC]
11:45 AM - Barrometric Pressure down to 29.36 inHg
It´s our third or fourth day of hanging just outside of town on a used car lot drinking tereré (cold mate w/o sugar) and talking... about anything and everything. Our guy who owns the used car dealership has invited us to lunch. Sam declines deciding to check out his last two possible buyers and we walk across the street with the owner's daughter and her boyfriend, I think. There´s a bus attendent hanging out of the side of his bus looking for fares with a colorful shirt that just says 'Albert Einstein'.
We eat at the busy comedor about the supermercado and next to the paint store and chat. The Paraguayan version of their history over the past 200 years is very different than say what the Argentines would say, also very different than what the LP South American Guide says, no fault to Morgan Konn I´m sure (also in my previous post I credited Carolyn Hubbard with the Ciudad del Este hotel recommendation when credit due goes to Morgan. We also think Morgan and her writing on Paraguay is some of the strongest in that guide - hats off Morgan!)
It´s always hard to get accurate information about what is really going on and about what has really happened in the past anywhere, especially if you´re a poor thrid world country in Latin America recovering (or still living) under a vicious Dictatorship like Paraguay. Our guy at the car lot is trying to help us but comes clean this afternoon and says he doesn´t have a buyer for the car. We´ve already decided to leave tomorrow morning regardless of what happens today. I´ve been so tempted to jump from here up to the North of Paraguay from some more solo exploration but need to get back to BA and back to real work, RealBuenosAires.com work.
The thing is before arriving in Paraguay I had given up on the speculative rumors of the clandestine US Military base up in the Chaco desert as nothing more than lefty conspirist theories and bad journalism by the Argentine press. Just recently the US Department of State´s 'Identifying Misinformation' Branch updated this report (a MUST READ for anyone that cares about how the US decieves the rest of the world)and completely denounced these rumors as purely false, but inside of Paraguay its a completely different story indeed.
"Not only do they have the base in the Chaco, they´ve got one in Concepción as well," the assistant to the Consul at the Paraguayan consulate in Posadas, Argentina tells me. "They are right next to the Paraguayan bases but no one is allowed near them, not even the Paraguayan military." Since arriving inside of Paraguay, EVERYONE I´ve talked to agrees with him and encourage me to head up to that area to see for myself, but not this trip. Our used car salesman who is also organizing a group to overthrow the current and continuing Dictatorship which hides under the political smokescreen of the current Paraguayan President Nicanor Duarte and his Red Party told me he´s actually seen the US top seceret 'UNO' planes landing and taking off in the desert.
I´ll come back later, better prepared and with a plan. It´s not like I´m going to just run up to the Chaco, take pictures of the bases and get a couple of interviews wtih some US Marines on why they are here in Paraguay. "They´ll put a bullet in your head," one source tells me. But if they do indeed exist as the Consulate in Posadas confirms, Rumsfield is an even bigger liar than I thought cause he was year just last year and denied it over and over. But what was he doing here? This isn´t Iraq, there are no terrorists and its not about emergency medical aid or democracy or even freedom, that much abused and overused word. It´s about sucking the blood out of our neighbors to the South so we can preserve our way of life and stay on top at the expense of most others. But its really about our 'precious bodily fluids...'
After lunch while waiting for Sam to return with or without the car the car sales man stands up and points across the street towards some shacks. "How can those poor people live and cook on the street like that with all the dust and car pollution while two powerful and rich countries just across the rivers from us swim in US Dollars?" he rethoically askes. "You see that guy pissing on that tree? It hurts my eyes and makes my heart ache because I planted it thirty years ago, but where else can he go? There´s no running water and no toilets but yet they [the politicians] drive around in their fancy Mercedes and look the other way," he finishes while sitting down and wiping his eyes.
Black, blue, yellow and green butterflies duck in and out of the shaded overhang as I wait another thirty minutes for Sam chain smoking the worst cigarettes I´ve ever tasted in my life - they smell and taste like rat poison is the closest way I can describe them. That then reminds me of El Raton Peréz which is the Rat named Perez and is the Argentine equivilent of the tooth fairly, only its a rat not a fairy. Two more guys piss on the same tree and then boss tells me he´s got another small meeting to attend but if I need anything to just call him. He gets into a huge white custom pickup truck with tinted windows darker than black smoke and drives off. I wait the thirty minutes for Sam who doesn´t show and grab a cab back to the hotel. [TBC]
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Paraguay - The Final Frontier
Ciudad del Este, Paraguay
18:45 - Wednesday, May 31, 2006
It´s been a long time since I´ve been in a true third world country the likes of Honduras, Salvador and Nicaragua and Paraguay sure is a lot more like those places than it is like Argentina, especially when one is held sequestered in Buenos Aires. This is gonna be short even though there is soo much to say since the Interent doesn´t quite work as well here as it does elsewhere but Paraguay is now my new favorite country!
Having heard many stories from Ethan when he was here a year ago on a month long photo trip for Lonely Planet (which didn´t actually pan out so well for him in terms of LP and the photos, even though the photos were good) and having read only a little of what Carolyn worte in the LP South America Shoestring Guide (props on the hotel recommendations here in Ciudad del Este, we like the Hotel Munich even though the American style buffet is more European than anything but I think at least four of the five places you recommended are on the same street within a block from The Munich and that there are plenty of other choices closer into the the heart of the city... I know, I know, never enough time or money to really 'tell it like it is'),I really didn´t know anything about this place except the one day I was here in Encarnacion last year with DP and Aimee, and that was a great day even though we did have to bribe our way into the country (US Citizens coming to Paraguay now need a $45USD Visa for a one-time entry good up to ninty days which can be obtained at the consulate in Posadas). Now I feel as if alot of the speculation about Paraguay and especially Ciudad del Este has been put to rest, at least in my mind and that I´m much more up on what´s really going on here. A few thoughts as there is soo much to tell...
- Paraguayan´s love to burn things, especially trash
- Paraguayans are very friendly, more so than Argentinians
- Ciudad del Este up here in the lawless triple border region is NOT nearly as dangerous as most Argentinians say OR as bad as the guide books make it out to be
- I´ve seen more guns in CDE than anywhere else since El Salvador
- It´s NOT very easy to sell a car with American plates for the price the car is worth in say Argentina (and even harder to do IN Argentina)
- There was a big protest today on the bridge to Brasil that shut it down
- I can buy a gun here if I want to, even an AK-47
- Most security people in the small corner stores have bullet proof vests and pump action pistol grip twelve guage shotguns (go Wheeler!)
- I had the best haircut of my entire life by a very cute Paraguayan that even used a straight razor behind my ears! ($2USD)
- The local currency is NOT called pesos, but rather Guarani and $6,000 Guarani is equal to $1USD ie - lunch today for two cost $15,000 Guarani but was really only $2.50USD
- People here don´t really have much Guarani and 95% of Paraguayans actually speak Guarani, which is an indigenous or 'Indian' language (Ethan, maybe you can comment on what you told me about the Paraguayan Dictator´s son that thought he was Napolean and something why everyone here speaks Guarani
- A guy showed us a photo that he took last week of a ten foot long Anaconda Python (which is small since the average length is nineteen feet) being held by like himself and five kids, although it didn´t have a head
- Did I say its my new favorite country?
By the way, props to LP author Lucas something or other for the 'Authors Choice' Gran Hotel Turismo recommendation in Corrientes, from the most recent LP Argentina guide. Although you failed to mention ANYTHING about the second largest border crossing into Paraguay over the bridge from Posadas, the Casino that was right next to the Gran Hotel Turismo in Corrientes (that you also failed to mention) was AWESOME, even after we both lost all of our money and it was 5AM! (I´ll have to write about the two 19 year old Argentinian hitch hikers we picked up on the way to Posadas later... all´s I can say is that they were a lot of fun to pick up.)
18:45 - Wednesday, May 31, 2006
It´s been a long time since I´ve been in a true third world country the likes of Honduras, Salvador and Nicaragua and Paraguay sure is a lot more like those places than it is like Argentina, especially when one is held sequestered in Buenos Aires. This is gonna be short even though there is soo much to say since the Interent doesn´t quite work as well here as it does elsewhere but Paraguay is now my new favorite country!
Having heard many stories from Ethan when he was here a year ago on a month long photo trip for Lonely Planet (which didn´t actually pan out so well for him in terms of LP and the photos, even though the photos were good) and having read only a little of what Carolyn worte in the LP South America Shoestring Guide (props on the hotel recommendations here in Ciudad del Este, we like the Hotel Munich even though the American style buffet is more European than anything but I think at least four of the five places you recommended are on the same street within a block from The Munich and that there are plenty of other choices closer into the the heart of the city... I know, I know, never enough time or money to really 'tell it like it is'),I really didn´t know anything about this place except the one day I was here in Encarnacion last year with DP and Aimee, and that was a great day even though we did have to bribe our way into the country (US Citizens coming to Paraguay now need a $45USD Visa for a one-time entry good up to ninty days which can be obtained at the consulate in Posadas). Now I feel as if alot of the speculation about Paraguay and especially Ciudad del Este has been put to rest, at least in my mind and that I´m much more up on what´s really going on here. A few thoughts as there is soo much to tell...
- Paraguayan´s love to burn things, especially trash
- Paraguayans are very friendly, more so than Argentinians
- Ciudad del Este up here in the lawless triple border region is NOT nearly as dangerous as most Argentinians say OR as bad as the guide books make it out to be
- I´ve seen more guns in CDE than anywhere else since El Salvador
- It´s NOT very easy to sell a car with American plates for the price the car is worth in say Argentina (and even harder to do IN Argentina)
- There was a big protest today on the bridge to Brasil that shut it down
- I can buy a gun here if I want to, even an AK-47
- Most security people in the small corner stores have bullet proof vests and pump action pistol grip twelve guage shotguns (go Wheeler!)
- I had the best haircut of my entire life by a very cute Paraguayan that even used a straight razor behind my ears! ($2USD)
- The local currency is NOT called pesos, but rather Guarani and $6,000 Guarani is equal to $1USD ie - lunch today for two cost $15,000 Guarani but was really only $2.50USD
- People here don´t really have much Guarani and 95% of Paraguayans actually speak Guarani, which is an indigenous or 'Indian' language (Ethan, maybe you can comment on what you told me about the Paraguayan Dictator´s son that thought he was Napolean and something why everyone here speaks Guarani
- A guy showed us a photo that he took last week of a ten foot long Anaconda Python (which is small since the average length is nineteen feet) being held by like himself and five kids, although it didn´t have a head
- Did I say its my new favorite country?
By the way, props to LP author Lucas something or other for the 'Authors Choice' Gran Hotel Turismo recommendation in Corrientes, from the most recent LP Argentina guide. Although you failed to mention ANYTHING about the second largest border crossing into Paraguay over the bridge from Posadas, the Casino that was right next to the Gran Hotel Turismo in Corrientes (that you also failed to mention) was AWESOME, even after we both lost all of our money and it was 5AM! (I´ll have to write about the two 19 year old Argentinian hitch hikers we picked up on the way to Posadas later... all´s I can say is that they were a lot of fun to pick up.)
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Revolution!, NOT Independence
I stand corrected that yesterday el 25 de Mayo was not the day of Independence, which is the 9 of July, but rather six years earlier marking the day the revolution begin. I have yet to read one history book on Argentina other than their recent dealings with the World Bank and the IMF so am pretty clueless other than a very general picture that goes back a few hundred years.
But, that's not what this post is about. It's about two things, maybe three.
The first and simplest is that as dumb as it may sound, I went karting again, tonight, just a little while ago, go karting on 250cc machines of molded plastic seats and heavy steele frames.. As many of you know, some serious rib injuries occurred that last time I did this with Ethan and the boys a few days before my trip back home to the States almost a month ago. But, the offer was there with private transportation to and from the track and I couldn't not defend my title and just couldn't say no. Plus this cute Australian was going as well. Mistake. Even though I won the first 30 lap race which meant that the other three had to pay my $35 peso entry fee, my ribs were hurting, more than they had since the previous accident. But after the second and final race I just didn't care... tearing around that track, lap after lap, trying to maintain position, defend my lead, pass the slower drivers without crashing or hitting the wall... It's simply brilliant. But now I'm achin' pretty good, but not as bad as the last time, just slowed down the healing process.
But the second more important recent development is this road trip I've signed to go on to Paraguay, Ciudad del Este. specifically. Sam needs to sell the car he drove from Philly to BA which as US plates and no one here will touch it. Google Ciudad del Este, Paraguay and you'll find that by most reports its the wildest and mostly lawless city in Latin America where anything is possible - anything. And I've got this opportunity and have been wanting to go and now I have a ride and we leave today at 4pm. Photos, gonna shot a lot of photos of this strange, anonymous and very unknown danger zone. They say there is Al-Queda, mafia, CIA... the whole works.
And the third thing... don't remember. But living way down south here in Argentina continues to be like no other place in the world I've ever been and is just so hard to describe, or even live. It takes being open to opportunities, chances, calculated risks, heart and balls - pelotas. And it just keeps on getting better...
