Maté, Bizcocho and Wool

Our quest for good king crab was fulfilled at a spot called "Volver," along Ushuaia's waterfront. The restaurant was staffed by a husband/wife combo who were the nicest people ever and gave us a rundown of their sustainable crabbing practices. Afterward, I was able to find my favorite brand of Yerba Maté along with my favorite brand of bizcocho biscuit to have with the Maté. Any Maté fantatic knows that a sweet, buttery biscuit is the perfect thing to accompany the bitterness of Yerba Maté. This brand knows their stuff, they even put the Maté gourd on their package to let everyone know:

A cold rain came down throughout the afternoon, causing the temperature to drop significantly and sending us scrambling for last-minute warm clothing for our boat trip. We stopped by an artisan market on the waterfront and met a nice older man who spun clothing out of alpaca and wool in the style of his mother. I bought a wool Ruana, which is a cross between a Sarape and a Cape. B got a Chalé, which is like a shawl. Both kept us warm as we sipped our delicious Maté, eating bizcocho and playing cards into the night.

Broke at the End of The World

Flying into Ushuaia reminds me of flying into Pasto, Colombia;surrounded by mountains to the point where you feel as if you might fly right into one. I withdrew a little cash at the airport to the tune of a $6 dollar ATM fee. This actually became a huge problem as the ATMs in town cap the number of pesos that one can withdrawal daily. The fact that Ushuaia is already really expensive made things complicated when restaurants weren't able to take our credit card.  

I asked our host about exchanging dollars on the black market rate, which had previously been at 13-14 pesos per dollar. She replied that as of yesterday, there was only one rate, Argentina’s new president had devalued the currency by 40% to eliminate the black market rate. B and I dug out our US dollars and trotted down to Banco de la Nacion where around 40 people were waiting in line (a trend throughout the entire country).

 I remembered reading that casinos were a place to change money in Ushuaia so we popped in the first one we saw. When I asked the Casino doorman, he initially said no, but when I pressed him he directed me to the cashier, who wanted me to change $1500 but then allowed me to exchange $1000 at 13 pesos/dollar. The whole experience of money troubles reminded me of my days in La Plata where my boss would dedicate entire days (‘bank days’) withdrawing money for projects. It seems an Amex card is the most advantageous to have in Ushuaia as there are few places that currently accept Visa/MC.

We got the centolla al ajillo (king crab with garlic) at Tia Elvira's. The place had so many artifacts and old pictures, it should be considered a museum. Although the crab was a little too chewy and not very good. Had a great local cerveza artesianal, the Cape Horn Pilsen. We walked around looking for a mate and played cards over mate while a downpour battered the house. Later on we braved the rain to check out Kuar, where we had a delicious salad with fried cheese and some lamb ravioli. Everything in Ushuaia seemed to shut down around 9pm and the town had an eerie and vacant vibe about it.

Chilean Heartbreaker

Everyone loves rivalries. And in Latin America, nothing quite trumps the Argentina-Chile rivalry that permeates every interaction between the two. Granted, relations aren't as chilly between as during 19th century territorial disputes or the Falklands War, but mention the fact that Chile's World Cup selection finished 2nd in South America this year to an Argentine and you'll get an earful, if not a black eye.

For this very reason I made sure to get good seats for the Chile/Argentina basketball preliminary. Just watching them warm up looked like high school versus a college team; the Argentines clearly had the height (and weight) advantage and during the game, were unstoppable on the inside. Still, Chile maintained a substantial lead for most of the first half simply by hustling down the court to pressure and play great defense. This was a real joy for the 10,000 or so in attendance who were primarily cheering for Chile. Through most events, Chile has gotten the "fan favorite" treatment, but the fact that they were playing the not-so-humble Argentines made the flag waving chants that much louder.

