Jump! for Belgrano

This post directly deals with my weekend trip to Salta (thus jump)/Jujuy and the crazy Belgrano soccer antics I witnessed on Wednesday. If you find any of these topics appalling or my writing style distasteful, I advise you to move along.

The program met to leave for Salta at 9:30. Notice I did not say I met there. I did not use the first person, because my lovely family («--no sarcasm («--no sarcasm)) did not serve dinner until 9:20. "Te esperarán," my host mom reassured me. Consequently, I did not get there until 9:45, after receiving two "where are you" calls. We took a double decker semi-cama bus. The 12 hour bus ride went off without hitch. We hung out and talked. It reminded me of the old church camp days.

I must regress a moment. I had been having terrible camera luck this entire trip. On the day of the city tour, my camera's battery promptly died after took it out, just prior to taking my first picture. Having learned from my past failure, I brought my camera (fully charged) on the day trip to the Jesuit estancias in Alta Gracia. However, I neglected to bring my memory card, which was left in my computer, full of argentine music my host sister gave me. On this trip, I had walked a block, when I turned around to get money (I thought it would be a good idea to have more than normal so I could buy stuff for family/friends). I also conducted a flustered and futile search for my camera. But alas, I couldn't find it. Strike three on bringing cameras to important picture taking opportunities.

After a quick breakfast and shower, we set out to a teleférico (cable car, in this case, a gondola) to summit a nearby mountain to have a scenic view of Salta. Atop the mountain, there was a pretty man-made little stream that playfully went down the side of the mountain. There was a youth (~14 years) club basketball team that was up there. They fancied some of the girls on the program I was with, and their coach coerced the "chicas de texas" to take a picture with them. I found this humorous. The kids were a bunch of players (pun).

Lunch at restaurant outside of the city, near a creek. Fun fact about me: any non-stagnant body of water can entertain me for substantial periods of time. Exploring, getting wet, skipping stones. Just an example of how I will never completely stop being a boy at heart. What I would have given to ride down the Mississippi with Huck and Jim (fine, the prince and the duke too).

After a city tour, we had free time. We went to an anthropological/archeological museum in Salta. Basically all this museum has going for it are its Incan child mummies. Literally. It only has a set of three mummies (oldest at age of death ~14 years) and a smaller mummy that looks like it will eat you. Having said that, it was still very interesting to see. The set of three mummies (it only shows one at a time) are best preserved mummies in the world. You can still see their skin and hair. Essentially, these kids of the nobles who were sacrificed to the gods. They were taken up to a mountain top and given alcohol until they all passed out. Then they were bound and lowered into the grave. The cold, dry mountain climate preserved them wonderfully.

Keep in mind that this girl is 5oo years old. Had you not known, you would have thought she's a mummy, you could have thought she was an impoverished indigenous girl who hasn't showered in considerable amount of time just taking a nap.

After the museum, we had merienda in café in the main plaza. We started playing a game in which you receive a word for every word you say in English. At the end of the trip, the participants go to a nice bakery and have to buy a slice of pie for every point they have. It was fun. I had no points.

The next day, we went to Jujuy, the northwesternmost province in Argentina. Jujuy is kind of like a more rugged version of the American Southwest, but I still think our southwest is prettier than their northwest. We went to the "Cerro de los siete colores" and fuimos de trekking in the area around it. After the trekking, we went to the local market in Pulmamarca. They had a bevy of alpaca wool sweaters. As I enjoy wearing sweaters more than Mr. Rogers himself (may he rest in peace), I bought some. Most of them were made in a factory to the north, but there were a few locally handmade ones. However, you paid for it (750 pesos compared to 70 pesos). Later, we went to Tilcara to have lunch and were treated to a show of traditional local music. Then we went to a spot that has been inhabited for over 1000 years, making it pre-Incan. It was atop a hill. The dwellings were made of rocks and used cactus beams for the roofs.