But, that's not what this post is about. It's about two things, maybe three.
The first and simplest is that as dumb as it may sound, I went karting again, tonight, just a little while ago, go karting on 250cc machines of molded plastic seats and heavy steele frames.. As many of you know, some serious rib injuries occurred that last time I did this with Ethan and the boys a few days before my trip back home to the States almost a month ago. But, the offer was there with private transportation to and from the track and I couldn't not defend my title and just couldn't say no. Plus this cute Australian was going as well. Mistake. Even though I won the first 30 lap race which meant that the other three had to pay my $35 peso entry fee, my ribs were hurting, more than they had since the previous accident. But after the second and final race I just didn't care... tearing around that track, lap after lap, trying to maintain position, defend my lead, pass the slower drivers without crashing or hitting the wall... It's simply brilliant. But now I'm achin' pretty good, but not as bad as the last time, just slowed down the healing process.
But the second more important recent development is this road trip I've signed to go on to Paraguay, Ciudad del Este. specifically. Sam needs to sell the car he drove from Philly to BA which as US plates and no one here will touch it. Google Ciudad del Este, Paraguay and you'll find that by most reports its the wildest and mostly lawless city in Latin America where anything is possible - anything. And I've got this opportunity and have been wanting to go and now I have a ride and we leave today at 4pm. Photos, gonna shot a lot of photos of this strange, anonymous and very unknown danger zone. They say there is Al-Queda, mafia, CIA... the whole works.
And the third thing... don't remember. But living way down south here in Argentina continues to be like no other place in the world I've ever been and is just so hard to describe, or even live. It takes being open to opportunities, chances, calculated risks, heart and balls - pelotas. And it just keeps on getting better...
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Independence Day - El 25 de Mayo
5.24.06
Barrackas, Buenos Aires
It’s the day before Independence Day here in Argentina. Most of the some 42,000 taxis that roam the streets day and night are proudly flying the Argentine flag. A blind man gets on the semi-crowded bus I’m taking across town and starts his way towards the back. I can barely ride the bus with good eye site, but he with his cane and all starts passing out pens to the passengers, pens to write with, pens that say Staples on them. He starts into his delivery about what quality they are and there can be no value on these pens. I take one, a red one as do most of the other passengers. Thinking to myself I can never have enough pens I listen carefully for the price, but it’s never given. I see other passengers digging for change and I figure its more of the sliding scale donation plan. I shell out a peso but tell him that I want a blue one, not red. He asks me if he’s holding a blue one – no. I’ll take a black one I as I trade the red for black. The guy across from me gave him two pesos for his pen.
Luis, Ricardo, Tommy and Sam, these are some of my Argentine friends. One is actually my roommate and is paying his rent (or will if allowed by the landlord) by writing for the web site project for me on the side. He drove his car from Philly to BA, that’s why I hired him. Sam Slaughter… that helped also.
Marina, a very good and dear friend of mine has taken ill with a piece of wood that fell into her eye while tending to her guinea pigs. Now she’s in a world of pain and can’t see… it befuddles me how these things happen to us, either by our own actions or by forces that we can not control. It’s been a rough year for her she tells me, ‘especially since I met YOU!’ she adds. I feel bad and there's not much I can do... but I think I'll see her tomorrow if she's up for it. We can't even watch a movie which is our favorite thing to do. She's up on her films more so than I these days.
The heater is working but drips water out on the balcony which then drips down right in front of the main door to the apartment building, which then gets the tenants into an uproar as if I’m not being a responsible tenant. That is to be fixed on Sunday or Monday but for now the bucket catches most of the drips as long as I remember to dump it every so often.
Today is now el 25 de Mayo, Independence Day, but since most Argentines don’t feel very independent of foreign influence and have serious doubts about their current, past and future governments they don’t really celebrate as say Americans would the 4th of July or even Argentines do on say Christmas or New Years Eve, going crazy with the pyrotechnics. What a country, todavia.
Oh, and here's a few snapshots from my trip back to California http://grphoto.net/sftrip/index.htm
Barrackas, Buenos Aires
It’s the day before Independence Day here in Argentina. Most of the some 42,000 taxis that roam the streets day and night are proudly flying the Argentine flag. A blind man gets on the semi-crowded bus I’m taking across town and starts his way towards the back. I can barely ride the bus with good eye site, but he with his cane and all starts passing out pens to the passengers, pens to write with, pens that say Staples on them. He starts into his delivery about what quality they are and there can be no value on these pens. I take one, a red one as do most of the other passengers. Thinking to myself I can never have enough pens I listen carefully for the price, but it’s never given. I see other passengers digging for change and I figure its more of the sliding scale donation plan. I shell out a peso but tell him that I want a blue one, not red. He asks me if he’s holding a blue one – no. I’ll take a black one I as I trade the red for black. The guy across from me gave him two pesos for his pen.
Luis, Ricardo, Tommy and Sam, these are some of my Argentine friends. One is actually my roommate and is paying his rent (or will if allowed by the landlord) by writing for the web site project for me on the side. He drove his car from Philly to BA, that’s why I hired him. Sam Slaughter… that helped also.
Marina, a very good and dear friend of mine has taken ill with a piece of wood that fell into her eye while tending to her guinea pigs. Now she’s in a world of pain and can’t see… it befuddles me how these things happen to us, either by our own actions or by forces that we can not control. It’s been a rough year for her she tells me, ‘especially since I met YOU!’ she adds. I feel bad and there's not much I can do... but I think I'll see her tomorrow if she's up for it. We can't even watch a movie which is our favorite thing to do. She's up on her films more so than I these days.
The heater is working but drips water out on the balcony which then drips down right in front of the main door to the apartment building, which then gets the tenants into an uproar as if I’m not being a responsible tenant. That is to be fixed on Sunday or Monday but for now the bucket catches most of the drips as long as I remember to dump it every so often.
Today is now el 25 de Mayo, Independence Day, but since most Argentines don’t feel very independent of foreign influence and have serious doubts about their current, past and future governments they don’t really celebrate as say Americans would the 4th of July or even Argentines do on say Christmas or New Years Eve, going crazy with the pyrotechnics. What a country, todavia.
Oh, and here's a few snapshots from my trip back to California http://grphoto.net/sftrip/index.htm
Monday, May 22, 2006
Cannonball Run
It got down to five degrees Celsius yesterday, which I think is about forty-some degrees Fahrenheit (you can do the calculation) and a nasty cold has descended upon me. But, there’s heat in my humble apartment and I’ve got new tunes on my iTunes. My hand-me-down iPod died the day before I returned to BA, which is the third hard drive to fail on me in the last six months, not including the one that disappeared with fifty gigs of photos that weren’t backed up because I was on the road up in La Rioja with Ramiro, La Rafa, Dave and Mei.
Finally I slept last night more than I have in the past month… almost twelve hours in a row. But when the door bell rang for the tenth time at 8:00am I had to get up to tell whoever it was that was ringing my doorbell at 8:00am to go the hell away and then the buzzer at my actual apartment door rang. Looking through the security peephole I only see one person in a dark heavy jacket standing in front of my door, so I open it.
“Fumigation,” says the young boy standing outside my door as the door to the apartment next to me slowly opens. “No, we ordered the fumigation,” says my neighbor. “Sorry,” he sheepishly tells me as I continue on about how I had already told him over the intercom that he had the wrong apartment number. He had already apologized over the speakerphone but comes up and then he rings my doorbell anyways. I went back to bed and slept till two in the afternoon.
Sam Slaughter is on his way over, to talk about the car that he needs to sell and about staying here in this apartment with me until he is scheduled to leave Argentina on June 6th. We are also going to talk about Paraguay, Ciudad del Este and the military base up in the north, somewhere out there in the Gran Chaco desert near the border with Bolivia. Edd is even considering comin. I’ve got to get the pitch out cause this could be good one; three foreigners traveling to a land where no Gringos go, except for Ethan. He went there, but not all the way up into this part of Paraguay, the barren Chaco. Paraguay is about as far from a tourist destination as the North Pole is for an Antarctic penguin. It’s Indians, Peace Corp, Mormons, ex-Nazis, CIA, special ops and then the US Soldiers that are doing ‘joint military exercises’ with the Paraguayan military and who are also helping build the runway up in there in the North, next to Bolivia, where they just nationalized the gas fields which are just across the border from this part of Paraguay.
Finally I slept last night more than I have in the past month… almost twelve hours in a row. But when the door bell rang for the tenth time at 8:00am I had to get up to tell whoever it was that was ringing my doorbell at 8:00am to go the hell away and then the buzzer at my actual apartment door rang. Looking through the security peephole I only see one person in a dark heavy jacket standing in front of my door, so I open it.
“Fumigation,” says the young boy standing outside my door as the door to the apartment next to me slowly opens. “No, we ordered the fumigation,” says my neighbor. “Sorry,” he sheepishly tells me as I continue on about how I had already told him over the intercom that he had the wrong apartment number. He had already apologized over the speakerphone but comes up and then he rings my doorbell anyways. I went back to bed and slept till two in the afternoon.
Sam Slaughter is on his way over, to talk about the car that he needs to sell and about staying here in this apartment with me until he is scheduled to leave Argentina on June 6th. We are also going to talk about Paraguay, Ciudad del Este and the military base up in the north, somewhere out there in the Gran Chaco desert near the border with Bolivia. Edd is even considering comin. I’ve got to get the pitch out cause this could be good one; three foreigners traveling to a land where no Gringos go, except for Ethan. He went there, but not all the way up into this part of Paraguay, the barren Chaco. Paraguay is about as far from a tourist destination as the North Pole is for an Antarctic penguin. It’s Indians, Peace Corp, Mormons, ex-Nazis, CIA, special ops and then the US Soldiers that are doing ‘joint military exercises’ with the Paraguayan military and who are also helping build the runway up in there in the North, next to Bolivia, where they just nationalized the gas fields which are just across the border from this part of Paraguay.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
A FULL
Well, California came and went, in a hurry. And it really was full-on or 'a full' as they say here in Argentina. I don't even know where to begin. I had a few extra hours at LAX airport yesterday before the flight to ponder and slow down a bit and then this hugely obese woman sits down across from me talking to herself outloud in hopes of sparking up a conversation with someone, anyone in the near vicinity. I immediately bury myself in my notepad only peaking over every once in a while to see if anyone will bite - nobody does. So then she picks up a brand new hardback edition of 'The Da Vinci Code' and I think to myself, 'that's so weird because you've seen soo many people these past two weeks reading that same book, which you thought came out a few years back but...' And then I remember my friend Michele telling me that her and her husbands (Chris, an old college friend) 13 year old daughter had just read one hundred pages from that book without putting it down and said it was the best book she'd ever read. And then I remembered her telling me that there's a new film of the same title coming out soon, thus the dash to be able to say, 'well, I read the book BEFORE watching the film.' I think maybe Tom Hanks is the star...
I know this has nothing to do with my trip and all of the crazy-good times but the thing that struck me the most about her and then about 3/4 of the people boarding the plane to Houston was their shear size - HUGE! I mean a couple of folks were definitely pushing 400lbs. (180 kilos). And then I thought, well... we are flying to Texas. And then I wondered which US state has the most obese people out of the country and my guess is its somewhere in the South, probably Texas. And then I began to drift in and out of sleep as we lifted off the ground at about 170mph (272km.) and climbed out over the California coastline up through the shallow marine layer and then through a series of short S turns, headed back towards the Southwest, eventually weaving our way around these beautifully gigantic and towering white cumulus clouds, some of which reached upwards of 40,000' (13,000mts.).
But its the friends and family back home that really made the trip. So first of all, thanks Marina for letting me tear apart your apartment (although it wasn't TOTALLY my fault, I definitely was the catalyst), thanks Steele for letting me stay in the mansion, thanks Rolo for getting the Subie to its finally resting place - RIP and also to Cal for that super welcome back Turkish dinner, thanks Super Dave for two awesome outings on the sailboat and for always being there for me, thanks Bob and Leslie for the great day of boating on my childhood Lake Piru in Ventura County and finally a specially thanks to my very own Mom; for all your hospitality and for simply putting up with me for all these years. I could go on and on because I'm very thankful to a whole lot more of wonderful people but am also glad to be back home here in Argentina. Pura vida como siempre... and now its time to get to work. Stay tuned - Goyo.
I know this has nothing to do with my trip and all of the crazy-good times but the thing that struck me the most about her and then about 3/4 of the people boarding the plane to Houston was their shear size - HUGE! I mean a couple of folks were definitely pushing 400lbs. (180 kilos). And then I thought, well... we are flying to Texas. And then I wondered which US state has the most obese people out of the country and my guess is its somewhere in the South, probably Texas. And then I began to drift in and out of sleep as we lifted off the ground at about 170mph (272km.) and climbed out over the California coastline up through the shallow marine layer and then through a series of short S turns, headed back towards the Southwest, eventually weaving our way around these beautifully gigantic and towering white cumulus clouds, some of which reached upwards of 40,000' (13,000mts.).