The 2nd half was back and forth, but with 2 minutes left in the game, Argentina had regained their poise with a 8-point lead. After missing consecutive shots, Chile's point guard threw up a hail mary shot from nearly half court and banked it in. After getting a defensive stop, the same point guard hit another 3 pointer from the exact same spot ("he's heating up" I yelled to the bewildered Chilean fans around me). Chile's hero of a power forward drove to the basket on the next play and lo and behold, Chile had come back with only 30 seconds left to play. Argentina did what they do best by kicking it down low and dunking it, leaving 6 seconds for Chile to tie the game. Chile kept consistent with giving it to their hero for the last play, who penetrated the lane with a good look at a reverse layup, but blew the delivery, losing the game. As Argentina celebrated their near-embarrasment at the hands of a country that doesn't even have Pro B-ball leauges, Chile's would-be savior wept on the floor. Despite the outcome, Chile graciously came to center court to receive a standing ovation for one of the best basketball games I've had the pleasure of viewing.

The Gringo Treatment: BsAs

I’m laying in bed at the El Sol hostel I hear the “happy birthday” song (in English) being sang by drunk, loud Americans and I’m not surprised. For years, Buenos Aires has been the jumping off point for many U.S. and European tourists wishing to explore South America. But each holiday season and summer more are coming; and more are staying. I hear English everywhere and when I attempt to converse in native toungue, I am rebuked by an Argentine who is staying in Buenos Aires “to learn English man!” Not to say this city doesn’t have a great deal of charm and amazing things to do, but I feel they are changing.

Tuesday night, we went to Peña de Colorado, a cozy alcove where Argentine Folk legends like the late Mercedes Sosa got started. My brother had been two times before, in ’05 and in ’08 and had gushed to me about the quality of food, live music and jam sessions that happened nightly. I first started to suspect something when our waiter informed us that they were out of the “cheap bottles of wine under 30 pesos. Our parilladada (assortment of grilled meats) looked impressive when we received it but upon further inspection it appeared that we had gotten the “gringo treatment.”

If you ever find yourself in a tourist spot in South America NEVER order the assortment, this same thing happened to me in Uruguay(see Anthony Bourdain is a Liar). When we told the waiter that this was a subpar assortment of fat, he shrugged and said he would tell the chef. Gringo treatment was confirmed when we got our bill, we were charged for an extra bottle of wine and extra empanadas, a difference of about $20 dollars. My brother, whose previous experiences at the Peña had put him in a deep funk, called the waiter out for trying to short us which was met with another “not my problem” shrug before changing the bill. The gringo treament continued, both with hassles from our hostel owner and the owner of a bar who “jokingly” said he would spit in our faces if we were American (Brent said we were Canadian).

This was only one experience, but both my brother and I have found gringo treatments occurring in far more places (hostels, restaurants, bars)in Buenos Aires than in the rest of the country. I fear that BsAs is getting “tapped out” by the increasing number of tourists visiting and increasing number of locals that try to take advantage of them. It’s endemic in both Peru and Costa Rica and it’s why I could never live in either of those countries: 50+ years of tourism + persistent poverty and inflow of rich tourists = the gringo treatment. The only difference in Argentina is that they may not know you’re a tourist until you order a choripan in broken Spanish.

Part of my reasoning in going to Colombia is to check out something that hasn’t been tamped down by the tourist Teva just yet. To my delight, the biggest tourist critique on Colombia hasn’t been safety issues rather, but the lack of people that speak English. Now I’m going to go throw some earplugs to try and drown out the cries for “Jaegerbombs” and Kanye West blasting in the background.

Scooby Don't - Avoiding Canine Agression in the Americas

Reconnecting with our buddy Martin meant heading to Juan's Hostel for more rooftop fun. Though we didn't realize it was a birthday party for two girls with at least 15 guests each. This presented a conundrum for giving saludos to everyone there. We obviously went to both the birthday girls, giving them a kiss hello and wishing them a happy birthday, but then merely waved to the rest and said our names, which I thought was sufficient. It appeared that we had made a grave faux pas in our Argentine greetings when the next guests that arrived went around the circle of more than 25 people, giving kisses hello and handshakes to everybody. The kiss hello is an unavoidable Argentine trend. Slightly ostracized from the main group for our lack of manners,  Brent and I decided to head to one of Rosario's biggest clubs.