Stopped at a scenic spot on the way home and went back to Salta. On the way back, I did one of things I do best (sleep. just in case you didn't get it). That night, we went to a Peña, which is like a studio movie grill, just replace movie with live traditional music, dance, and entertainment. Cool things about it: waiters came by with dust busters to suck up the breadcrumbs on the tablecloth. So classy. Bad things about it: it started out a bit to commercial than I would have liked, but it made up for it later; there were lots of jokes, which require either A) marginal amounts of attention combined with mastery of the language or B) super concentrated attention to make up for your linguistic weaknesses. Sadly, at 2:30 am, I had neither. Thus many of the jokes were lost on me.

The next day, we went to an estancia, which is essentially a house in the country kind of near the city, that often has livestock or some type of farmland. It was a very peaceful day, marked by horseback riding for the first time in my life, playing ping pong in South America for the first time ever (I still have yet to lose a game in southern hemisphere).

Okay. Now picture this. Montage of bus ride home. Jump cut to Wednesday night. This past Wednesday, there was the first leg of arelegation/promotion game between Belgrano (a Córdobes pro soccer team) and River Plate, a team from Buenos Aires. This doesn't sound like a big deal, until you realize that River Plate is the most successful team in the history of the Primera División Argentina. With 31 titles (but really 16.5, since they do 2 different half season each year), they haven't been relegated since entering the Primera División in 1931. They are the New York Yankees of Argentinean soccer. And they are playing to try to avoid getting relegated to the B league. So you have Córdoba's most popular soccer team playing the nation's second most popular soccer team. River Plate is a big market team, so there are confluences of fans all over the country. My host family has had a TV dinner twice. Once when we all were watching a movie together, and once on Wednesday. María, my host mom, is 62, knows little about soccer, and was still gripped by what was happening. Prior to kickoff, there were bomb sounds coming from outside. Our dialogue:

Me: "¿Qué son esos ruidos afuera?
María [nonchalantly]: "Las bombas."

I walked to a bar during the entretiempo to meet my friends. I missed the first five minutes of the first half. Walking there, the streets were practically empty. All of a sudden, all the cars going by started honking. Cue the bomb sounds. Belgrano scored. I get there right after the goal. After the goal, the River hinchas tear a hole in the chain link fence that surrounds the field. One crazy hincha runs onto the field and starts shaking a player. Play is stopped for 20 minutes. Police toting riot shields, German shepherds, and fire hoses come to monitor the River fan section. Later that week, I asked my host brother if that is common. He said it happens all the time, although fans rarely do touch players when they run onto the field. All in all, the stoppage time was 22 minutes long.

Differences between how this is handled in the US and here. In the US, when a streaker/crazy person runs onto a professional sporting field, the producers tactfully cut the cameras away to not reward the maniac for his attempt to steal the spotlight. Here, they zoomed in on him, showed replays, etc. He was the cover spread of every major paper the next day.

After the game, people gathered at Patio Olmos (aka ¡O!) to festejar y celebrar the Belgrano 2-0 win. The next leg of the game is Sunday afternoon. If Belgrano loses by two or fewer, they get promoted. I hope it happens, so I can experience sporting history and get some nice pictures of locura happening in ¡O!

Until later. The next post will be significantly shorter, deal with my night at the Biarren music party, and include more of my (hopefully) witty observations on life.

Toodles.

Our Gent, Tina

Why is Tina a gent despite having an overtly feminine name? Don't worry about it, it's just a mondegreen.

In other news, I'd wager I'm in a different hemisphere than a good 90% of people who will read this, thus the impetus for the revival of my blog. You see, I'm partaking in a once in a lifetime experience called "studying abroad." I am in Córdoba, Argentina, taking classes at la Universidad Nacional de Córdoba and living with an incredibly hospitable host family. Let's rewind.

How I Got Here
Life has taught me the conversational norm of relevance, that being, most normal people don't mention things in conversation that isn't germane to the current exchange. Therefore, I won't bother with the first 20 years of my life, and I will instead focus on my trip itself. Besides, I'm long winded as it is, and neither of us have enough time to write/read all that foolishness.

