Category Archives: Argentina

Colour and Culture

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The Cathedral


We’re in Cordoba, Argentina’s second city, a thriving mix of students and culture with a fantastic energy and warmth. There are 130,000 students here and you can really feel it.
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Students protesting cuts to funding for cultural events. Yes, that is a conga line!


We’ve just spent the morning on a tour of the university, where we were given an impassioned introduction to the issue of ethnicity in Argentina, and particularly the question of its heritage. Essentially the argument is that in their quest to be European, Argentinians have forgotten some of their roots, with ‘invisibilisation’ of the African blood that made the country much of what it is today. It was a convincing argument.

Rosa, the curator of the exhibition, made the case that just because black faces aren’t immediately visible here doesn’t mean there is no African ancestry. In fact, a DNA study showed that 8% of Cordobans have African lineage. Many of the city’s buildings were constructed by African slaves, and although many were killed during the civil war, some survives and settled – and their descendants are around today. Most interesting of all, in the 2010 census, just 1.5% of Cordobans said they had African ancestors – so the question is where the difference comes from.

She argued that Argentinians have long believed themselves to be more European than the rest of South America, and that in emphasising this, the African element has been lost in the retelling of history. It was particularly interesting to hear her tell of the discovery of various artefacts which proved there was a strong African influence in Argentinian culture in the past – and from the period after the civil war, when the conventional narrative says there were no Africans left. Its been the case throughout history that ideas which go against the norm are much harder to get accepted and this was no exception. However, I was still surprised to hear that the academics who made the find rejected the pottery outright as fake because it didn’t fit with their expectations. Surely that’s the whole point of the scientific process!

Alongside the pottery, we were presented with many examples of African influence in modern day Argentine culture, perhaps the most striking being the word ‘Tango’ which emerged in the late 19th century. The European rationale is that it comes from the Latin ‘to touch’, but the name is also very similar to the word used to describe the place the (african) slaves used to clean in order to
dance. The university has enlisted various ‘obviously Argentine’ celebrities to drive their point home, with research being done into their histories revealing the African blood they have despite not being black.

That isn’t to say that Argentina is a country where we felt there was endemic racism, or indeed anything other than a flourishing multicultural society. However, it is fascinating to see such a vivid example of how the generally accepted consensus and fashion can be wrong – and how academia can (at least at one point in the past) fail to correct it. Our guide who was in her thirties told us that when she was growing up, the commonly word for a black child from a mixed race marriage was ‘salto atrás’, or ‘a step back’. It’s not hard to see how in that context, and with the fashions of Europe swirling around Argentinian popular culture, the African element has indeed become invisible.

Simon

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Right in the middle of one of the main squares is this building. Yes, you read it right - the traffic light intelligence centre!

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A dog jumping for bubbles in the park

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Karoline and I went walking in the National Condor Park one misty day. This impression was as close as we got to seeing a Condor!

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At the market in Cordoba

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Sculptures in the park marking each year since the city was inaugurated

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Looking futuristic at an art gallery

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The church is missing a spire to symbolise human imperfection

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This is a guy cleaning high-rise windows using the pendulum approach. He was swinging from side to side desperately trying to scrub in the half second he had in front of each pane of glass!

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Another beautiful church roof

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The three of us n our last night together before Karoline headed homewards

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Our favourite red wine, this is just £1.06 a bottle!

Awe and Reverence in the Lunar Valley

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The Cathedral


While Laura was off in Santiago, Karoline and I stopped off in the small town of San Juan, our jumping off point to the Valle de la Luna. It was a long jump for sure, at 3 hours each way, but the spectacle was well worth it!

The valley is in a national park, home to richly coloured rock which has been eroded over the years by rivers and the wind into as many different shapes as your imagination can conjure. It’s quite impressive!

On the way there, we got a sense of quite how much water flows down from the Andes during the rainy season to sculpt the rock. The road was more of a rollercoaster than your conventional tarmac strip, with it curving downwards and then back up in a half-pipe style every couple of hundred metres in order to let the floodwater past. The route is cut off during the wetter months of the year.