Taura was on the riverfront, right by the boatstation and the first club that I had been to in a month in Rosario. Clubs are becoming less and less my thing, but I could see how rolling there with a big crew of friends (the only way Argies roll) could be potentially awesome. Walking back however, we decided to cut through the park, trying to take a wide berth around a group of sleeping homeless people. It wasn't wide enough to deter their guard, which was a fairly big dog that rushed out barking at us. Before I even realized what happened, it lunged at me, trying to take a bite out of my leg, I instinctively kicked it square in the face with my boot; causing it to jump back and come back at us again, this time wagging it's tail and head held low. I raised my foot again and scolded it with verbal threats promising the next kick would ruin it's night, and it ran off.

Brent was a little more shocked than me of what had just transpired. "That was crazy! Did you get bit?" No no bites, and at the time, it didn't seem that big of a deal to me. When I had been living in the barrio of La Plata, there were stray dogs everywhere, and though the majority of them have figured out it's easier to win more flies (or bones) with honey, some were a bit territorial. After talking to a couple friends, I was able to establish a couple rules for dealing with dogs in South America:

1. Just mind your business, looking them in the eyes can be seen as an invitation or threat, so as long as you keep walking most will leave you alone
2. Don't get startled or panic. Anytime I've ever been startled by a dog, it has returned the favor, getting more riled up, remember, they can smell your fear, literally.
3. If one does come at you for god's sake DONT RUN! You think you can outrun a dog? They live for this stuff. Just do what I did, stand your ground and yell at it. If it looks like it's coming at you, hit it with a blunt object or kick it in the face. If you present yourself as more trouble than it's worth, the dog will leave you alone, showing it you have no fear is key.

Even if you do get bit, your chances of getting mauled are relatively low, but I hear that Rabies vaccine is 6 needles to the stomach three different times, so it's best to avoid both ; ).

Beach Soccer Hooliganry

Rosario is a really spread out city, the hippest parts of which sit on the West bank of the River Parana. This makes getting around via public transit kind of a pain sometimes. After a 35-minute bus ride, we finally arrived at Playa Florida for some beachtime relaxin'. Though this was soon disrupted by a raucous soccer game, which just sprang up, forcing us up onto the sea wall. We weren't the only ones displaced and affected; the boundaries of the makeshift field were simply drawn around families with small children, I saw a sunbathing older woman take a soccer ball to the head and laugh and throw the ball back. Soccer is king in this country and everybody seems to know it.

Watching Argentines play is an interesting lens into their culture. It's more than just a pick up game on a beach, it's about pride (for this reason I also find Argentine soccer a bit annoying with it's over-the-top machismo). Their ball control is incredible, I was talking to my college friends living in BA who had once found themselves facing chubby 12-year olds in a pick up match and outskilled, outhustled and outmatch.

Later on, we headed to Alta Grande for a Muncipal flotilla that was to take place. The "Caravana de Deseos" (Caravan of Desires) involved an assemblance of maybe 100-200 watercrafts who raced down to the flag monument to place hand-written notes in the River Parana of their future desires for 2010. Policemen mounted on jetskis barking orders at Argentine "sailors" that were obviously too drunk to be piloting anything.

Dogs on the dance floor

Just as my brother and I continued our trend of bringing in the new year in the Southern Cone of the Americas, we also continued our trend (2 years running) of spotting at least one canine companion in the club on New Year's Eve, though he looked like he was about to throw in the towel:

After sleeping off his jet lag for 14 hrs, Brent was ready to explore the city. We went to Rosario's "Monumento de Bandera," a tribute to Manuel Belgrano, who designed the Argentine flag. We then sauntered along the Costanera, watching maté sippers, troubadours and lip-locked lovers enjoy the river scene. My buddy Martin invited me to his friend's hostel for a big NYE party. When we got there, I was a little surprised to find the hostel deserted of guests. Juan, the owner, had just purchased the hostel 2 months ago and was still remodeling.

