Revisiting the Teatro Colon

After I saw the Magic Flute at the Teatro Colon, I returned another day and took a tour. Now I'm armed with more information..

In the picture below, look at what appears to be a series of black metal screens: these are the boxes that used to be reserved for widows, since it was considered socially inappropriate for them to appear in public during their mourning period...

This is a picture looking straight up at the ceiling. When the theater was constructed, they built a "heaven" here; that is a sort of catwalk where singers can stand above the audience and sing so that their voices come from on high like angels or heavenly hosts. In this picture, the 'heaven' is the gold rim immediate surrounding the central light. I remember hearing this heavenly effect in the performance I attended, immediately followed by the sound of heavy tramping footsteps in the ceiling over my head! Either these angels were pretty clumsy or sound travels in unintended ways!

It's just so lovely...

Fun Fact

In Argentinian slang, "che" basically means "dude;" it's a term that gets liberally sprinkled through most conversations. When someone wants to parody Argentinian Spanish, they use flamboyant hand gestures and an emphatic "THAT's a SPICY a-MEATball" style of speech. They also throw in the word "che" alot.

So - a fun fact - the historical person Che Guevara was from Argentina, and of course "Che" wasn't his real name - Ernesto was. When we refer to him as Che, we are basically calling him Dude (his nickname). How it possible that I didn't know this before?!

A visit to Uruguay (part 1)

I recently took a weekend trip to Colonia, Uruguay - a historic city that is a Unesco World Heritage site. Colonia is only a one-hour boat ride from Buenos Aires, and there is a strong historic relationship between the cities: both of them were founded in the 1700s as smuggling centers to siphon off some of the vast wealth flowing out of the silver trade in Bolivia and Peru. Control of Colonia passed back and forth between the Spanish and the Portuguese, and (charmingly) both styles of traditional architecture exist side by side in the city. In the picture below, the Spanish built the house on the left (flat roof, adobe) while the Portuguese built the one on the right (pitched tile roof, stone).

Here are some other views of the old town...

I love all the slanting walls and doorways in this picture...

The old square, with the church towers peeking up over the trees...

View of the Rio de la Plata from the old town...

There is a beautiful ramble along the river...

Most of the old buildings are still heated with wood. Here you can see the daily delivery...

A fun thing to do in Uruguay is to try and spot a Cachila. "Cachilas" are antique cars such as Studebakers and Model A Fords that are still in active use. Uruguay was a prosperous country in the first half of the 20th century and during that time people imported cars from Europe and the US. In the long economic decline that has followed, many Uruguayans have been forced to maintain and use what in other circumstances would have been museum pieces. Here is a cachila on the street in Colonia...

Such a sleepy little town. I enjoyed this view of 3 cats all piled up for a nap...

A final view of the lovely old town...

Autoayuda

Portenos (people from the port city of Buenos Aires) have a well-documented fascination with self-help and self-exploration. As any guide book will tell you, there are more therapists per capita here than in any other city in the world (including New York!). Apparently this started in the 1940s, when Argentina under Juan Peron actively encouraged post-war immigration from Germany as a way to "improve" the racial composition of the country (and that's a story in itself). As eastern Europeans flowed into the country, they brought with them the tradition of Freudian analysis, and it spread like wildfire.

Today, you also see this desire for self-improvement showing up in other ways. For example, even the smallest bookstores have a significant "Autoayuda" (Self Help) section. Eastern philosophy (or perhaps Eastern Philosophy Lite) has also really taken off here as an alternative path to enlightenment; a surprising number of stores specialize in selling crystals, prayer beads, incense, Tibetan paraphrenalia, and books about the religions of Asia. New Age lingo has also penetrated the language here, as it has in the States. "Buenas ondas" - meaning "good waves" or "good karma" - is a common way to wish someone good luck. At first, I assumed this was an expression used only by the young and hip; however now that I've had a 70 year old taxi driver wish me "buenas ondas," I know differently.

Money & Paying

I've been fascinated to see the practices around money and shopping in Argentina. Here are some tidbits I wanted to share:

• cost of a subway ticket: 1 peso; cost of admission to most museums: also 1 peso. This equates to 25 cents! Relative to what other things cost, this is very cheap, and I assume the government must provide significant subsidies. When I mentioned this to my Argentinian friend, she rolled her eyes and said - well in the case of the subway, they just don't put any money into it! It's true that the subway system and even many of the subway cars that are still in use were literally built in the 1910s & 20s. Like many of the buildings in this country, they are lovely, full of character, and gradually falling apart.
• It's common to pay for groceries on an installment plan. "Cuotas" or installments was one of the first words I learned after I arrived here, because the cashiers in the grocery store routinely asked if I wanted to "pagar todo o pagar en cuotas."
• Also routine are credit card promotions: if you pay with a certain card on a certain day, you get X% off your purchase. The concept may not be that foreign, but the number of offers is. The picture below is from my neighborhood grocery, and the very tall sign in the background shows the current bank card offers. Look how many there are! You can't even see them all in this picture.