But its the friends and family back home that really made the trip. So first of all, thanks Marina for letting me tear apart your apartment (although it wasn't TOTALLY my fault, I definitely was the catalyst), thanks Steele for letting me stay in the mansion, thanks Rolo for getting the Subie to its finally resting place - RIP and also to Cal for that super welcome back Turkish dinner, thanks Super Dave for two awesome outings on the sailboat and for always being there for me, thanks Bob and Leslie for the great day of boating on my childhood Lake Piru in Ventura County and finally a specially thanks to my very own Mom; for all your hospitality and for simply putting up with me for all these years. I could go on and on because I'm very thankful to a whole lot more of wonderful people but am also glad to be back home here in Argentina. Pura vida como siempre... and now its time to get to work. Stay tuned - Goyo.
Monday, May 08, 2006
C A L I F O R N I A (que viva)
Back in San Francisco, California - what a beautiful city, but only for three more hecticly short days. And its been non-stop loconess since arrival last Tuesday morning, mostly catching up with old friends. Oddly, I don't miss this city, or Oakland or Berkeley or the Bay Area, not as a place to work and sweat in, but I didn't realize how much I miss all of these great people that I'm proud to call my friends. And I'm realizing how much I really do love the Bay Area, especially with the chill day at Lake Anza yesterday in Tilden Park in the Berkeley Hills (thanks Fletch and Anlie for making that happen).
But is started out with some Tequila, some tough guy shit and then a out-of-nowhere sleeper choke hold that put Cal Santos on the ground (video on the way). That was in lieu of the fight that was scheduled up in Humboldt which was canceled with two days to go. The next night was dinner for almost 30 people, upstairs at this Turkish joint in the Tenderloin called A La Turca. Tons of food and great people - that's what life is about. Thanks to each and every one of you that made it out, seriously. Then next door to some new place that used to be called Julip but is now Whisky Theives. It gets blurry from there and has been for most of the time - whirl-winding around, parks, picnics, kids, dinners, drinks, omelets, and a lot of laughs; which has actually been very painful since the go-karting accident nearly a week ago back in Buenos Aires where I cracked a couple of ribs smacking into the wall. So the better the night, the more laughter that ensues, the worse my ribs hurt the next morning, reminding me that we have been having a real good time. TBC
But is started out with some Tequila, some tough guy shit and then a out-of-nowhere sleeper choke hold that put Cal Santos on the ground (video on the way). That was in lieu of the fight that was scheduled up in Humboldt which was canceled with two days to go. The next night was dinner for almost 30 people, upstairs at this Turkish joint in the Tenderloin called A La Turca. Tons of food and great people - that's what life is about. Thanks to each and every one of you that made it out, seriously. Then next door to some new place that used to be called Julip but is now Whisky Theives. It gets blurry from there and has been for most of the time - whirl-winding around, parks, picnics, kids, dinners, drinks, omelets, and a lot of laughs; which has actually been very painful since the go-karting accident nearly a week ago back in Buenos Aires where I cracked a couple of ribs smacking into the wall. So the better the night, the more laughter that ensues, the worse my ribs hurt the next morning, reminding me that we have been having a real good time. TBC
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Time slips into the future
Cruisin' across the city to the other end of town, to Palermo, to have a Friday night group dinner at the Armenian Cultural Center, I notice the blanket flashes of lightning way down the street up towards the North. Summer has passed and when we exit the restaurant a few hours later, stuffed beyond belief - top notch food served in an auditorium family style - its rainy; steadily and warmly, a refreshingly humid rain.
Ethan and I both fly out of BA on Monday, both through Miami - the gateway to Latin America. He's headed on to NYC and I go back for two weeks to see friends and family in California before heading back to Buenos Aires in mid May. But I must say, the three day road trip while back home from May 5-7 to Humboldt County, Eureka to be more specific, to see my ex-roommate, ex-boss, ex-navy disordinance diver (READ - trained with the SEALS) and close, close friend step into the Octagon Cage for his first professional Mixed Martial Arts fighting debut, is really what I'm looking forward to. It's like the Super Dave story, an ongoing saga that's part of a larger syndrome. I've shot one fight story before (http://www.grphoto.net/cgi-bin/ICPro/showThumb.cgi?group=ufc_fight_club) and it left a definite impression in my mind when the guy I was covering lost. But FLETCHMONSTER is at the peak of his physical fight career and has what it takes upstairs to win. (You can read more about his preparation for his fight next weekend on his blog www.fletchmonster.blogspot.com or by clicking on the FletchMonster link at the top right link section of this blog.) We all wish you zen concentration and Master Ninja Warrior strength as you take this guy out!
Meanwhile, back in Buenos Aires my favorite expression in Spanish, or Castellano as it is pronounced here, still is 'es diferente', because Argentina really is different, even today after six months. And I still love it... a city that is alive, full of talk and walk and sit and listen and learn and to be alive. My other favorite expression, especially with my brethren taxi drivers is 'Nosotros tenemos plata sin vida y Uds. tienen vida sin plata', which roughly translates to 'We have money and no life and you have life with no money', which in many aspects is true. Consumerism naturally consumes North America, the United States, us, who we call Americans. But when you don't have any money, those choices don't exist, and you're forced to focus on other things... like your family and your friends and drinking mate in the park (which is about the cheapest thing in the world to do) and enjoying the weather - watching summer leave and to welcome the fall.
Ethan and I both fly out of BA on Monday, both through Miami - the gateway to Latin America. He's headed on to NYC and I go back for two weeks to see friends and family in California before heading back to Buenos Aires in mid May. But I must say, the three day road trip while back home from May 5-7 to Humboldt County, Eureka to be more specific, to see my ex-roommate, ex-boss, ex-navy disordinance diver (READ - trained with the SEALS) and close, close friend step into the Octagon Cage for his first professional Mixed Martial Arts fighting debut, is really what I'm looking forward to. It's like the Super Dave story, an ongoing saga that's part of a larger syndrome. I've shot one fight story before (http://www.grphoto.net/cgi-bin/ICPro/showThumb.cgi?group=ufc_fight_club) and it left a definite impression in my mind when the guy I was covering lost. But FLETCHMONSTER is at the peak of his physical fight career and has what it takes upstairs to win. (You can read more about his preparation for his fight next weekend on his blog www.fletchmonster.blogspot.com or by clicking on the FletchMonster link at the top right link section of this blog.) We all wish you zen concentration and Master Ninja Warrior strength as you take this guy out!
Meanwhile, back in Buenos Aires my favorite expression in Spanish, or Castellano as it is pronounced here, still is 'es diferente', because Argentina really is different, even today after six months. And I still love it... a city that is alive, full of talk and walk and sit and listen and learn and to be alive. My other favorite expression, especially with my brethren taxi drivers is 'Nosotros tenemos plata sin vida y Uds. tienen vida sin plata', which roughly translates to 'We have money and no life and you have life with no money', which in many aspects is true. Consumerism naturally consumes North America, the United States, us, who we call Americans. But when you don't have any money, those choices don't exist, and you're forced to focus on other things... like your family and your friends and drinking mate in the park (which is about the cheapest thing in the world to do) and enjoying the weather - watching summer leave and to welcome the fall.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Easter & Empanadas
I'd like to write an entire piece on Empanadas but as bedtime draws near, I'll keep this brief. I LOVE EMPANADAS! (For those of you in the US of A, the closest thing to an empanada would be a 'hot pocket').
- they are CHEAP, especially here in Buenos Aires. If you can eat five, which is a stomach-full, you'll be setback about $1.70 USD).
- they are YUMMY, and come in more flavors than you can imagine; including Meat (in three varieties - suave, picante & 'squared'), chicken, ham & cheese... and a bunch of others. But those are the three main ones, no need to stray further
- did I say CHEAP?
- Delivery. the place a block away will deliver and a $0.30 tip on a $3 USD order is 'above the norm'.
So, Easter in Bs As (as Buenos Aires as it is known locally) was a work weekend - Digital (Photography) Work Flow. But the empanadas were CRUCIAL to the weekend and we thank San Remo Pizzeria for their aid and for being open over the holiday weekend. Long Live Empanadas!
ps - and when you have empanadas for breakfast, lunch AND dinner on Easter Weekend you have to be SURE that you have enough toilet paper, cause that's CRITICAL! dios mio... ES DIFERENTE! (as Ethan heads to the bathroom at 3am with a double layer of plastic grocery bags and the empanadas rappers. "Should I write 'OJO' for the Cartoneros on this bag of trash?"
- they are CHEAP, especially here in Buenos Aires. If you can eat five, which is a stomach-full, you'll be setback about $1.70 USD).
- they are YUMMY, and come in more flavors than you can imagine; including Meat (in three varieties - suave, picante & 'squared'), chicken, ham & cheese... and a bunch of others. But those are the three main ones, no need to stray further
- did I say CHEAP?
- Delivery. the place a block away will deliver and a $0.30 tip on a $3 USD order is 'above the norm'.
So, Easter in Bs As (as Buenos Aires as it is known locally) was a work weekend - Digital (Photography) Work Flow. But the empanadas were CRUCIAL to the weekend and we thank San Remo Pizzeria for their aid and for being open over the holiday weekend. Long Live Empanadas!
ps - and when you have empanadas for breakfast, lunch AND dinner on Easter Weekend you have to be SURE that you have enough toilet paper, cause that's CRITICAL! dios mio... ES DIFERENTE! (as Ethan heads to the bathroom at 3am with a double layer of plastic grocery bags and the empanadas rappers. "Should I write 'OJO' for the Cartoneros on this bag of trash?"
Sunday, April 16, 2006
FletchMonster Gonna Kick Some ASS!!
All's I can post right now, after a straight eight hours of DWF (Digital Work Flow - for Digital Photographers) is GO FLETCH GO!
www.fletchmonster.blogspot.com
YEAH!!!
GR
www.fletchmonster.blogspot.com
YEAH!!!
GR
Monday, April 10, 2006
What I Been Doin'
(since this is all about ME!)
- I started taking pictures with my 1936 Leica III-C (on film, gasp!)
- I walked a long, long way in my same pair of black flip flops (today)
- I took as many taxis as buses in the past few weeks
- I kissed a sweaty Cartonero on the cheek (today)
- I kissed a girl on a crowded bus that I never thought I'd kiss again (today)
- I posed for a photo with a half-naked transvestite (ooh la la)
- I called MT on his birthday to wish him a happy 39th birthday (Happy Birthday Bro!)
- I stayed up all night
- I started smoking again (temporarily, maybe it had something to do with staying up all night?!)
- I worked a full EIGHT hour day (almost)
- I took pictures of a cute girl in a bikini sitting in a bunch of trash (today, with some Cartoneros)
- I won and lost at poker
- I finally made some business cards (first time in quite awhile)
- I authorized the replacement of my computer's hard drive (which sadly died)
- I confirmed my arrival to San Francisco for May 2nd (for a two week visit)
- I made coffee at home for the first time in weeks (today)
- I ate too much half-way decent guacamole (yesterday)
- I saw a lot of people picking through trash (always, I see)
- I learned two new words in slang for money (gita y tela)
- I conducted some business meetings
- I blogged about going to a mental hospital and never posted it (too difficult)
- I posted to my blog for the first time in awhile (today)
- I walked past Bar Britanico and realized it is still OPEN!
- I missed my friends and family in California
- I got stoked on my new job here in Bs As (or Baires as the locals call it)
- I drank too much soda pop
- I spent too much money (not on soda pop)
- I played an arcade rally driving game (today)
- I went to a mall (today)
- I ate at McDonald's for the first time in Argentina (today, at the mall)
- And finally (today) I realized (again) that life ain't soo bad!
- I started taking pictures with my 1936 Leica III-C (on film, gasp!)
- I walked a long, long way in my same pair of black flip flops (today)
- I took as many taxis as buses in the past few weeks
- I kissed a sweaty Cartonero on the cheek (today)
- I kissed a girl on a crowded bus that I never thought I'd kiss again (today)
- I posed for a photo with a half-naked transvestite (ooh la la)
- I called MT on his birthday to wish him a happy 39th birthday (Happy Birthday Bro!)
- I stayed up all night
- I started smoking again (temporarily, maybe it had something to do with staying up all night?!)
- I worked a full EIGHT hour day (almost)
- I took pictures of a cute girl in a bikini sitting in a bunch of trash (today, with some Cartoneros)
- I won and lost at poker
- I finally made some business cards (first time in quite awhile)
- I authorized the replacement of my computer's hard drive (which sadly died)
- I confirmed my arrival to San Francisco for May 2nd (for a two week visit)
- I made coffee at home for the first time in weeks (today)
- I ate too much half-way decent guacamole (yesterday)
- I saw a lot of people picking through trash (always, I see)
- I learned two new words in slang for money (gita y tela)
- I conducted some business meetings
- I blogged about going to a mental hospital and never posted it (too difficult)
- I posted to my blog for the first time in awhile (today)
- I walked past Bar Britanico and realized it is still OPEN!