We had a killer Mexican dinner on the rooftop of the hostel, allowing us a phenomenal view of the fireworks. I even convinced our Argentine host and guests to sample some tiny pieces of jalapeño, "pica mucho!" they exclaimed. One of the rowdier guests kept everyone on their toes by setting off what sounded suspiciously to me like pipe bombs on the other side of the roof. Midnight was the huge fireworks display which we were treated to 360 degrees of, but failed to come close to the magnitude and longevity of the display we had witnessed in Valparaiso one year earlier.

I kept asking Martin if we were ready to hit the club, 2 am, 3 am, 4am passed by until we finally got a posse together to mosey out to the clubs at almost 5 in the morning. I mean, I like an occasional late night but leaving with one hour til sunrise is just ludicrous. We ended up at a club with a huge outdoor patio underneath the contemporary art museum on the waterfront. It was impossible to navigate the swelling masses, but we had a great deal of fun people watching, which got even more interesting as the sun came up. As we walked back towards the hostel, we ran into a couple friends who were still bringing in the new year despite this sudden intrusion of daylight. Brent and I had to respectfully decline, citing our desire to avoid sleeping all day, which in turn, allowed us to spend most of today drinking maté, reading and planning out our Colombia trip in the park.

A Brief Return to La Plata, Understanding Argentines, Gay Marriage at the End o' the World

It's amazing how much not having a computer (or camera) has hindered my ability to proactively update (which I shoot for every other day at least). For those not in the know, I had my camera stolen at the Retiro train station back in October, which has limited my posting of pics to those nabbed from friends and fellow travelers. But I'm back at my apartment in Rosario and my brother Brent is bringing my shiny new Xmas camera when he arrives tomorrow.

I set off from Mar del Plata in the midst of major flooding throughout the Province of Buenos Aires. It was raining was so hard on the freeway that the bus had to stop several times because the driver couldn't see the road. A brief stop in La Plata to visit my old boss, Horacio resulted in a funny exchange of semantics. In short, I'm staying on as an advisor to Fundación Biosfera to help them follow up on some of the social marketing strategies I developed for TV and radio and will be meeting with the Colombian branch of a U.S.-based NGO when I am in Bogota to foster a partnership between the two.

I mentioned to Horacio that I'd like both a "@biosfera.org" email address and a title to help further the NGO's connections while traveling. I suggested the title "strategic communications coordinator," which he thought was quite boring. "Let's see," he said, "you are planning on working with Art, Diplomacy and Media Communications so we should make that your title." Being that titles in Argentina are quite different (in that they describe your field rather than what sounds most important) I told him I'd marinate on the idea of Program Director: Art, Diplomacy and Media Communications, though we made up some business cards just for kicks.

He also mentioned that my Spanish sounded a little funny as I'd just spent 5 days speaking English with my college buds. I made it a point to redeem myself on the bus ride to Rosario, striking up a conversation about history, culture and politics with an elderly gentleman. While waiting for the city bus from the terminal, I talked to an even older guy who seemed intent on just venting about immigrants. Older Argentines speak a bit slower, which allows me to understand nearly 100 percent of what they say.

Age, location and socio-economic status are big influences on understanding the unique brand of Argentine Spanish. Old people are easy, kids are impossible. Upper class and Academics are a breeze, working class uses so much slang it's like another dialect. In Buenos Aires, the velocity and lunfardo(slang) they use make Porteños the most difficult (though one recently moved into my apt and I can hang). My theory is that the further you get from Buenos Aires (the city and the Province), the easier it is to understand people and the people you meet are a bit friendlier. My favorite example of this are my buddies Fede and Charly from Ushuaia, way down South, who made my first weeks at Biosfera a bit easier by having naturally slower cadence to their speech.

Speaking of Ushuaia, it's  not often that Argentina is the leader of progressive change in Latin America, so check out this article about an gay couple who literally traveled to the "end of the earth" in Tierra del Fuego to become the first legally married same-sex couple in Latin America.