• Businesses here are typically small & often family-run. Because they aren't operating with alot of cash on hand, it's somewhat gauche if you pay them with a big (or even medium) bill: in giving you change, they will be clearing out their register. This is so problematic that businesses sometimes just refuse to accept a payment with a large bill. I have a vivid memory of once waiting in line to pay for a tango class. The Argentine woman in front of me tried to pay with a relatively large bill and was denied. After she had left the store, the cashier rolled her eyes and said in effect "Hm! She thought she could get away with that!" That's how big (or biggish) bills are viewed here - as an imposition and practically a scam. It probably doesn't help that fake 100 peso bills are in routine circulation, leading people to reflexively hold your large bill up to the light to verify its authenticity.
• As you can imagine, the big bill conundrum often arises in taxis. Once I had to pay a taxi driver with a 100 peso note (equivalent of $25). Because he couldn't change it, we drove to a gas station that his friend owned and his friend made the change as a favor. In a case like this, dishonest "taxistas" will apparently tell you to provide a smaller bill or they're going to keep your 100. Thankfully this has never happened to me and I'm quite careful not to test my luck. Anyway, part of my morning routine is to scan my wallet to make sure I have small bills on hand. If I don't, I make a trip to the grocery store and get change by paying with a 100. Because the grocery is part of a national chain, they are equipped to break a larger bill.

Tango show!

Recently, I decided I couldn't leave Buenos Aires without seeing a Tango Show. I opted for the most authentic one I could, since many of them are giant, glitzy, Vegas-like affairs that don't interest me.

This one took place in the basement theater of the Cafe Tortoni - one of the opulent old Confiterias of turn of the century Buenos Aires. Here are some pictures of the cafe itself...

Turning to the tango show, let me give a little context about the dance itself. Tango was developed in a poor, immigrant neighborhood of Buenos Aires called La Boca. This is the port district where the dockworkers lived, and tango was a dance that prostitutes did with their prospective clients. The show was pretty upfront about this, as you can see...

As you would imagine of music born in the brothels, tango is quite melancholy - it's often compared to the Blues in the US. In fact, the lyrics sometimes express such a deeply cynical view of life that they will make your hair curl. Here's a famous example - a tango called Aquaforte - first in English translation and then in Castellano.

It's midnight. The cabaret's wakin' up. A lot of women, flowers, and champagne The eternal sad party of those who live to the beat of a tango is about to begin. I'm chained by forty years of life, with a grey-haired head and an old heart: Today I can watch with a lot of sorrow what at other times I saw through rose-colored glasses. The poor taxi dancers, Stupified by kisses, Stare at me, as if strangers, With curiosity. They don't recognize me anymore. I'm lonely and old. There's no light in my eyes ... Life is getting shorter. An old rake that spends his money Getting Lulu' drunk with his champagne Today he denied a raise to a poor worker Who asked him for one more piece of bread. That poor woman who sells flowers who was the queen of Montmartre in my time,  Offers me, with a smile, some violets, Maybe to make my loneliness less blue. And I think about life: mothers that suffer, children that roam with neither bread nor a roof, selling newspapers, for two cents ... How sad it all is! I feel like cryin'!

Es medianoche. El cabaret despierta. Muchas mujeres, flores y champán. Va a comenzar la eterna y triste fiesta De los que viven al ritmo de un gotán. Cuarenta años de vida me encadenan, Blanca la testa, viejo el corazón: Hoy puedo ya mirar con mucha pena Lo que otros tiempos miré con ilusión. Las pobres milongas, Dopadas de besos, Me miran extrañas, Con curiosidad. Ya no me conocen: Estoy solo y viejo, No hay luz en mis ojos... La vida se va... Un viejo verde que gasta su dinero Emborrachando a Lulú con su champán Hoy le negó el aumento a un pobre obrero Que le pidió un pedazo más de pan. Aquella pobre mujer que vende flores Y fue en mi tiempo la reina de Montmartre Me ofrece, con sonrisa, unas violetas Para que alegren, tal vez, mi soledad. Y pienso en la vida: Las madres que sufren, Los hijos que vagan Sin techo ni pan, Vendiendo “La Prensa”, Ganando dos guitas... Que triste es todo esto! Quisiera llorar!

As they say, "tango is a sad thought that is danced" ("El tango es un pensamiento triste que hasta se puede bailar"). If you ask Argentinians whether they like tango, some of them will invariably say "no, it's way too depressing! I like rock!"