You can see the bumps in the road ahead from all the rivers

As you drive around the park, the different ages of rock are visible in their coloration, with distant red cliffs some 190 million years old and younger grey stone in front. Our guide pointed out the various formations which occasionally needed a bit of imagination to see; check them out in the gallery below. We were also shown the iconic iron balls that you see on any photo of this area. We were under the impression they were going to be huge, so it was somewhat disappointing to find them about 20cm high! Formed naturally from iron in the sands, they’re certainly distinctive and gave us a good chance to play with perspective on our cameras.

On our way home, we stopped at the shrine of Difunta Correa, who according to legend wandered the desert during the civil war of the 1840s to follow her soldier husband. Travelling with her baby, she died of thirst at a roadside, but (as the miracle goes) her son was found alive days later, suckling from his mother’s breast which had kept him alive. Despite being thoroughly rejected by the Catholic church, she’s worshipped by many as a bringer of hope in difficult times. Curiously, she’s also highly venerated by truckers, in small shrines at the roadside across the country, where devotees leave bottles of water to quench her thirst.

It was a very strange place. Firstly, the scale – despite being in the middle of nowhere, it is hugely popular, with up to 200,000 visitors over holiday periods. The site of her death is marked by some 17 chapels, and a village has sprung up around them, with a school, restaurants, and even hotels. In each chapel is a graphic depiction of the dead woman, and every available inch of space is lined with offerings from those wishing to improve their luck. One chapel is filled with models of trucks, buses and cars; another with medals and sports kit of different teams across the country. We were surprised to hear that every year, the whole place is cleared of offerings – and every year hundreds of thousands more are put in their place.

Perhaps what is most surprising of all is to see such conviction in this icon, contravening the Vatican in what is such a strongly religious country. Across Asia, we saw icon worship in many forms through religion, and I guess this is much the same – but I hadn’t expected to find large numbers of Catholics worshipping someone who is not officially considered a Saint. Despite all the authority of the church, it makes one think how fickle religious devotion can be – and also how powerful it is too.


As we drove back to San Juan in the late afternoon, bright shards of sunlight burst through the clouds over the darkening landscape, casting an appropriate sense of awe on both the natural and human phenomena around us.

Simon

Mendoza – drinking and driving with the police

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Thanks to our friend Karoline for this title, which sums it up just perfectly! Mendoza is an oasis in the parched flat landscape east of the Andes, where the locals divert the flow of water from the mountains to irrigate the land, producing acres and acres of vineyards. The weather and wine gave us a very good reason to come here!

What better way to soak up the sun (and the wine) than by bike? The three of us spent a great day in the countryside of Maipu sampling the local delicacies and getting a bit of exercise in at the same time. And, in that strange Argentinian way, we were assisted along the way by the tourist police, on hand to help with punctures – and apparently any difficulties arising from the inevitable drunk driving! Those worried for our safety need not; we remain fairly sensible travellers despite the lovely local liquid.

Curiously, every tourist in the area seemed to go for the same bike-hire operation (Mr Chu) – rumour had it the bus driver was being tipped to drop us all off directly outside his place. We instead went for the much less busy Orange Bikes, with good new gear, brand new helmets – and cheaper than the competition at 25 pesos each. Plus, in case we didn’t manage enough during the day out, an invitation to join them in drinking more wine after we got back!

We took in a wine museum, the beautiful Di Tomassi winery (the oldest in the area), and soon got into the routine of touring and tasting. At Di Tomassi, we were shown inside their former brick fermentation tanks, coated with honey wax on the inside, and with sparkling crystals of residue from the process on the ceiling. Next stop, an olive oil producer which was a bit of a disappointment. Everywhere else we went, we were greeted with warmth and open arms; here it felt like we were an unwanted distraction. I persevered and paid for a tasting, hoping to find out more about the tricks of the trade and how it all worked. Sadly, it was not to be as the guy running it just left me with a plate of bread and different olive products and just walked off, wishing me well. I’m still not quite sure what I was trying, but we all took advantage of the poor service to also sample the various bowls of raisins they’d left out on the table. A tasty byproduct of the vineyards!