Secret Santa, Half a Piglet and Bottlerockets

Escaping the bugs and humidity that had arrived with the recent heat wave in Rosario was a relief as I boarded a night bus for Mar del Plata.  My 5 yanqui compañeros from LMU had relocated from BsAs to live like Argentines for the month of December. The weather was overcast as I got in, but I got a chance to check out the beach they conveniently live 4 blocks from before the rain hit. Later, we drew our Secret Santa names and headed out to find  gifts for under 50 pesos. During this time I convinced the guys that we should cook a lechón (baby pig) for a massive holiday dinner. After asking the butcher to remove the head, the piglet, which had been split lengthwise, still weighed about 11 Lbs.
We got to preparing deviled eggs, fruit salad and pasta while our little porker slow cooked:

During the gift exchange, my buddy David got me "Venas Abiertas de America Latina," which I had already read with some difficulty in English, but a great gift nonetheless. I got Alex a shoulder bag to carry his laptop. We soaked in a little sun at the beach before watching some amazing skateboarders do tricks off the plaza with the Quixote statue. Concerned about overcooking our piglet, I threw down a few sheets of foil, which kept the meat nice and tender, but didn't get the skin (the BEST part) crispy and flaky as I had hoped. It's not often that you are given this much meat as a responsibility so at least I'll be ready to make it better next time.The lechón was tasty and we made quick work carving it using Brian's Rambo knife.

Later on, we ended up buying some bottlerockets and M80s to partake in the Argentine tradition of blowing stuff up at midnite. And to the amusement of an assemblance of Xmas partygoers, we had a classic fireworks "fight" with Roman candles. One of the reasons I love hanging with my college buds down here: it's just like being 14 again. Same jokes, same fun, same trouble. Though my Spanish language skills are usually put hold when I'm hangin with them,  it's still nice to have a lifeline of good friends when you're so far from home.

Let The Races Begin!

"There will now be a 30% discount at the Levi's store for the next 5 minutes," the voice crackles over the loudspeaker. Nothing short of an Argentine stampede rumbles through the mall, seeking out the sound of a bugler blasting out "Camptown Races" in front of the Levis store. "Hurry, hurry, you've only 5 minutes to get in before the sale ends!" cries a tuxedo-clad chamuyero with a megaphone. Little Argentine pixies in flourescent wigs shake their tushies in front as the tux man supervises organized chaos.

It's business as usual every Dec. 23rd in Alto Rosario, a shopping mall in the bourgeois part of town. The 23rd is sort of like their equivalent of "Black Friday," except that it's encouraging excessive spending before the holiday. Every store remains open until midnite, all offering a 20% discount until tuxman makes an annoucement of where the next 30-40% bargain will be for the next 5-15 minutes. For a country that has faulted excessive capitalism (well, American style capitalism) for many of their economic woes, they seem to bring a massive jolt of hyper-consumerism come the holidays.

Trying to bargain hunt in this climate was a bit of a nightmare, so I grabbed a coffee and watched the mayhem unfold. It was fairly organized, some light pushing and shoving; I even saw mall security to separate two brawling boys over a pair of Adidas sneakers. For imported products especially, this day allows Argentines to splurge a little more than usual. I checked the tag of some Levis jeans: 289 pesos, which is like $80 in the US. Granted, some designer jeans in the U.S. cost $200, but Levis? I got mine for $30. The kicker for me was that the every line to get into the sale stores AND the line for ice cream were all longer than the line to meet Santa, which was never more than 2 or 3 people waiting.

Pobrecito Pincha Rata

My adopted Argentine soccer team, La Plata's "Pincha Rata" Estudiantes, made it all the way to the FIFA Club World Cup only to lose to the powerhouse, Barcelona. The veteran journeyman, Juan "la bruja" Veron, finally cashed in on his signature move by booting a long shot to Diaz, who sent it to Bocelli for the go ahead goal. The stunned Barca, whose star-studded payroll is about twenty times greater than Estudiantes', scrambled to tie the score in the 89th minute.