- I missed my friends and family in California
- I got stoked on my new job here in Bs As (or Baires as the locals call it)
- I drank too much soda pop
- I spent too much money (not on soda pop)
- I played an arcade rally driving game (today)
- I went to a mall (today)
- I ate at McDonald's for the first time in Argentina (today, at the mall)
- And finally (today) I realized (again) that life ain't soo bad!
Friday, March 31, 2006
Save Bar Britanico or Immanent Death?
Perhaps the coolest bar in Buenos Aires for more unusual reasons than not, this 'not friendly enough for tourists' historic establishment has lost its lease and might be over as of tomorrow.From the grey cat that sleeps on the divider between the front and back portions to the four classic waiters in their white coats and with their stories, three of them over 70 years of age. From Manolo taking belches from a small clear bottle from behind the counter to Toni,
the 'sub editor' of the Buenos Aires Herald, passed out at whatever table he ended up at, Bar Britanico will be sadly missed.Someone named Claire wrote this great piece with links to the article in the Herald by Toni.
Good night, and good luck, and we hope that somehow, some way Bar Britanico, my favorite bar in all of Buenos Aires, will stay alive.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Boca Jrs. Futbol
So I finally made it to my first futbol game in Argentina, the second professional soccer game in my life; the first being between Rawstock and Leipzig in Eastern Germany about 12 years ago. That one ended in a huge riot between fans with German riot police toppling them with water canons from armoured plated crowd control assault vehicles.This game, Boca vs. Quilmes game played last Sunday at Boca Jrs. Stadium was, another cultural experience, to say the least. Arriving late with Edd, Marina, and Julia and Peter (ironically, a German couple), we found what appeared to be a decent spot in the popular section right out front. Across from us were groups of young boys climbing up the barb-wired fence to get a better view.
Little did we know that we were sitting directly beneath the opposing fans, also held back from another razor wire fence high above. But that didn't stop some of them from climbing over the high fence, risking their lives so they could then torture us perched safely from above. First, there was just spitting, nothing too serious. I think I caught a couple partial luggies, no harm no foul. Then, a 10lbs. bag of water came hurling down, missing me by inches and slammed into the guy in front of us, nearly knocking him to the ground, drenching his head and back. Overly paranoid at this point, I had no idea what to expect next. Suddenly there is a huge surge from the packed crowd, like at a concert when you feel yourself getting pushed along and you just go with it. I look up and see an uncircumcised youth, swinging his penis wildly back and forth, freely urinating on about 2,000 fans below.
After that we took shelter underneath the overhang with what turned out to be the unofficial Gringo section but what else can I say? I guess that's what the Brits mean when they say, 'taking the piss out on someone'.
Introducing... Ethan!
Most of you have met my new roommate, fellow photographer and good friend Ethan Salwen but for those of you that haven't, Ethan has been more than instrumental in areas including Digital Workflow (thanks for bringing down at least 15 different books on DWF and Photoshop CS2 including Fraser's latest), photo-mule, bringing down countless excess baggage of photo equipment and an all-around excellent source of photo information, not to mention being a great friend and mentor.Don't worry, I don't think the US Military will be leaving Iraq anytime soon, so I think you'll still get a chance to make it over there. Your pal Goyo.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Behind the Scenes of BA Fashion
Hair and makeup are essential to any fashion shoot.
And there's a lot of boredom involved... a lot of waiting.
The final touches before shooting for Italian clothing designer Miss Sixty.
And RTG - Ret To Go!Sunday, March 12, 2006
The End of the Line
When I returned the rental car back in Buenos Aires they told me that I had driven 3,600 kilometers (2,232 miles) in five days. Really? This was a problem because the rental agreement only allowed for 1,500 kms. But I was able to renegotiate the contract down to half of the original rate with double the free kilometers and then pay the diference for the extra kms. Dan and I both agree that the trip was epic, tremendous, a bit insane, but totally worth it. Dan's Stateside email simply said, "Your driving would make Neil Cassidy and Che proud."
The most powerful aspect of the road trip was my reconnection with Che Guevara. I had abondoned him after finding him back in college, when I took a course entititled "Guerilla Warfare," taught by Tom Davies, who along with Brian Loveman had translated Che's book by the same name into English. It was Tom and Che that inspired me to go to Central America to experience guerilla warfare first hand at age 22. During my third trip to Central America in less than two years, in El Salvador, amidst a twelve year bloody civil war that left more than 100,000 civilans dead, I shed my idealist revolutionary fervor. I had seen first hand that war was not the way, even though I still belive that people who are oppressed must stand up and fight against their oppressors. I realized that before I could help others and tell their stories, I had to take care of myself. So I took a cush job shooting fluffy travel videos around the world and never looked back. Now, after visisting Che's childhood home, my interest in Che'a idea about revolution and a how we make a better world have been reignited.
Che was killed by Mario Teràn, a Bolivian soldier, on October 9, 1967 in La Higuera, Bolivia. According to Teràn's confession, Teràn entered the school room where Che was being held captive. Tied up and sitting on the floor, Che looked up at the soldier and slowly said, "I know you are here to kill me." Trembeling, Teràn looked down at the floor. "Calm down, and aim well," Che told Teràn. "You are going to kill a man."
Teràn took one step back, closed his eyes and fired his automatic weapon, destroying Che's legs. Che began to contort and fell over, blood gushing from his body. Teràn regained his composure and fired again, this time blasting Che in the arm, the shoulder, and finally the heart. Ernesto 'Che' Guevara was dead.*
Today on the streets of Buenos Aires it feels like you can't walk one block with out being reminded of Che, the most famous Argentine ever. Within an hour I'll see a pregnant woman with a red Che T-shirt, a stencil on a wall that portrays Che as a woman, some young punk with a Che tatoo on his upper arm, and a pack of young teenage girls walking by giggling, "Che boluda...!" He remains entrenched in the national psyche of Argentina. A fallen hero, a God, a revolutionary, a man, but an Argentine through and through. An Argentine that stood up against oppression and said, "BASTA!" - Enough!
* From Pacho O'Donnell's 'Che - La Vida Por Un Mundo Mejor' or 'Che - A Life for a Better World'
The most powerful aspect of the road trip was my reconnection with Che Guevara. I had abondoned him after finding him back in college, when I took a course entititled "Guerilla Warfare," taught by Tom Davies, who along with Brian Loveman had translated Che's book by the same name into English. It was Tom and Che that inspired me to go to Central America to experience guerilla warfare first hand at age 22. During my third trip to Central America in less than two years, in El Salvador, amidst a twelve year bloody civil war that left more than 100,000 civilans dead, I shed my idealist revolutionary fervor. I had seen first hand that war was not the way, even though I still belive that people who are oppressed must stand up and fight against their oppressors. I realized that before I could help others and tell their stories, I had to take care of myself. So I took a cush job shooting fluffy travel videos around the world and never looked back. Now, after visisting Che's childhood home, my interest in Che'a idea about revolution and a how we make a better world have been reignited.
Che was killed by Mario Teràn, a Bolivian soldier, on October 9, 1967 in La Higuera, Bolivia. According to Teràn's confession, Teràn entered the school room where Che was being held captive. Tied up and sitting on the floor, Che looked up at the soldier and slowly said, "I know you are here to kill me." Trembeling, Teràn looked down at the floor. "Calm down, and aim well," Che told Teràn. "You are going to kill a man."
Teràn took one step back, closed his eyes and fired his automatic weapon, destroying Che's legs. Che began to contort and fell over, blood gushing from his body. Teràn regained his composure and fired again, this time blasting Che in the arm, the shoulder, and finally the heart. Ernesto 'Che' Guevara was dead.*
Today on the streets of Buenos Aires it feels like you can't walk one block with out being reminded of Che, the most famous Argentine ever. Within an hour I'll see a pregnant woman with a red Che T-shirt, a stencil on a wall that portrays Che as a woman, some young punk with a Che tatoo on his upper arm, and a pack of young teenage girls walking by giggling, "Che boluda...!" He remains entrenched in the national psyche of Argentina. A fallen hero, a God, a revolutionary, a man, but an Argentine through and through. An Argentine that stood up against oppression and said, "BASTA!" - Enough!
* From Pacho O'Donnell's 'Che - La Vida Por Un Mundo Mejor' or 'Che - A Life for a Better World'
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
On the Road Again
San Luis, Argentina
Checked into a hotel in Mendoza and finally took a solid three hour super power nap. Flipping through the channels after awakening I catch a piece of news from BA saying that the US military is going to attack Iran if some agreement can't be reached over their nuke program. Great. Then I get caught up in some bad b-movie with Charlie Sheen (although the credits say Charles) where he gets firefighter of the year and then proceeds to terrorize this idyllic American family next door.
That night I decided to follow the example of my new boss and eat well for a change asking around Mendoza for the best meal in town. All fingers pointed to Estancia La Florencia and I thoroughly enjoyed the cream of asparaguss soup, simple salad with lettuce, tomato and egg and then the grilled salmon from Chile with whole potatoes. A bottle of Quilmes cerveza and a glass of Cabernet to complement the meal and the grand total was a mere $43 pesos ($15 USD). And that's as good as it gets.
One of many 'Difunta Correa' shrines alongside Argentina's highways, protecting travellers on their journeys.
Finally got on the road this morning at 9:00AM after getting lost for about an hour leaving the city of Mendoza. And after two hours of solid driving I get stopped and busted... for not driving with my headlights on. So the cop tells me that its a $55 peso fine and I tell him I don't have it. "No, no... not now. You can pay later when you get to Buenos Aires," he says. "Isn't there some way we could make an exception this time? I honestly thought I had to drive with my lights on only in the parts where it says 'turn your lights on'." I reply. Basically he asked me how much I could offer for the exception and I told him $20 pesos. He accepted and then we went through the official 'bribe' protocol (thanks for schoolin' me on that one Dan). He hands me back my license and I fold the bill and put it behind my license and hand it back to him. He slips the bill from behind my license and pockets it and then hands the license back to me, advising me not to forget to turn my lights on after refueling.
Now I'm still more than 800 K from BA but when you drive at an average of 150 km/hr it takes a lot less than people estimate.
I was hearing anywhere from 10 - 16 hours of driving from Mendoza. Tomorrow I have to be at the airport bright and early to pick up fellow photographer Ethan Salwen from NYC. Ethan and I are joining photographic forces and have a two month Digital Work Flow (DWF) and Digital Asset Management (DAM) bootcamp in the works. Wish us luck - we need it.
Checked into a hotel in Mendoza and finally took a solid three hour super power nap. Flipping through the channels after awakening I catch a piece of news from BA saying that the US military is going to attack Iran if some agreement can't be reached over their nuke program. Great. Then I get caught up in some bad b-movie with Charlie Sheen (although the credits say Charles) where he gets firefighter of the year and then proceeds to terrorize this idyllic American family next door.
That night I decided to follow the example of my new boss and eat well for a change asking around Mendoza for the best meal in town. All fingers pointed to Estancia La Florencia and I thoroughly enjoyed the cream of asparaguss soup, simple salad with lettuce, tomato and egg and then the grilled salmon from Chile with whole potatoes. A bottle of Quilmes cerveza and a glass of Cabernet to complement the meal and the grand total was a mere $43 pesos ($15 USD). And that's as good as it gets.
One of many 'Difunta Correa' shrines alongside Argentina's highways, protecting travellers on their journeys.Finally got on the road this morning at 9:00AM after getting lost for about an hour leaving the city of Mendoza. And after two hours of solid driving I get stopped and busted... for not driving with my headlights on. So the cop tells me that its a $55 peso fine and I tell him I don't have it. "No, no... not now. You can pay later when you get to Buenos Aires," he says. "Isn't there some way we could make an exception this time? I honestly thought I had to drive with my lights on only in the parts where it says 'turn your lights on'." I reply. Basically he asked me how much I could offer for the exception and I told him $20 pesos. He accepted and then we went through the official 'bribe' protocol (thanks for schoolin' me on that one Dan). He hands me back my license and I fold the bill and put it behind my license and hand it back to him. He slips the bill from behind my license and pockets it and then hands the license back to me, advising me not to forget to turn my lights on after refueling.
Now I'm still more than 800 K from BA but when you drive at an average of 150 km/hr it takes a lot less than people estimate.
I was hearing anywhere from 10 - 16 hours of driving from Mendoza. Tomorrow I have to be at the airport bright and early to pick up fellow photographer Ethan Salwen from NYC. Ethan and I are joining photographic forces and have a two month Digital Work Flow (DWF) and Digital Asset Management (DAM) bootcamp in the works. Wish us luck - we need it.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Road Trippin´
Waking up this morning to a pitch black sky chalked full of never-ending stars at 6:00AM after a restless night of not sleeping well in the rental car in a dirt parking lot high up in the Andes mountains was nothing less than miraculous. Unconscious National Park - trailhead to the highest peak outside of the Himalayas is just a dirt road off of the highway which divides Argentina and Chile. I failed in my attempt to drive the rental car into Chile and to drop Dan at the airport in Santiago so I dropped him on top of the Andes at 10,000' above sea level and we said our goodbyes.