Our last stop was the smallest bodega, and the best. Originally built in the seventies, the place went bankrupt and was abandoned for many years before being bought and resurrected by a French couple with a passion for wine. Fortunately, while the buildings had been abandoned, the vines themselves had been lovingly maintained by locals who used to work there – and so the new owners were quickly able to start production. While we were getting the tour, we met one of the owners, and got to witness them filling a barrel with wine to ferment. Karoline also got to experience it more closely than expected, as the barrel filled up too quickly, overflowing and spraying wine everywhere – and on her shoes. Fortunately, a bottle of (their) white wine was on hand as the best antidote for the stain! Not only did we all enjoy the wine here, but we were all made to feel so welcome with them almost forgetting to charge us for our tasting – many other places had demanded money from the moment we stepped through the door.

As the sun set, we had a leisurely (and perhaps slightly wobbly) cycle back 12km to our bike hire place – and of course finished the day with one more glass of red. It’s perhaps symbolic of the fact that not everybody is a wine conneseur that the bike hire place brought us a bottle straight from the freezer (yes, of red wine), with ice cubes floating in it. Some might have been horrified; we were just happy to sit back and reflect on a great day out and look forward to another fine bottle of £1 wine to follow for dinner!

Simon

Bariloche – Mountains of Chocolate

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We’re on the bus again. Behind us are the beautiful lakes and landscapes of Bariloche, and ahead are the vineyards of Mendoza – albeit in about 20 hours time. With us is our good friend Karoline from Austria, who we met in our Spanish class in Buenos Aires and is joining us for some of the journey northwards.

We’ve just spent a fantastic week here in the mountains. The place has a distinctly alpine feel to it; we even had cheese fondue last night! For a few months from late June the town becomes a ski resort and the log cabins, beautiful peaks and shimmering blue lakes are a walkers’ paradise the rest of the year. And this is just the tip of the provence – further south are the delights of Patagonia with glaciers and trekking that we sadly have to leave for another day.

When we first arrived here we were greeted by an icy cold wind, a real taste of how the winter is finally coming for us after postponing it for a year by travelling. After some shopping – jeans for Laura, a jacket for me – we were better prepared to venture out and do battle with the elements. In the case of Bariloche, that means mountains – but of chocolate! We think it might have originated in the Swiss colony established here many years ago – the area is famous in Argentina for its chocolate delights and so it’s a pretty ideal place to spend Easter!

While we were here they were holding a chocolate festival in a bid to revive tourism following a volcanic ash cloud blotting out much of their income during the summer season. Best of all, it meant the chocolatiers of the town had constructed the World’s Largest Easter Egg, a monster weighing in at 7.5 tons and about 10m high. There was a build up for days in advance as we saw the egg take shape and the smell of molten chocolate drifted over the square.

The great unveiling itself however was a bit of a calamity due to the surprisingly good weather. The scaffolding surrounding the egg was taken down in the early hours of the morning, after which the sun started to take effect. We were in our hostel overlooking the square when we realised something was going on – it was still an hour to go before the great cracking, and a crowd had already gathered, and stewards were running around frantically pulling out plastic sheeting to catch the chocolate. It turned out that the side facing the sun had melted and part of it collapsed – so we all raced down for the inevitable distribution of the booty. The egg itself was looking a little the worse for wear with a quarter of it missing, and fantastically, a stream of molten chocolate was running over the white letters advertising Bariloche and the sponsors. Fortunately it was a great recovery – the slightly embarrassed officials on the stage declared it a ‘chocolate glacier’ apparently affected by climate change, a pickaxe was symbolically plunged into the remnants of the shell, coloured balloons were released into the bright blue sky, and after a very long wait we got our share of the somewhat molten and manhandled chocolate – in my case a kilo of fine milky goodness. And writing this a few days later, I still have a huge chunk of it in my bag!

There is of course life beyond the chocolate. The national park around Bariloche is simply beautiful, with the town sitting on the shore of a beautiful lake nestled between arid mountains. We stayed in ‘Penthouse 1004’, an incredible hostel on the top floor of a block of flats with stunning views, and most importantly a real sense of home about it with wonderfully friendly staff and some fun other guests.