The dagger in the heart came when Argentine superstar Lionel Messi scored for Barca in the 110th minute for an exhilarating finish. For Estudiantes, who won back in the Sixties, beating Barca would have been like a AAA baseball team beating the New York Yankees in the World Series. Even more interesting is the fact that Messi has played far below his abilities while playing for Argentina's national team during the World Cup qualifiers. Living here has really gotten me more up on fútbol fever, it's a shame the club season is over; I guess now the focus is on 2010. Anyone headed to South Africa next summer?

Chainsaw Meditation

Sofia rang around 2pm to ask if I wanted to go to "the concert" tonight. I assumed she meant the concert of our mutual friend, Tincho, who has a "Jack Johnson cover band." Apparently I misunderstood (one of those things of speaking another language), as this was the other concert, "this Indian thing" she had told me about a week before. In any case, it was a far stretch to label it a concert, even in Spanish.

As we took off our shoes and arranged yoga mats on what appeared to be a new age dance floor, it became apparent that I was about to embark on a spiritual journey of Indian mantras interpreted by an Argentinian guru. We began with relaxation and breathing exercises before laying down flat with our eyes closed in a sun formation. The guru started by playing long, drawn out notes on an accordion while singing in a similar fashion in a minor key (harmonic minor for all you music cats). She then followed with Tibetan Singing Bowls and various bells.

Then came "the chainsaw," a non-motorized instrument with a pull-cord and an attitude. The noise was supposed to represent the ocean, but sounded more like a tsunami. Sofia later remarked that this broke her concentration, which the guru replied was the objective of learning to move back to a meditative state from those noises that we aren't too fond of. We also had a participatory harmonizing session of singing the Ganesha Mantra that my old music teacher Mark Hoover (or anyone from Vocal Ens.) would have loved. It was a rewarding and worthwhile experience and I may return next week for some yoga by the same Guru.

To nourish our newly awakened spiritual selves, we grabbed some surprisingly tasty vegetarian food at Sana Sana which is a must-do if you're ever in Rosario. Any Argentine place that can take veggies and make them taste better than meat as well as spice up a stir fry is top notch in my book, now on to read more about mantras...

Rooftop Conga Line

Saying "yes" to just about everything that doesn't put your life in danger (and even then, there are exceptions) is an important part of living abroad. So when my flatmate's friend, Sofia, asked if she could have her birthday party on our rooftop patio I was happy to oblige. The only thing was that my flatmate left for Brazil on Tuesday, making me the sole responsible party for our apartment.

I probably wouldn't have agreed if it were the U.S., having had problems with wild and crazy kids causing trouble at past parties, but the partying culture differs a great deal down here. For one, we had a bit of wine and liquor, but no one (save the birthday girl) got really drunk. In spite of their sobriety, everyone was surprisingly open and eager to getting down on the dance floor (which brought out the conga line).

I of course, befriended the DJ, who had brought a guitar and (holy smokes!) a melodica, which only meant a late-night jam session was inevitable. Overall, the level of warmth, friendliness and mutual respect that I got from everyone I talked to that night was really quite amazing. Knowing that I was the host, even the shyest of guests made a pilgrimage to whichever chat circle I was at just to say hello and talk for a bit. However, I think the highlight of the night was getting Argentine props for correctly pronouncing "ferrocarril," which Yanks typically have problems with. I'll leave you with a classic tongue twister that if you master, will demonstrate to even the most skeptical Latino how "UnGringo" you are:

"Erre con erre cigarro, erre con erre barril, rápido ruedan los carros, por los rieles del ferrocarril."

A Dog's Dream

Last night, my roommate and I headed to a funky little theater in midtown Rosario to check out "El Sueño del Perro." It was for the River Parana what Once Upon A Time in the West was for the American West. Some of the best cinematography I've ever seen, these long sweeping shots of the river, filled with lush tropical foliage from Northern Argentina. There was probably less than 100 words of dialogue, which might have even been too much considering the breathtaking scenery.