And what a road TRIP it has been. Now I'm in Mendoza in a cyber cafe where the owner just told me that two guys tried to steal my camera while I was sitting here staring at the screen instead of paying attention like I normally do. Damn, another close one. Got to get some sleep but its 11AM and there's now way to catch some zzz's in the car - too compact. But I don't think I'll make it too far down the road but yet I must be back in Buenos Aires by tomorrow. At the end of this 5 day extravaganza I will have driven over 1,500 miles includingscarycarry dirt roads, major mountain climbing and descending and some good times.
Photo by Dan P.
And Ramiro*, I admit to losing the bet with you that I would be able to drive the rental car into Chile gringo-style and IOU two weeks of my time unplugged even though I 'technically' did cross into Chile with the car... maybe we go somewhere on bici o en canoa?!
* - And during this whole late night bet-making process I agreed to read and then publish this part of an email from Ramiro. This is for you, amigo.
- Es Fundamental "el tiempo para uno", con lo cual hay que laburar menos.
- Esto no quiere decir hecharse y abandonar los suenos.
- Es Todo lo contrario.
- Es lucirce como especie.-
... entonces, que tal esta idea?:
- Producir en el norte y vivir y disfrutar en el sur.
Cuya evolucion seria...:
- Producir en el norte pero viviendo en el sur,
... y seguir viviendo y disfrutando en el sur.
And what a road TRIP it has been. Now I'm in Mendoza in a cyber cafe where the owner just told me that two guys tried to steal my camera while I was sitting here staring at the screen instead of paying attention like I normally do. Damn, another close one. Got to get some sleep but its 11AM and there's now way to catch some zzz's in the car - too compact. But I don't think I'll make it too far down the road but yet I must be back in Buenos Aires by tomorrow. At the end of this 5 day extravaganza I will have driven over 1,500 miles includingscarycarry dirt roads, major mountain climbing and descending and some good times.Photo by Dan P.
And Ramiro*, I admit to losing the bet with you that I would be able to drive the rental car into Chile gringo-style and IOU two weeks of my time unplugged even though I 'technically' did cross into Chile with the car... maybe we go somewhere on bici o en canoa?!
* - And during this whole late night bet-making process I agreed to read and then publish this part of an email from Ramiro. This is for you, amigo.
- Es Fundamental "el tiempo para uno", con lo cual hay que laburar menos.
- Esto no quiere decir hecharse y abandonar los suenos.
- Es Todo lo contrario.
- Es lucirce como especie.-
... entonces, que tal esta idea?:
- Producir en el norte y vivir y disfrutar en el sur.
Cuya evolucion seria...:
- Producir en el norte pero viviendo en el sur,
... y seguir viviendo y disfrutando en el sur.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
King David and Finding Che
The phone rings and I answer it. "What the hell are you doing in Buenos Aires?" I have no idea who is on the other end until the stern but friendly voice identifies himself as Dan, an old publisher friend from way back. "You want to have lunch with me in half an hour? I'm at the Faena Hotel," he asks. Almost broke and with plenty of time on my hands I oblidge.The next 48 hours are a total blur... talks of wine, women and war, fireworks, Olsen, business plans on napkins, Tango and rental car mafia/wedding planners giving us the skinny on what's naught in BA. And then we hit the road.
We arrived at Che's house in Alta Gracia, a quiet suburban neighborhood thirty minutes outside of Cordoba at six o'clock in the morning after driving all night in a torrentialt rainstorm - dangerous driving, the kind of driving that takes people out. There's his motorized bicycle that he circumnavigated Argentina on, the last letter he wrote to his parents shortly before he was killed in Bolivia and some random neighborhood photos portraying him as an average upper-middle class citizen. But Che was an idealist with a big ego. Che's victory in Cuba was relatively easy and then he proceeded to loose all of his other revolutionary attempts. A sufferer of his own dogma, he was unable to see beyond the reality of his political ideas and waged a one-man war against everyone who was not on his side.Checking into the King David hotel in Cordoba capital some 30 hours after we started our journey, I could not keep my eyes open any longer. Che would have slept in the bush outside of the capital, today we have capital and no need for BUSH - BASTA... y `Hasta la victoria siempre!'
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Stencil in La Boca
La Boca is like the West Oakland of Buenos Aires and I feel right at home now. Lots has changed in the past 24 hours... and I still love Buenos Aires! Hope to see all my friends back home on International Workers Day - May 1, 2006. Love GR (BIG Cinco de Mayo party in SF, yeah?)
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Fluid Motion
I finally stepped outside today for the first time at 7:30PM and the sky was dripping with color. Of course I didn't have my camera with me on the way to the cinema but that's not the point. But that IS the point. I came to Argentina to make photographs and I've ventured or strayed far from that goal. Sure I snap a few frames here and there and yeah, we've done some cool stuff with the trash collectors called Cartoneros but the things I see on a daily basis; the little vinegettes, the street scenes, the people, the light... the life that is Buenos Aires, that's what I'm neglecting.
So caught up with living in a foreign country that I've grown accustomed, tired, complacent and bored with pictures of my daily life. Like the buses... I LOVE the buses here, crowded, confusing and crazy-insane at times. But I don't shoot them from the inside. I'm also starting to believe the hype about how dangerous it is to walk around with my camera... "yeah, better leave it at home today, much safer," I tell myself.
And its carnival en Rio right now, Fashion week here in BA as well as the XII Tango festival and I'm in front of my computer getting pschyo emails from Samantha saying, "Hi, I'm not really Samantha that's been writing to you but a friend of her's blah blah blah..." WHAT?! I mean it's really too much at times.
But tomorrow is a new day and I've cleared all my CF cards to go back out and shoot... something, ANYTHING! Good night good luck (which I saw tonight and was just OK at best. It looked good on the big screen in B&W and all but fell short in the writing and plot. Also its critique of television and its political impact were lackluster at best. Yes it was entertaining but a bit boring as well).
So caught up with living in a foreign country that I've grown accustomed, tired, complacent and bored with pictures of my daily life. Like the buses... I LOVE the buses here, crowded, confusing and crazy-insane at times. But I don't shoot them from the inside. I'm also starting to believe the hype about how dangerous it is to walk around with my camera... "yeah, better leave it at home today, much safer," I tell myself.And its carnival en Rio right now, Fashion week here in BA as well as the XII Tango festival and I'm in front of my computer getting pschyo emails from Samantha saying, "Hi, I'm not really Samantha that's been writing to you but a friend of her's blah blah blah..." WHAT?! I mean it's really too much at times.
But tomorrow is a new day and I've cleared all my CF cards to go back out and shoot... something, ANYTHING! Good night good luck (which I saw tonight and was just OK at best. It looked good on the big screen in B&W and all but fell short in the writing and plot. Also its critique of television and its political impact were lackluster at best. Yes it was entertaining but a bit boring as well).
Saturday, February 25, 2006
CHAU ARNAUD
"I look like a PUTO!" said Arnaud after I sent him downstairs for his makeup for the shoot. That's the thing about makeup, and fashion. They both lie, just like Argentines.
Everybody Loves Arnaud
So many changes in so little time, the biggest being that my friend and roommate Arnaud has now gone back to Europe, first to France and then back to Switzerland to finish his Telecommunication Engineering degree. No more will I be able to walk down the streets of Buenos Aires and here, "Ahh... Club Med, did you know they are a French company?" Or, "Let's go to Carefour supermarket... it's the biggest one in the world and its FRENCH!"
Seriously, Arnaud has to be one of if not THE coolest french dude I've met in quite some time. With only 23 very young years, he taught me more about life, my Macintosh and the French way with woman than most. ('The more you pursue women, the less they will follow... the less you pursue, the more they will follow', or something like that.) 
Arnaud also boldly stuck his neck out for me and was there on every single one of my photoshoots with the Cartoneros, helping me with everything from posing as my very first model (which included being sent downstairs to the local haircutting salon to be made up something like David Bowie from Ziggy Stardust) to helping scout locations to wrangling Cartoneros to critiquing my composition and lighting. THANKS ARNAUD, seriously. I know our paths will cross again and on behalf of myself and all of your friends here in Buenos Aires, we will miss you. GR
Thursday, February 16, 2006
For the Love of Tango and Good Food
So what ever happened with Samantha? Well... it’s complicated. After the turbulent ups and downs of December and before I left for Punta del Este and then to the north in January, I told her straight up, “Samantha, I will always love you and have a place in my heart for you, but this game of ‘hysteria’ (one of three choices for the national pastime here in Argentina(1) ), I just can not support any longer (thanks for that phrase in Spanish Julia – No lo soporto mas!) I had finally come to the realization that it wasn’t going to work no matter what I did and that maybe I had fallen in love with Tango and Argentina instead of her. She had set a course of irreconcilable differences between the two of us and no matter how hard I pursued her she was always just out of reach. Following her all over town until the wee hours of the morning, sitting and watching her dance the night away all the while becoming more angry and frustrated and loco en la cabeza was taking its toll on me both physically and mentally. And after I finally decided that I wasn’t in love with her anymore and that I was going to put my foot down and be strong she came back with a vengeance. “No, but I really do love you and want to be with you.” But by that time it was simply too late.And that’s about where we are today. I call her occasionally asking if she would like to get a coffee (even though she won’t drink anything but grapefruit soda) and then have to listen for usually more than an hour about what a liar I am (2) and how I never really loved her in the first place and how I am just like all of her other ex-boyfriends. Ironically when I called her last Friday to apologize for not having called her sooner she yelled and then cried and then invited me to her ex-boyfriends birthday party, which I had to decline. I also find it very hard to believe how she doesn’t understand why I don’t call her too often anymore.
So in the meanwhile I’ve diverted my romantic interests away from the world of Tango and Samantha and have taken up cooking classes, specifically my cooking instructor Marina. The joke between us is that if I want to continue with my French cooking lessons I have to cut the number of girlfriends I have down from fifteen down to five – that’s why 'It’s a JOKE’!
1 My favorite topic of conversation with Argentine cab drivers is women. Once we get past the small talk of where I am from and yes I like Argentina very much and thanks for the compliment but I think I can more communicate in Spanish than speak correctly and I understand how hard their job is because I used to be a cab driver and yes we earned much more in the US than here but its also much more expensive to live there, they always ask or I always volunteer something to the effect of – ‘and the women here, so beautiful.’ They are nothing less than brutal
2 Mentir = To Lie. The best way to explain the Argentine concept of lying is to use the national card game of Truco as an analogy (TBC).
Monday, February 13, 2006
Speaking of Water
It’s a recurring theme in my life here in Buenos Aires – water. First, you must drink a lot of water in order to stay healthy, happy and sane. Some say a liter a day, others two or maybe even more (1). The good news is that you (me, or most all except for the most finicky of foreigners) can drink plain ole Argentine tap water. I’m drinking tap water right now as I write this in fact.
Also there is the concept of hot water to bathe in, something that isn’t as simple as it might sound. In older homes here in Buenos Aires the plumbing is a bit different than we have back in the states or maybe in Europe. Instead of hot water tanks they use hot water heaters, a big medieval sort of device usually on the wall in the kitchen or next to the bathroom. When the hot water handle is turned to the on position flames ignite from below and then it heats the water on demand. But as soon as you turn the cold on, it thinks that you are done with the hot water and turns its self off. In the case of a house with older plumbing, the length of the pipes has more control over the temperature of the water than you do (2).
‘They come for the water’ is another one of my favorite themes. In short (and this is purely speculative at this point for lack of time to do further research) major multinational corporations are buying up all of the land in the arid Chaco desert in the northeast of Argentina, host to the largest reserve of fresh underground water in the world.
And then, for example, there are the shrines of water to La Difunta Correa (3) that you see along side of all major highways here in Argentina. She is ‘almost’ a saint, protecting traveling Argentines and they pay homage to her by leaving full bottles of water for her along side the road. Word has it that applications have been submitted to the Vatican to have her become a full fledged and official saint but I’m really not to sure on how this process works. Apparently they are waiting to see if the miracles that she has performed from her grave come true (4).
1 – Lars from Norway who I met up in Barreal and is a professional mountain climbing guide told me that as you ascend big mountains you must drink one extra liter of water per ever thousands meters. At the top of Mercedario which I had intended to attempt to climb in a mere two weeks that is almost seven liters of water per day, which he then said is almost impossible. Flavoring the water with something like powdered Gatorade is key.