We’ve been on various day trips to explore the surroundings – hiring a car to see the famous seven lakes (we lost count along the way), and a couple of days walking to viewpoints and hidden beaches on the lakeside. I also spent a day cycling the ‘circuito chico’, a fun but exhausting 25km route up and down hills, but brilliantly finishing at a microbrewery. In the meantime Laura and Karoline went horseriding.

Everywhere you look the scenery is in stunning colours, with the ground a mix of dusky, dusty yellows, broken up by the translucent blue of hidden lakes with white-crested waters whipped up by the wind. Between it all are forests of christmas tree pines waving, with the occasional brilliant streak of bright yellow trees among them. Right now there’s not much snow visible on the peaks, but I can imagine it really perfects the image in winter.

I spent a long time dithering about whether to continue northwards as planned or to perhaps go further south and adventure a little more and see some glaciers. Sadly time and money have got the better of us and so it’s onwards in the direction of Chile and Bolivia – but I will definitely be back in Bariloche before too long – the summer skiing seems very tempting right now!

Simon

(Some photos by Karoline Kuehnelt)

Las Islas Malvinas

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The Argentinian flag over the war memorial, with the British gift of 'Big Ben' behind


Today is the 30th anniversary of the start of the Falklands War. Appropriately, we’re in Buenos Aires, Argentina. We’ve been here for a few weeks of Spanish lessons, dancing and culture, and will soon be heading off to pastures new in the form of Bariloche in the mountains.

Yesterday I paid a visit to the war memorial here in BA. A continually lit flame stands beside the rolecall of the Argentinian dead on a grassy slope, with two cermonial soldiers standing guard motionless, apparently happy to appear in tourists’ posed photos much like those at Buckingham Palace back home.

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Soldiers at the War Memorial


The monument stands in a wide open square where curiously the other structure of significance is in fact a gift from the British, a large clock tower nicknamed ‘Big Ben’ but looking nothing like it. It’s perhaps somewhat symbolic of the mixed relations between the two countries – in spite of the increased right-wing rhetoric featured on the news in the build up to the anniversary, people here have been warm and friendly when we’ve mentioned we’re from the UK; there is a clear acceptance that Britan and Argentina can and should get along side by side.

However, that’s not to suggest that Las Malvinas (as they call them here) aren’t a hot topic and seen as the symbol of national identity. When we were going round the Casa Rosada, the Presidential Palace, one of the centrepieces was a large map on a wall depicting a collection of islands – we tilted our heads and tried to make out South America, or perhaps some alternate suspicion of the world. It was only later we realised what they were. I found it a little embarrassing given that I’d expect most folks in the UK (ourselves included until recently) couldn’t place them on a map, and it’s probably fair to say don’t know much about them. We’ve heard various views here: that they’re becoming a big issue because of oil drilling rights; the historic nature of Argentina’s claim to the islands; the nationalism whipped up at the time by a military dictatorship on the brink of collapse, and the Thatcher government with domestic troubles of its own; and of course the counterpoint that’s all over the news back home: the right of the islanders themselves to self determination – and that they want to be British.

It goes without saying that we’re keeping our heads down today – we decided to leave our matching Union Jack kazoos at home for once, and we won’t be visiting the ‘Malvinas’ empanada joint where we experienced the sole racist comment of our travels so far – the staff behind the counter repeating something along the lines of “The Malvinas are ours and we will take them back” believing that we couldn’t understand their Spanish.

It will be interesting to see where the debate goes on the Malvinas. Our Argentinian friend Javier pointed out today that the issue is deep rooted and has become fundamental to Argentine identity in its post-dictatorship democracy – but clearly the UK isn’t going to let go any time soon. Either way, we’ve decided Port Stanley (that would be Puerto Argentino to those here) will be one place left off our itinerary this time round.

Simon

PS. We’ve fallen a bit behind with the blog! I’ll be adding in some updates from the past month or shortly – we haven’t become hermits, and there’s much to talk about!

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Sunlight on a statue in the Rosedal this morning. Nearby we were amused to find one of William Shakespeare