The director also relied on a clever use of sound, at times the entire theater (half full of Argentines) was deadly silent; then music would creep in panning from left to right. It was like I was right there pasando tiempo del rio; transcendental to say the least. The trailer doesn't do the film any justice, but if you can find a copy (or better yet a theater with it) it's a must see. Here's a still:

A Room With A View

I actually do have a decent view of Calle Zeballos if I push aside the antique baroque shutters and step out onto the balcony. The 5-room townhouse/apartment complex was purchased in 2007 by Pepe the Spaniard, who had the foresight to sell his home in Barcelona at pre-Economic Crisis prices and purchase property here in Rosario.

For one thing, it's nice just to be living on my own again. Having an extra large room is nice but being able to cook whatever I want whenever I want is something I've been missing for the past 4 months. The location of the Apt is pretty good too, it's about 12 blocks from the "micro center," ie. the big swanky downtown section of the city. Oh and I almost forgot the best part, the price: 900 pesos a month which comes out to roughly $230 dollars. Giddy up, I may stay here a while.

Mom Diplomacy - Then & Now

During Argentina’s military dictatorship from 1976-83, over 30,000 “subversives” were disappeared by the government. As these disappearances began to occur, the mothers of the disappeared began to congregate around the Plaza de Mayo monument in front of the capitol building. Since they were suffering mothers, the military dictatorship found it more difficult to repress them as easily as they had with other points of opposition, but simply labeled them "locas" as an attempt to discredit their efforts.

These "Madres de la Plaza de Mayo" became a force for public diplomacy when they took advantage of the international media attention received by Argentina's hosting of the World Cup to draw attention to their cause. 

It's interesting to see the paralells between Iranian and Argentine Mom Diplomacy efforts, from today's New York Times:

Ahead of a planned opposition rally on Monday, Iran tightened security and arrested over 20 mothers who were mourning children killed in the unrest that has broken out since the disputed June 12 elections. The mothers had taken part in an antigovernment protest in Leleh Park in central Tehran every Saturday since the death in June of Neda Agha-Soltan, the 26-year-old woman whose shooting became a symbol of the government’s violent repression.  

Arresting protesting mothers who have recently lost their children is a sign of desperation from the Iranian government and cannot last for long. Just as the death of Neda has become a symbol of Iran's brutal repression, the defiance of Iranian mothers, outraged at the damages inflicted upon their sons and daughters will continue to communicate the tyranny of the Ahmadinejad regime to the rest of the world.

The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo began only with their collective sorrow, their white kercheifs and determination to find out the truth. Their mediums of international communication were effectively more limited than those that exist today. I'd like to be the first person to start the "Mothers of Leleh Park" Facebook Group, but it's definitely not my place to do so. Hopefully an Iranian who recognizes the similarities between the two movements and the potential of Mom Diplomacy will go ahead with it.

The Sanatorio Americano

After four months of travel without any major sicknessess (other than the sniffles or food poisoning from that Strawberry Empanada), my good luck finally ran out when I reached Rosario, Argentina. Having just found a nice apartment and started my Spanish lessons, a tickle in my throat turned to a scratch to the feeling of having swallowed broken glass.

I spent all of Wednesday in bed with fever, barely able to get out. My throat was so painfully swollen, I couldn't really put anything down other than water (I've just now finished a bowl of Ramen, my first food in 2 days). I bought local antibiotics from the pharmacy, losenges which sort of helped. Earlier today I made the decision to see a privately-run "Sanatorio," as they are known, as opposed to the public hospitals.

I was first asked for my "obrero social" (social work), which I didn't have, so I had to pay 50 pesos. Sanatorios, though private, are free for social workers (like in France). I had to wait about an hour, there was one General Practicioner and no real line or system of knowing who was next; I finally got in just my asserting myself (which is hard to do when you can barely talk). The Doc took one look at my throat with a flashlight and nonchalently informed me that I had a throat infection and wrote me a prescription for antibiotics. No temperature taking, no strep test, just antibiotics that I have to take for the next 7 days. Not that different from a US clinic I suppose, and as I walk in, not to shabby on the wait time!