2 - For those of you that don’t know I moved last week from Piso Compartido into a much more modern and more functional apartment with Arnaud, the French guy who now lives in Switzerland. For the same price I now get remote control AC (which most Argentines can’t believe that we don’t have in the states), a double wide balcony, a telephone which allows me to call out to cell phones, a brand new and CLEAN kitchen AND a shower which not only has rock star pressure perfectly controlled HOT water! And to further digress, Lee who still lives in Piso Compartido told us last night during our weekly photo crew dinner that he actually burned his head in the shower last week and then had to stand under the cold water for another five minutes to cool it off. My solution, in case you were wondering how I managed to not burn my head for more than two months was to simply take cold showers. Actually I would jump in as the water temperature was rising to hot and then jump back out as to not completely scald myself and then do the final rinse in cold water.
3 – Named after Dolinda Correa, the story begins to differ from there. My favorite version albeit short is this. Dolinda’s husband way back in Argentina history was sent off to fight against some invading forces (or perhaps amongst internal warring factions) in the northern province of La Rioja and when he didn’t return home after some spell of time, Dolinda and her small baby set out to look for him, carrying as much food and water as she could. Leaving the city of San Juan on foot, she encountered a harsh barren desert and shortly thereafter met her demise. Some days later (some say a few, others up to a month) some renegade gauchos (or some type of undefined cowboys) found her dead (difunta in Spanish) but miraculously the baby boy was still alive, sucking on her breast. Danny Palmerlee’s Lonely Planet description is more accurate and more eloquently written than mine so for more information refer to page 314 of the 5th edition 2005 Lonely Planet Argentina country guide.
4 – Ironically I met the son of the lawyer for the Vatican yesterday on Avenida Santa Fe. Tommy told me ‘that guy’s got a LOT of money!’
Also there is the concept of hot water to bathe in, something that isn’t as simple as it might sound. In older homes here in Buenos Aires the plumbing is a bit different than we have back in the states or maybe in Europe. Instead of hot water tanks they use hot water heaters, a big medieval sort of device usually on the wall in the kitchen or next to the bathroom. When the hot water handle is turned to the on position flames ignite from below and then it heats the water on demand. But as soon as you turn the cold on, it thinks that you are done with the hot water and turns its self off. In the case of a house with older plumbing, the length of the pipes has more control over the temperature of the water than you do (2).
‘They come for the water’ is another one of my favorite themes. In short (and this is purely speculative at this point for lack of time to do further research) major multinational corporations are buying up all of the land in the arid Chaco desert in the northeast of Argentina, host to the largest reserve of fresh underground water in the world.
And then, for example, there are the shrines of water to La Difunta Correa (3) that you see along side of all major highways here in Argentina. She is ‘almost’ a saint, protecting traveling Argentines and they pay homage to her by leaving full bottles of water for her along side the road. Word has it that applications have been submitted to the Vatican to have her become a full fledged and official saint but I’m really not to sure on how this process works. Apparently they are waiting to see if the miracles that she has performed from her grave come true (4).
1 – Lars from Norway who I met up in Barreal and is a professional mountain climbing guide told me that as you ascend big mountains you must drink one extra liter of water per ever thousands meters. At the top of Mercedario which I had intended to attempt to climb in a mere two weeks that is almost seven liters of water per day, which he then said is almost impossible. Flavoring the water with something like powdered Gatorade is key.
2 - For those of you that don’t know I moved last week from Piso Compartido into a much more modern and more functional apartment with Arnaud, the French guy who now lives in Switzerland. For the same price I now get remote control AC (which most Argentines can’t believe that we don’t have in the states), a double wide balcony, a telephone which allows me to call out to cell phones, a brand new and CLEAN kitchen AND a shower which not only has rock star pressure perfectly controlled HOT water! And to further digress, Lee who still lives in Piso Compartido told us last night during our weekly photo crew dinner that he actually burned his head in the shower last week and then had to stand under the cold water for another five minutes to cool it off. My solution, in case you were wondering how I managed to not burn my head for more than two months was to simply take cold showers. Actually I would jump in as the water temperature was rising to hot and then jump back out as to not completely scald myself and then do the final rinse in cold water.
3 – Named after Dolinda Correa, the story begins to differ from there. My favorite version albeit short is this. Dolinda’s husband way back in Argentina history was sent off to fight against some invading forces (or perhaps amongst internal warring factions) in the northern province of La Rioja and when he didn’t return home after some spell of time, Dolinda and her small baby set out to look for him, carrying as much food and water as she could. Leaving the city of San Juan on foot, she encountered a harsh barren desert and shortly thereafter met her demise. Some days later (some say a few, others up to a month) some renegade gauchos (or some type of undefined cowboys) found her dead (difunta in Spanish) but miraculously the baby boy was still alive, sucking on her breast. Danny Palmerlee’s Lonely Planet description is more accurate and more eloquently written than mine so for more information refer to page 314 of the 5th edition 2005 Lonely Planet Argentina country guide.
4 – Ironically I met the son of the lawyer for the Vatican yesterday on Avenida Santa Fe. Tommy told me ‘that guy’s got a LOT of money!’
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Disjointed Rants
We want your water
Stenciled on the side of one of the yellow concrete benches across the street in Parque Lezama is 'They come for THE WATER' in bright blue paint with a big US tank below.
Once we stop fighting and profiting over petroleum in the name of freedom and democracy (and isn't it ironic that amidst soaring gasoline prices state-side, a dirty war in Iraq and an increased US Military presence here in Latin America, Texas-based Exxon announced the highest profit ever by a US corporation - 32 Billion for 2005... read the British account here). After there are no more fossil fuels we'll fight over plain 'ole water, just like Mandrake thought of the Ruskies in Kubrick's 'Dr. Strangelove, or How I Tried to Stop the Bomb and Save the World'.
Now we're cooking
Live better, be happier, EAT healthier. I've been culinarily inspired and have renewed my interest in becoming a good little gourmet foodie like most of those privileged friends of mine that actually take/make the time to shop/cook/eat well. And I've met a few folks down here that are on that same program, independent of budget or resources. My chilaquiles were a hit with the flat (thanks again mew mew and Dave for bringing all of the Trader joy's tortillas). Now I have to make my own corn tortillas from scratch. The guacamole has also been very well received, never lasting more than about 20 minutes in the bowl when set on the table with freshly fried torridly chips. (And to me its funny to come all the way to Argentina and want to cook only Mexican food where you can't get a lot of the basic Mexican ingredients). Finally there is the its-all-you-Marina summer salad - fresh corn, tomtatos, peas, hard boiled eggs and some sauce. Simple, refreshing, healthy and DYN-O-MITE!
Who's your daddy?
No longer do I have the luxury of being called Papa or Papi in reference to my age compared to the rest of the European kids in our Real World flat, minus Lee who is 33 and Australian-American. Now they call me Abu - short for Abuelo which in Spanish means grandfather. But the way I see it is that you have 40 prime years to live full-on and they are between 20 and 60. Before 20 you are still young, innocent, growing. After 60 you move a bit slower perhaps, take it a bit easier, enjoy life with a new perspective. You begin to slow down... or at least most seem to. And at 38 years of age I am just a mere two years shy of my prime mid-life peak. And... "its never too late to have a happy childhood," or at least that's what SDSU Political Science professor Jack Soule once told me after our trip to Nicaragua in 1990.
I want to be President of Argentina!
Incidentally, the top three contenders for next years presidential election is something straight out of central casting.
1. - Nestor Kirchner, the current president, probably the front runner and perhaps Argentina's best hope for staying course, he is a left-of-center moderate with the majority control of the Peronistas labor-based party of fifty years ago.
2. - Carlos Menem, ex-president who is usually seen as the main culprit for the 2001 economic melt-down by most Argentines, he currently lives in a lavish security mega-compound out-fitted with private paved runway long enough to land a 747 in one of the poorest provinces where he was once governer - La Rioja. (Before the demise of his presidency he was reportedly secretly funding the construction of his future hideout with government funds under the guise of 'donations and contributions from foreign private investors).
3. - Eduardo Dualde, another ex-president who currently lives in Lomas de Zamora six train stops from here to the South. Many say that he is the kingpin of the South American drug trade and was attributed to the murder of a local photographer only a few years back. But he also maintains a position in the Argentine political limelight controlling a small and dwindling portion of congress and see by many in the Provinces as a hero for his public works programs.
For more on this there's a decent article in The Economist
Stenciled on the side of one of the yellow concrete benches across the street in Parque Lezama is 'They come for THE WATER' in bright blue paint with a big US tank below.
Once we stop fighting and profiting over petroleum in the name of freedom and democracy (and isn't it ironic that amidst soaring gasoline prices state-side, a dirty war in Iraq and an increased US Military presence here in Latin America, Texas-based Exxon announced the highest profit ever by a US corporation - 32 Billion for 2005... read the British account here). After there are no more fossil fuels we'll fight over plain 'ole water, just like Mandrake thought of the Ruskies in Kubrick's 'Dr. Strangelove, or How I Tried to Stop the Bomb and Save the World'.Now we're cooking
Live better, be happier, EAT healthier. I've been culinarily inspired and have renewed my interest in becoming a good little gourmet foodie like most of those privileged friends of mine that actually take/make the time to shop/cook/eat well. And I've met a few folks down here that are on that same program, independent of budget or resources. My chilaquiles were a hit with the flat (thanks again mew mew and Dave for bringing all of the Trader joy's tortillas). Now I have to make my own corn tortillas from scratch. The guacamole has also been very well received, never lasting more than about 20 minutes in the bowl when set on the table with freshly fried torridly chips. (And to me its funny to come all the way to Argentina and want to cook only Mexican food where you can't get a lot of the basic Mexican ingredients). Finally there is the its-all-you-Marina summer salad - fresh corn, tomtatos, peas, hard boiled eggs and some sauce. Simple, refreshing, healthy and DYN-O-MITE!
Who's your daddy?
No longer do I have the luxury of being called Papa or Papi in reference to my age compared to the rest of the European kids in our Real World flat, minus Lee who is 33 and Australian-American. Now they call me Abu - short for Abuelo which in Spanish means grandfather. But the way I see it is that you have 40 prime years to live full-on and they are between 20 and 60. Before 20 you are still young, innocent, growing. After 60 you move a bit slower perhaps, take it a bit easier, enjoy life with a new perspective. You begin to slow down... or at least most seem to. And at 38 years of age I am just a mere two years shy of my prime mid-life peak. And... "its never too late to have a happy childhood," or at least that's what SDSU Political Science professor Jack Soule once told me after our trip to Nicaragua in 1990.
I want to be President of Argentina!
Incidentally, the top three contenders for next years presidential election is something straight out of central casting.
1. - Nestor Kirchner, the current president, probably the front runner and perhaps Argentina's best hope for staying course, he is a left-of-center moderate with the majority control of the Peronistas labor-based party of fifty years ago.
2. - Carlos Menem, ex-president who is usually seen as the main culprit for the 2001 economic melt-down by most Argentines, he currently lives in a lavish security mega-compound out-fitted with private paved runway long enough to land a 747 in one of the poorest provinces where he was once governer - La Rioja. (Before the demise of his presidency he was reportedly secretly funding the construction of his future hideout with government funds under the guise of 'donations and contributions from foreign private investors).
3. - Eduardo Dualde, another ex-president who currently lives in Lomas de Zamora six train stops from here to the South. Many say that he is the kingpin of the South American drug trade and was attributed to the murder of a local photographer only a few years back. But he also maintains a position in the Argentine political limelight controlling a small and dwindling portion of congress and see by many in the Provinces as a hero for his public works programs.
For more on this there's a decent article in The Economist
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Those spiteful flying rats!?
OK - Buenos Aires has a shitload of pigeons, more than most large cities I would say. But I haven't done any specific research to suggest any support for this. Frankly... I can't stand pigeons. Unless you are a four year old kid enamoured by the fact that a real live bird is actually so very close to you, so close that you can almost catch it but everytime you take another step forward, first walking and then running, they always takes flight just out of your reach, I don't know a lot of people that like pigeons. Here in San Telmo we have 15 missing window panes in our flat and the transient pigeon homesteaders are all but welcome. And like I said, I pretty much loathe pigeons and see nothing of social value in them what-so-ever. That was until today.
I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend this article from SIX0SIX onlilne magazine and will now re-evaluted my hatred for those damn rats with wings.
And while we are on the subject of pigeons, here is a little bit more information for those of you that may find the harnessing of these little critters fascinating.
Homebuilt Homing Pigeons with GPS
And if you really want to get hi tech with these flying rats, hell... give him cameras, cell phones and mini-backpacks and make them do the dirty work!
And for more on the project you can stay abreast on all the pigeon happenings on their blog.
And to further prove that pigeons do use major roadways as navigational aides.
And then there's the organized Pakistani Mafia using pigeons as a kind of flying burro or mule.
I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend this article from SIX0SIX onlilne magazine and will now re-evaluted my hatred for those damn rats with wings.
And while we are on the subject of pigeons, here is a little bit more information for those of you that may find the harnessing of these little critters fascinating.
Homebuilt Homing Pigeons with GPS
And if you really want to get hi tech with these flying rats, hell... give him cameras, cell phones and mini-backpacks and make them do the dirty work!