Anywho, I had no travel horror stories. I illegally kept my cell phone on during my flight until I had confirmation that the Mavericks punched their ticket to the NBA finals. After that, I slept for 98% (rough estimation) of my flights. This, while beneficial in passing the time, eventually bit me in the butt as I consequently was not served any free food for quite a long period of time.

I buddied up with three other guys from UT with whom I had the same itinerary during the four hour layover in Santiago.

We got to our hotel/hostel (adjacent ones) and walked around the city. We ambled upon street comedians who were doing a show in a plaza. Jonathan, the one of us who normally looks the least touristy, decided to buck that image, took his camera out, and started to film the show. Shortly, the presumably quick witted actors singled him out, and after a "¿De dónde eres?" probably relentlessly made fun of him. This of course is speculative, as I could not fully understand what came out of their mile-a-minute mouths. However, the crowd's laughter did not allay my suspicion that we just became comic fodder. Tail in between our legs, we retreated back to hotel. After watching Chicago choke away their game five lead, I retired for the night.

I will continue my two weeks later, but first I will highlight some cultural differences.

• Argentinians do things much later than we do. In almost every regard. They eat later. Dinner here starts at 10 pm, right about the time my dear old father normally crawls into bed. People are late to things. The earliest my linguistics professor has been to class is five minutes late. The latest? 16. If you see someone on the street, and you are running late, you are expected to stop and talk to them for a few minutes. Finally, the nightlife starts late. The "boliches" don't start hopping until 2am. They go strong until 5am. Some dedicated people will have after parties that go until 8am. They embody Kesha's dreams. They literally don't stop until they see the sunlight.
  
• Argentinians can not stand the cold. For instance, today it was 75 degrees outside. Not a single native I saw was wearing short sleeves or shorts. When it is 55 degrees outside, they dress as if it is 35 degrees outside. No word yet on what they do when it is actually cold.
• For you ignorant racists that think all of Latin America has food like Mexico, you're painfully wrong. Argentinians hate spicy food (at least Cordobeses, there is supposedly some spicy food in the northwest). They also don't use that many spices/herbs in cooking. Thus, some would say (me included) that their food can sometimes be bland. Their worst food? without a doubt, pizzas. They add no discernible amount of tomato sauce. The rest consists of almost entirely cheese (but not the cheese we put on pizzas) and ham. Olives are then put on, and occasionally hard boiled egg slices. They incorporate eggs into many foods as toppings, but find eating eggs for breakfast laughable. They (or at least my family, the sample size here may not be the best) hate peanut butter. My family rarely eats out, and the food casera is very healthy. Breakfast consists of a factura or two and milk. Thus, it is very light.
• When they go clubbing, they actually dance. (note: grinding is not dancing). They have strengthened my notion that most countries besides America have an innately dancing prone populace. Also, they don't necessarily go just to get shitfaced. The city's favorite drink is fernet con coca (Fernet with coke). They could not have chosen worse. Fernet is as alcoholic (45% by volume) as it is shitty. It is remarkably bitter. No amount of Coca Cola can salvage this monstrosity. I talked to a local with whom we went dancing, and he told me that it's a drink you normally have after you've already had a few.
• Students actually go to class to learn. For the most part, students don't shop online in class, sleep, facebook, etc, but pay attention to what is educationally valuable to them. Ironically, while being told this in our orientation, I was asleep.
• Greeting girls is done with a kiss on the cheek, where you don't actually kiss their cheek, but do the cheek to cheek deal. Also, you always go to the left with this. At first, my inclination was to go to the right, which would result in an actual kiss. I have narrowly escaped this fate at least 3 times. Important to go left.
• This isn't really a cultural difference, but whenever I go into a foreign country, I always find myself having more pedestrian standoffs that in the US. Right now I'm averaging about 3 a day.

More to come. As they say here, "Chiau."

Toodles.