Radio Bemba Buenos Aires

"Tonight I dream about fraternity
 Tonight I say: one day!
 One day my dreams will be reality
 Like Bobby said to me
 Hey Bobby Marley
 Sing something good to me
 This world go crazy
 It's an emergency.”   –Manu Chao, Mr. Bobby

Never have I seen someone enjoy themselves on stage like Manu Chao and his band. He seems to let the music take him to a place only performers like Bob Marley and Marvin Gaye seem to have found while on stage. I will admit that many the songs sounded a bit similar (reggae/folk with punk/ska breaks), making the concert at times sound like one long Manu Chao song. But I’ll give it to him, the man knows his audience and he knows how to work ‘em.

From a Public Diplomacy perspective, it’s remarkable to see how a Parisian who also claims Barcelona as home can have such a powerful influence in Latin America. While he does have Peruvian heritage, his credibility is enhanced by his songs’ focus on indigenous movements and against foreign exploitation in Latin America. Singing in 4 languages (French, Spanish, Portuguese, English), is another way he has been able to win over Latin American publics.

While Manu’s “Third World Solidarity” may not have as large an impact in Euro-centric Argentina, he was able to make time for announcements from two Argentine civil society groups during the concert. He closed out the show by bringing them all back onstage for a 30-minute encore, praising the Pachamama (Mother Earth).

When I was in Uruguay, the owner of my hostel showed me this video of Manu in Cabo Polonio helping to raise awareness about government destruction of some of the houses there; and it must have helped as it was just made into a national park 3 months ago:

Hitting the Wall

After two months working for an Argentine environmental NGO, I have mixed results. The first few weeks were super exciting: I got to put together a bike-path manifesto, meet the city’s mayor and create a climate change event for 350.org.

However, my main public diplomacy project sputtered out when it came to soliciting funds from our donor organization. Turns out (just like most PD efforts everywhere), people are reluctant to throw money at something that doesn’t allow for quantifiable evaluation within a short time frame.

Things move a little more slowly down here, especially in regards to the environment. I'll admit that choosing TV as a medium to influence Argentine attitudes about the environment probably wasn't the most cost-effective strategy. But this can still be adopted for radio which I spent the last week researching.

Turns out there is a US-based NGO that does exactly what my project for Fundacion Biosfera was trying to accomplish with Social Marketing and Entertainment-Education. Check out Media Impact as this is the majority of what they do with Radio (and some TV in Latin America) and am already in touch with them.

I'm happy to have worked for awesome boss that I will stay in contact with in order to strengthen Biosfera's PD strategies and some amazing coworkers and friends that I'll no doubt be seeing again before I leave Argentina.

Pino, Pino, Pino

Yesterday, I managed to catch a documentary by Fernando "Pino" Solanas, who is like an Argentine version of Michael Moore and Howard Dean rolled into one. He has uniquely used his political positions (senator, deputy of Buenos Aires) to gain access to corrupt Argentine politicians and businessmen.

He got his start as an original Peronist, helping make films for ousted Prez, Juan Peron while both were in exile in Spain. Upon returning to Argentina, he became an outspoken critic of President Menem and a day after denouncing him publicly, was attacked and shot 6 times. This helped launch his political career, even running for President after founding his own political party. Though currently the National Deputy for the City of Buenos Aires, he's continuing to make movies.

His latest documentary that I caught called "Oro Impuro" (impure gold) and was about the environmental, economic and social ills of the Argentine mining industry. The movie was fairly well done; he does have the "Galeano"-type world view but manages to avoid the preachy overtones prevalent in Michael Moore Films. Here's one of the only works of his I could find with english subtitles: "Hour of the Furnace" from 1968. Lots of animal gore and marxism, just to let you know.