And for more on the project you can stay abreast on all the pigeon happenings on their blog.
And to further prove that pigeons do use major roadways as navigational aides.
And then there's the organized Pakistani Mafia using pigeons as a kind of flying burro or mule.
Mucho Sangre Please
Our little band of Merry Prankster Piso Compartistas (minus Barbara, the new girl from Belgium) stormed out of our flat and down Defensa onto the famed Des Nivel parrilla here in San Telmo only to have to queue up just outside the front door, all eyes now starring intently on the young grill master working his magic over the many different types of raw meats neatly laid out in shiny metal bowls for the waiting patrons, patiently waiting to be fed. The couple in front of us from Dallas, there on a recommendation of a friend, son and daughter-in-law just back from their honeymoon in Rio. It is Romain's last night in Buenos Aires before shipping back off to Paris and red meat is the consensus.
Des Nivel is the obvious choice as it is a true one of a kind, known throughout BA as one of the best if not THE best parrilla rilla; not only for its choice servings of all types of grilled meats but more for its circus-like atmosphere and minimal decor, not because all the guide books send droves of protein deprived first-worlders here on a regular basis, and not for its top notch waitstaff which are more like but more so because it also receives a slammin' dose of locals; from rock stars to actors to politicos to mafioso-gangstas (which are actually difficult to tell apart from the politicos at times). Once seated the table decision is almost unanimous - Bife de Lomo para TODO (minus Julia, the reigning princess of the house and a stout vegetarian who orders a simple salad). I supplement our order with a couple of plates of grilled provolone cheese, a few chorizo sausages and two heaping plates of perfectly cooked French fries (Dave and Mei - this is where we went meat crazy on your last official day in BA).
But the thing for me that is most impressive about this parrilla is how rare they can serve a steak and now how rare I can eat their red meat. I order my steak 'al punto' which is something like the Argentine equivalent of medium. When I finish a Des Nivel steak cooked 'al punto' my plate is full of bloody beef juice and my brain is swimming in delicious Argentine cow blood. But... this time was different. After we finished our steaks, Romain and Ed just had not had quite enough of the delicious carnivorous flesh. "One more Bife de Lomo?" Ed asks for... "con MUCHO SANGRE!" he adds - with a LOT OF BLOOD which is the correct way to order your steak rare. OK - most of you back home would have a hard time probably even looking at the beautiful piece of steak that shortly thereafter arrived on our table let alone to possible eat it. But let me tell you, I'm quickly learning the ways of the world and how to eat a basically RAW steak! Ed agreed that never in his life had he ever eaten any thing so raw before but ohh what a joy the blood-red meat was, melting like butter in our mouths, savoring every moment of the bloodfest.
Afterwards, we arrived late at La Cigalle on 25 de Mayo, which is a French bar with every Tuesday being French night and Pastisse drinks are only three pesos. Instead of queuing up around the block which would have taken forever to get in, we headed off on a zig zagging path to some Rose of something place nearby and proceeded to dance the night away at one of the most bizarre and surreal bars I've been to so far in BA - old world mafiosos, young cool french kids from Paris, all with their shirt collars turned up, Lee dancing with one of the owners girlfriends and Arnaud ordering rounds of Cointreau; lighting them on fire, pressing them to his palm and then waving them all around with a brazen look of fire in his eyes. It was a good send off for Romain and just one more beautiful and memorable night here in South America.
Des Nivel is the obvious choice as it is a true one of a kind, known throughout BA as one of the best if not THE best parrilla rilla; not only for its choice servings of all types of grilled meats but more for its circus-like atmosphere and minimal decor, not because all the guide books send droves of protein deprived first-worlders here on a regular basis, and not for its top notch waitstaff which are more like but more so because it also receives a slammin' dose of locals; from rock stars to actors to politicos to mafioso-gangstas (which are actually difficult to tell apart from the politicos at times). Once seated the table decision is almost unanimous - Bife de Lomo para TODO (minus Julia, the reigning princess of the house and a stout vegetarian who orders a simple salad). I supplement our order with a couple of plates of grilled provolone cheese, a few chorizo sausages and two heaping plates of perfectly cooked French fries (Dave and Mei - this is where we went meat crazy on your last official day in BA).
But the thing for me that is most impressive about this parrilla is how rare they can serve a steak and now how rare I can eat their red meat. I order my steak 'al punto' which is something like the Argentine equivalent of medium. When I finish a Des Nivel steak cooked 'al punto' my plate is full of bloody beef juice and my brain is swimming in delicious Argentine cow blood. But... this time was different. After we finished our steaks, Romain and Ed just had not had quite enough of the delicious carnivorous flesh. "One more Bife de Lomo?" Ed asks for... "con MUCHO SANGRE!" he adds - with a LOT OF BLOOD which is the correct way to order your steak rare. OK - most of you back home would have a hard time probably even looking at the beautiful piece of steak that shortly thereafter arrived on our table let alone to possible eat it. But let me tell you, I'm quickly learning the ways of the world and how to eat a basically RAW steak! Ed agreed that never in his life had he ever eaten any thing so raw before but ohh what a joy the blood-red meat was, melting like butter in our mouths, savoring every moment of the bloodfest.
Afterwards, we arrived late at La Cigalle on 25 de Mayo, which is a French bar with every Tuesday being French night and Pastisse drinks are only three pesos. Instead of queuing up around the block which would have taken forever to get in, we headed off on a zig zagging path to some Rose of something place nearby and proceeded to dance the night away at one of the most bizarre and surreal bars I've been to so far in BA - old world mafiosos, young cool french kids from Paris, all with their shirt collars turned up, Lee dancing with one of the owners girlfriends and Arnaud ordering rounds of Cointreau; lighting them on fire, pressing them to his palm and then waving them all around with a brazen look of fire in his eyes. It was a good send off for Romain and just one more beautiful and memorable night here in South America.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Rock Star Daughter
My face is still partly swollen and in pain from some sort of allergic reaction; either to a phantom spider that ate its way across my forehead and then down over my right eye, some nasty and slightly infected mosquito bites but that just doesn’t seem possible or, some other type of strange Latin American bed dust that has really done a number on me.
Speaking of strange, I went to an Emily the Strange (1) café the other day with one of my models for the Cartonero photo project (more on this later). Suzanne, a twenty-three year old six foot tall strapping Aussie girl with legs like butter, living in BA for the love of Tango greeted me at the bottom of her apartment building in barrio Once and we rode the elevator up to her penthouse apartment which comes with a 270 degree near panoramic view of our magical city. Touring the labyrinth-like palatial pad, me salivating all the while at pretty much everything, we stepped out on the last and final balcony as she said, “I’ve never so much enjoyed hanging my laundry before… OH LOOK – THERE’S AN EAGLE!” What…?
I had yet to see an eagle in all of my travels here in Argentina and was sure that she had it confused with some type of other bird. I followed the direction of her finger and sure enough, there was some kind of HUGE South American eagle, gently flapping, slowing wending its way through the tall hot buildings on this sunny afternoon. OH MY GOD! “Yeah,” she said. “Isn’t that just wild? It belongs to some guy that lives in the building across from us and he lets it fly around our building when the weather is nice.” Now that’s a story to follow up on…
Suzanne lives with an Argentine fashion designer in the coolest apartment I’ve ever been inside of. In addition to all of the cool windows and views and balconies and plants there is a design workshop strewn with fabric and pieces of clothes. I had talked to her on the phone about the project and she got it right away and was eager to contribute. She made me some coffee and we traded our live stories and then did some test shots to figure out the theme for our shoot next week, arriving on some sort of space dominatrix here on earth to steal the Cartoneros trash.
(1) Two friends of mine started a small t-shirt shop several years back when we all lived in a warehouse South of Market in San Francisco, California. And then they created a cute but strange little daughter aptly named Emily. Recently they suffered a pretty severe divorce but Emily lives on happily all around the world, showing her shy but not innocent face here and there. I’ve had several Emily sightings since I’ve been here - QUE VIVA EMILY! I hope that Matt and now Rob are proud of how little Emily has grown up instead of feeling like they are being pirated. The funny thing was I asked the owner about the history of Emily and he told me that she came from Alaska to California and then moved over to England (and then to Buenos Aires!)
Speaking of strange, I went to an Emily the Strange (1) café the other day with one of my models for the Cartonero photo project (more on this later). Suzanne, a twenty-three year old six foot tall strapping Aussie girl with legs like butter, living in BA for the love of Tango greeted me at the bottom of her apartment building in barrio Once and we rode the elevator up to her penthouse apartment which comes with a 270 degree near panoramic view of our magical city. Touring the labyrinth-like palatial pad, me salivating all the while at pretty much everything, we stepped out on the last and final balcony as she said, “I’ve never so much enjoyed hanging my laundry before… OH LOOK – THERE’S AN EAGLE!” What…?
I had yet to see an eagle in all of my travels here in Argentina and was sure that she had it confused with some type of other bird. I followed the direction of her finger and sure enough, there was some kind of HUGE South American eagle, gently flapping, slowing wending its way through the tall hot buildings on this sunny afternoon. OH MY GOD! “Yeah,” she said. “Isn’t that just wild? It belongs to some guy that lives in the building across from us and he lets it fly around our building when the weather is nice.” Now that’s a story to follow up on…
Suzanne lives with an Argentine fashion designer in the coolest apartment I’ve ever been inside of. In addition to all of the cool windows and views and balconies and plants there is a design workshop strewn with fabric and pieces of clothes. I had talked to her on the phone about the project and she got it right away and was eager to contribute. She made me some coffee and we traded our live stories and then did some test shots to figure out the theme for our shoot next week, arriving on some sort of space dominatrix here on earth to steal the Cartoneros trash.
(1) Two friends of mine started a small t-shirt shop several years back when we all lived in a warehouse South of Market in San Francisco, California. And then they created a cute but strange little daughter aptly named Emily. Recently they suffered a pretty severe divorce but Emily lives on happily all around the world, showing her shy but not innocent face here and there. I’ve had several Emily sightings since I’ve been here - QUE VIVA EMILY! I hope that Matt and now Rob are proud of how little Emily has grown up instead of feeling like they are being pirated. The funny thing was I asked the owner about the history of Emily and he told me that she came from Alaska to California and then moved over to England (and then to Buenos Aires!)
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Sweat and Dirt... er, Clay
Fueled by the fervor of the Australian Open and by my complete lack of personal discipline to implement a solid exercise regime I finally went out and bought some new tennis shoes to accompany the racquet that I dragged down here but haven't used once in three months. Romain, one of my French flat mates had already told me that his father was an ex-professional tennis player, at one point the fifth highest ranked in France, and that he had been playing since the age of six. But exercise is exercise and war is war.
Up to now the only courts that I had known of to play public tennis were in trendy Palermo, all the way across town. But after a bit more online research and a few phone calls I found one close enough that would actually take a reservation over the phone for $25 pesos ($8 USD) per hour. Romain made the call and we were set. Heading out in a taxi just past noon in the sweltering South American heat we arrived at a cleverly woven complex of four courts directly beneath the freeway that dissects Buenos Aires. Much to my surprise, the courts were actually made of clay, something I had only seen on television. I felt like a real pro as we stepped out onto the smoothly groomed foreign surface, knowing all along that the youthful twenty three year old Romain was going to slaughter me. And after a quick warm up it became very obvious that my self-taught 'King-of-the-Dipshit'(*) style of tennis needs some serious corrections in the form of lessons in the not-so-far-off future if I ever want to improve my game, which I do.
The first set went down 6-1 to Romain but at least I made him break a sweat. Sarcastically, he told me that there is a rule in France where you must be polite and give at least one game to your opponent. For the second set I knew I had to change course if I was going to save face in front of this damn French dandyboy - he was killing me on the baseline and smashing my soft second serves anywhere that he pleased. I chose to play closer on the net and then to run my ass all over the court, which did throw him off a bit. At 3-3 and then at duece I managed to take the advantage but there my game fell short. We finished 6-1, 6-3 both soaked but smiling. When we went back inside to pay, the man behind the desk commented 'ahh... you're alive!' One more great day in BA!
(*) King of the Dipshits is a title that David Fortner gave himself years ago, meaning that amongst a bunch of friends that couldn't play sports very well (dipshits), he was the King. That turned into an annual event amongst six players that is now called the King of the Dipshits Annual Tennis Tournament, which I victoriously overtook the crown from David on our inagural outing, stealing away the self-proclaimed title - King of the Dipshits.
Up to now the only courts that I had known of to play public tennis were in trendy Palermo, all the way across town. But after a bit more online research and a few phone calls I found one close enough that would actually take a reservation over the phone for $25 pesos ($8 USD) per hour. Romain made the call and we were set. Heading out in a taxi just past noon in the sweltering South American heat we arrived at a cleverly woven complex of four courts directly beneath the freeway that dissects Buenos Aires. Much to my surprise, the courts were actually made of clay, something I had only seen on television. I felt like a real pro as we stepped out onto the smoothly groomed foreign surface, knowing all along that the youthful twenty three year old Romain was going to slaughter me. And after a quick warm up it became very obvious that my self-taught 'King-of-the-Dipshit'(*) style of tennis needs some serious corrections in the form of lessons in the not-so-far-off future if I ever want to improve my game, which I do.