A day trip to Tigre

Hi all, yesterday I took a day trip to Tigre, a town that is north of Buenos Aires on the Parana River delta. Multiple rivers meet here, and the natural surroundings are - to me - somewhat reminiscent of the bayous we have in Lousiana. During Argentina's boom years (1880 to 1930), this was a weekend get-away for the wealthy and the glamorous, and the lovely vestiges remain, mostly in the form of gorgeous and enormous Rowing Club buildings. For example, here is the Italian Rowing Club - at least, part of it. I couldn't fit it all into the picture...

Here is the English Rowing Club...

As you can see, the Rowing Clubs are still very much in use, though I understand they are far more democratic in their membership policies these days and there's no ethnic limitation anymore.

Here's a picture I took inside the English Rowing Club. It may not be the greatest photo, but I love the way it shows the long tradition of rowing in Tigre.

Wealthy Argentines of this period (as well as today) were extremely cosmopolitan, and frequently had a pied-a-tierre in Paris, in addition to their home in Buenos Aires and their estancia (the source of their wealth) in the Argentine countryside. In fact, from time to time these families actually moved to Paris for a couple of years: with Argentina going through its economic boom ("explosion" would be a better word?), it was actually cheaper for them to simply live in Paris than in their own country. Borges, the Argentine literary giant who only died in the 1980s, was uprooted in that way when he was a child.

Anyway, a museum in Tigre had a quote from Victoria Ocampo, an Argentine intellectual of the 1930s who was born into one of these ruling families of Argentina and participated in this international social circuit. I wish I had the exact words, but she said approximately that the Argentines of her generation & social class were neither fully at home in Europe nor in their own country - they were neither of one place, nor of the other. Glamor, but glamor tinged with sadness. I think that gives an interesting context for viewing the palatial buildings and fabulous wealth in Tigre.

Let me digress and mention my own glancing contact with Argentine haute society: one day I was strolling around Buenos Aires and I wanted some help with directions. I was in quite a glam neighborhood, so it was not surprising that the couple who happened to be walking toward me was elegantly dressed and coiffed; in fact, the husband was wearing a double-breasted navy suit coat with gold buttons and a crest, as if ready for yachting. In my imperfect Spanish, I asked for directions, but the wife, in a kindly but worldweary voice, cut me off, asking in English: "Which language?" When I sheepishly replied that I spoke English, she gave me directions in flawless British English. I suppose if I had specified French, she could have answered in that language equally well! 

Back to Tigre - here is another lovely rowing club, but the foreground of the picture is also interesting. The man who's standing up is a modern-day gaucho (they still exist!), and the man sitting down is drinking Mate.

There's so much to be said about Mate, which is a hot, mildly caffeinated drink brewed from native herbs and leaves, much as Tea is. The early European settlers adopted the natives' love of this drink, and it is now one of the most characteristic symbols of Southern Cone culture. Though Mate can be ordered in restaurants and cafes, it is a humble drink that's almost always served at home and among friends. There is a very specific paraphrenalia for drinking mate: it's always served in a small, hollowed-out gourd and drunk through a silver straw. Since the drink is served boiling hot, the metal straw gets boiling hot too, and apparently it's a real art to drink mate without burning your lips.

Though Mate is a daily ritual throughout the Southern Cone, as you go north in Argentina and approach Uruguay, it becomes an all-out obsession. Even mate-drinking Argentines speak with awe about how much mate their neighbors to the north consume. I saw this myself when I was in Uruguay last weekend. When ordinary Uruguayans run their daily errands, they find a way to always carry with them a mate gourd and a thermos with hot water for refills - juggling these expertly with the other, ordinary paraphrenalia of daily life (purses, grocery bags, children in arms). That way, they can maintain a constant supply of mate without having to go home to "re-load." The next 2 pictures are ordinary street scenes showing mate-drinkers who needed to bring their stash with them...

Here is one more opulent palace I wanted to show you in Tigre: it's the former Casino, which has now been transformed into their Fine Arts Museum. As you'll notice, it has a grand promenade or deck that extends all the way to edge of the river, so gamblers in the 1910s or 20s could take a break and stroll out for a view and (probably) a smoke...

View from the terrace, looking back at the casino.

On the terrace, looking toward the river...

I feel mildly guilty about the next photos. Pictures are prohibited in the museum, even without flash, so I took these clandestinely. I don't see what the harm could possibly be (sans flash) - but I guess I have a little lingering guilt. Anyway, look how spectacular this place is.

Continuing down the river, there are some gorgeous old homes that are simply abandoned and falling into disrepair. Pierre & I have a strong 'rescue instinct' for buildings like this, so - honey - here's one of the places we need to buy (ha!).

And to close - it's a mystery why Tigre is called "tiger" since big cats are not native to the area. Anyway, the tiger is now the symbol of the city and these posters are everywhere. I think they are fun...