The first set went down 6-1 to Romain but at least I made him break a sweat. Sarcastically, he told me that there is a rule in France where you must be polite and give at least one game to your opponent. For the second set I knew I had to change course if I was going to save face in front of this damn French dandyboy - he was killing me on the baseline and smashing my soft second serves anywhere that he pleased. I chose to play closer on the net and then to run my ass all over the court, which did throw him off a bit. At 3-3 and then at duece I managed to take the advantage but there my game fell short. We finished 6-1, 6-3 both soaked but smiling. When we went back inside to pay, the man behind the desk commented 'ahh... you're alive!' One more great day in BA!
(*) King of the Dipshits is a title that David Fortner gave himself years ago, meaning that amongst a bunch of friends that couldn't play sports very well (dipshits), he was the King. That turned into an annual event amongst six players that is now called the King of the Dipshits Annual Tennis Tournament, which I victoriously overtook the crown from David on our inagural outing, stealing away the self-proclaimed title - King of the Dipshits.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Ex-Cop... currently homeless
Met this guy on the street yesterday in Palermo Hollywood. Speaking English well, he said he'd been to Miami more than twenty times but now... his home is the street.
The Cartoneros
Ask any Porteno (Buenos Aires local) about the Cartoneros and you’re sure to get a different answer; but never the less they will have something to say about one of the strangest phenomenon to be seen in all of Argentina, perhaps the world. Simply put, a Cartonero loosely translates as ‘one who recycles cardboard’ - recyclers that descend upon the city at night, pushing and pulling their home made carts (or carritos, which can provide some confusion over the actually name Cartonero) over the cobble stoned streets, searching through thousands and thousands of bags of trash for anything of value to resell. It’s a literal Orewellean representation of that age-old adage ‘One man's trash is another man's treasure’(1). The easiest way for foreigners to perhaps visualize the Cartoneros (besides me showing you pictures) is to think of San Francisco’s fringe homeless population, estimated at 20,ooo persons. Not the panhandelers you see on the major street corners (for they are usually not homeless, just panhanders, which can earn up to $100USD per day) but the guys with the shopping carts looking for recyclable goods. For those of you that know me - think West Oakland and the recycling center across the street from my old house.
But… the Cartoneros of Buenos Aires are a whole new concept in modern day recycling or a direct result of political and economic upheaval. Men, women, children, families - Argentines... having lost everything after the crisis of 2001(2). And then once they have found thier wares, our trash, its back to Constitucion train station to board a special train - El Tren Blanco - which has no seats or no windows, to take them back to the outskirts of the city to sell their wares, some earning up to fifty pesos ($17 USD) per day to provide food and shelter for their familes, only to start over the next day.
But to actually see this cultural phenomenon taking place, to see pregnant women... bellies exposed, laying on piles of trash is really something else. But my question to you is who is at fault, or does that really not matter? And then, what to do of this situation... like in San Francisco? Social services or tough luck? Is it a failing of capitalism or a result of steady and fastidious government coruption? How can we live in a world where our brothers and sisters in the 'Paris of the South' eat trash? I am curious as to what you think and look forward to reading your comments.
1. Not to be confused with the reality TV show Trash to Treasure where teams actual go out and BUY trash to resell. And for those of you that are money-minded and looking at how to give Uncle Sam (or whatever equivalent pop-historical icon) as least amount of money as possible, try this from some trash-talk tax tips.
2. The 2001 economic crisis left nearly twenty five percent of the country out of work and the majority of its citizens below the poverty line en masse, digging through our trash with their bare hands, 40,000 per day here in the capital of Buenos Aires, the same number of taxis on this city's streets. More on this later but for those of you that are interested I highly recommend Paul Blustein’s ‘And the Money Kept Rolling In (And Out)’ – a riveting economic thriller in the vein of John Grisham’s legal dramas – thanks for turning me on to such an important work Ed.
But… the Cartoneros of Buenos Aires are a whole new concept in modern day recycling or a direct result of political and economic upheaval. Men, women, children, families - Argentines... having lost everything after the crisis of 2001(2). And then once they have found thier wares, our trash, its back to Constitucion train station to board a special train - El Tren Blanco - which has no seats or no windows, to take them back to the outskirts of the city to sell their wares, some earning up to fifty pesos ($17 USD) per day to provide food and shelter for their familes, only to start over the next day.
But to actually see this cultural phenomenon taking place, to see pregnant women... bellies exposed, laying on piles of trash is really something else. But my question to you is who is at fault, or does that really not matter? And then, what to do of this situation... like in San Francisco? Social services or tough luck? Is it a failing of capitalism or a result of steady and fastidious government coruption? How can we live in a world where our brothers and sisters in the 'Paris of the South' eat trash? I am curious as to what you think and look forward to reading your comments.
1. Not to be confused with the reality TV show Trash to Treasure where teams actual go out and BUY trash to resell. And for those of you that are money-minded and looking at how to give Uncle Sam (or whatever equivalent pop-historical icon) as least amount of money as possible, try this from some trash-talk tax tips.
2. The 2001 economic crisis left nearly twenty five percent of the country out of work and the majority of its citizens below the poverty line en masse, digging through our trash with their bare hands, 40,000 per day here in the capital of Buenos Aires, the same number of taxis on this city's streets. More on this later but for those of you that are interested I highly recommend Paul Blustein’s ‘And the Money Kept Rolling In (And Out)’ – a riveting economic thriller in the vein of John Grisham’s legal dramas – thanks for turning me on to such an important work Ed.
Monday, January 16, 2006
So much to say...
... but so little time. A lot has happened in these past two weeks... and I have no idea where to start. There's a French guy sitting to my right, talking at his computer, waving a webcam around. Not sure what to make of all this but I was just introduced as 'a very famous photographer'. Little does he know.
Random notes and thoughts...
- Came back to BA to the pad in San Telmo, and the pigeons that hatched a couple of weeks ago on our balcony were not only dead but drowned in the pouring rain which has been non-stop for the past week and a half, and were actively being devoured by a force of glowing white magots like you wouldn't believe - fucking GROSS!
- Dave and Mei left me this evening, heading back to the good 'ole US of A, land of milk and honey... and MONEY! I'm glad they made it down but I think they were glad to go.
[update - their flight last night was cancelled and they are at the airport... waiting.] Dave has his projects and work and Mei was on a limited budget, not unlike myself. We did well today, with some serious Consumer Retail Therapy here in San Telmo and a good-bye lunch that would make a vegitarian cry, plates dripping with blood redder than the surreal sunsets of Northern Argentina.
- But what I really want to say is that I've lost my portable hard-drive, the Wolverine... with the past two months worth of photos on it. And if I can't track it down, they are gone, for good... for ever. It's not the end of the world but it's a bummer, for sure, and a very strange concept to have two months of work just dissappear like that. I suppose its like having a hard drive crash but I've so careful this entire time and now, back to square one.
-But on top of all of this, the thing I really wanted to blog about was the circus, in San Juan, complete with 6 african lions and 4 bengal tigers, the largest weighing more than 550 lbs. (very, VERY large). I didn't know they still had these kind of circus acts... and then of course the trapeze, tight rope, circus fly-girls, clowns and midgets. But the real kicker, the thing I want to tell you more than anything else about the circus was its hours of operation. We walked back to our hotel... exhausted and dehydrated and 'silly' beyond belief at 4AM! What modern day circus, mostly filled with kids under the age of 7, ends at 3:45AM?! This is Argentina - please come and visit before I spend all of my gringo dollars and have to come home on April 4, or before I die attempting to climb Mercedario in March - 6,800 mts. hasta FULL!
Random notes and thoughts...
- Came back to BA to the pad in San Telmo, and the pigeons that hatched a couple of weeks ago on our balcony were not only dead but drowned in the pouring rain which has been non-stop for the past week and a half, and were actively being devoured by a force of glowing white magots like you wouldn't believe - fucking GROSS!
- Dave and Mei left me this evening, heading back to the good 'ole US of A, land of milk and honey... and MONEY! I'm glad they made it down but I think they were glad to go.
[update - their flight last night was cancelled and they are at the airport... waiting.] Dave has his projects and work and Mei was on a limited budget, not unlike myself. We did well today, with some serious Consumer Retail Therapy here in San Telmo and a good-bye lunch that would make a vegitarian cry, plates dripping with blood redder than the surreal sunsets of Northern Argentina.- But what I really want to say is that I've lost my portable hard-drive, the Wolverine... with the past two months worth of photos on it. And if I can't track it down, they are gone, for good... for ever. It's not the end of the world but it's a bummer, for sure, and a very strange concept to have two months of work just dissappear like that. I suppose its like having a hard drive crash but I've so careful this entire time and now, back to square one.
-But on top of all of this, the thing I really wanted to blog about was the circus, in San Juan, complete with 6 african lions and 4 bengal tigers, the largest weighing more than 550 lbs. (very, VERY large). I didn't know they still had these kind of circus acts... and then of course the trapeze, tight rope, circus fly-girls, clowns and midgets. But the real kicker, the thing I want to tell you more than anything else about the circus was its hours of operation. We walked back to our hotel... exhausted and dehydrated and 'silly' beyond belief at 4AM! What modern day circus, mostly filled with kids under the age of 7, ends at 3:45AM?! This is Argentina - please come and visit before I spend all of my gringo dollars and have to come home on April 4, or before I die attempting to climb Mercedario in March - 6,800 mts. hasta FULL!
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Random shots from Barreal
And who doesn't love MT?!
Cute little Victoria, daughter of Berni and PerlaDeserted Argentine Desert
Travelling from La Rioja to the small town of Pagnicillo, we stop to watch the awesome desert electrical storm blow through on a region that receives less than 20cm of rain per year.
In between the Valley of the Moon and Parque Nacional Talampaya, Super Dave is indeed happy.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Dumb and Dumber...
Punta del Este, Uruguay
We leave the house of Ricardo Piñiero, the owner of Argentina´s top modeling agency and drag our tired feet a few more steps out onto the deserted sandy beach - finally. Other than a few odd fishermen and a couple of small gaggles of hot models, there is no one for miles. I had told Tommy that I would come to Punta with him and when Dave and Mei decided that they didn´t want to come to one of the most beautiful (and expensive) beaches in the world, I stayed with my original plan and we headed across the Rio de la Plata into Uruguay (which for you uneducated gringos, is a different country than Argentina.)
After a disasterous eight hour ferry/bus ride (the packed ferry left BA at 12:30AM and we were forced to find space on the hard floor to sleep on) that left me in bed for twenty-four hours with a fever like the devil himself had breathed down on me and a nasty deep caugh that I´m just now starting to recover from, we arrive in Punta del Este, the jewel of all South American beaches and an international playground for the world´s richest. But on a very tight budget with hardly any money to waste, we set off for the middle of nowhere, with no car, no place to stay and only a prayer of hope that something good will come out of this long and expensive journey. Sitting on the sand Tommy´s phone beeps and he tells me another model from the agency is coming down to say hi. Five minutes later another young, tall and beautiful Argentina girl of 22 years of age saunters down and joins us and then after another five minutes Tommy leaves with her back up to the house, which is really a small compound right on the beach. I finally go out into the coolish Atlantic ocean water and feel at peace for the first time in a long while. TBC...
We leave the house of Ricardo Piñiero, the owner of Argentina´s top modeling agency and drag our tired feet a few more steps out onto the deserted sandy beach - finally. Other than a few odd fishermen and a couple of small gaggles of hot models, there is no one for miles. I had told Tommy that I would come to Punta with him and when Dave and Mei decided that they didn´t want to come to one of the most beautiful (and expensive) beaches in the world, I stayed with my original plan and we headed across the Rio de la Plata into Uruguay (which for you uneducated gringos, is a different country than Argentina.)
After a disasterous eight hour ferry/bus ride (the packed ferry left BA at 12:30AM and we were forced to find space on the hard floor to sleep on) that left me in bed for twenty-four hours with a fever like the devil himself had breathed down on me and a nasty deep caugh that I´m just now starting to recover from, we arrive in Punta del Este, the jewel of all South American beaches and an international playground for the world´s richest. But on a very tight budget with hardly any money to waste, we set off for the middle of nowhere, with no car, no place to stay and only a prayer of hope that something good will come out of this long and expensive journey. Sitting on the sand Tommy´s phone beeps and he tells me another model from the agency is coming down to say hi. Five minutes later another young, tall and beautiful Argentina girl of 22 years of age saunters down and joins us and then after another five minutes Tommy leaves with her back up to the house, which is really a small compound right on the beach. I finally go out into the coolish Atlantic ocean water and feel at peace for the first time in a long while. TBC...
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
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