A Sunday along the Rio de la Plata: nature, chori, and bosta

Sunday has got to be the best day of the week in Buenos Aires.

The normally busy streets and avenues empty as a mass evacuation occurs. Hordes of Porteños flee the craziness of the city and search for refuge amidst the quiet of their weekend homes in the countryside. Those of us who don't have a "country" (a "weekend home" in Porteño) find peace and green (and maybe even Greenpeace — if their volunteers are out in full force informing us about the crimes of humanity against nature…) in the many parks scattered throughout the city.

One of my favorite parks is the Reserva Ecológica, or the Ecological Reserve (speaking of Greenpeace…), which lies beyond the upscale and modern Puerto Madero along the Río de la Plata, or River Plate (for which the greatest club in Argentine soccer is named…). It's one of the few areas of Buenos Aires which remain free from human construction and filled with trees, birds, and other creatures —beyond the normal wildlife one encounters on the city streets. You can even find your way down to a rocky beach, sitting down to enjoy watching and listening to the tiny waves of the river crash against the shore, almost completely forgetting about the metal and glass skyscrapers which monopolize the horizon behind you.

(Warning: Do not read the following paragraph on an empty stomach. Doing so may lead to uncontrolled drooling, hunger pangs, and trying to chew on your computer/smart phone/tablet/or whatever it is you're using to read this blog — which, as a consequence, might complicate your ability to read future posts…)

Once you get tired of the wilderness, or if hunger gets the best of you, you can step outside the reserve and find a boardwalk lined with food stands, which are more like permanent food trucks, tempting you with the aroma of meat cooking on the grill. After you buy your sandwich, either a choripan (a delicious chorizo sausage on french bread) or a bondiola completa (a succulent thin cut of pork topped with ham, cheese, and an egg over-easy all on a baguette —yes, eating it without staining your clothes is quite a challenge), you can grab a nice cold soda, get comfortable at a table in the shade, and look out over the reserve while observing the hybrid parade of locals and tourists pass by on foot, bicycle, or rollerblades. This boardwalk is known as the Costanera Sur (southern coastal/boardwalk, I'm not sure how it should be translated to English) and lies within a couple kilometers of River Plate's rival club, Boca Juniors.

La Boca, as the neighborhood is called, is now a major tourist destination, famous for El Caminito (the "little road") a street lined with houses built of bright, colorful tin sheets. Along El Caminito you can find "typical" Argentine restaurants (priced for tourists), "typical" Argentine souvenirs (also priced for tourists), and very few "typical" Argentines (except for the occasional con artist or pickpocket). But in all seriousness, El Caminito is a part of Buenos Aires certainly worth visiting at least once, as houses which were formally shanty homes have been converted basically into works of art appreciated by Porteños and foreigners alike.

Formerly a neighborhood of immigrants, La Boca was a melting pot of cultures unified by the common goal of establishing a better life than the one they had left behind in the war-torn, impoverished Europe of the end of the 19th century and the first half of the 20th century. Many came with next to nothing and were forced to build their homes out of whatever materials they could find. Essentially, La Boca was the shanty town of Buenos Aires a hundred years ago, not too different from the villas de miseria scattered throughout the city today.

Today, La Boca no longer merely consists of homes constructed from tin sheets. El Caminito is now surrounded by tall "mono block" apartment buildings, not too different from the low income housing found in the United States or in the outskirts of Western European cities. Although the neighborhood remains impoverished and somewhat dangerous, the city government has done well to improve security in the most touristy parts, along El Caminito and La Bombonera (the giant blue and yellow atrocity called home by Boca Juniors distinguished by its particular odor of bosta, manure).

Visiting La Boca is kind of an odd concept, actually. It would be the equivalent of tourists wandering through the Villa 31 taking photographs while oohing and ahhing at the precarious state of the towering exposed brick homes.  I can see it now…

A tour guide leads a pack of Yanquis along the half-dirt, half-paved winding streets of the villa, "…and here we have the home of Nene Feo (an imaginary precursor of the infamous Nene Malo — yes, his name literally means "Bad Boy"… You can read about my love for the oh-so-talented "artist" here), the man who became the most famous cumbia villera artist in history, known for his classy, romantic lyrics which masterfully utilized the slang of the day along with his creative rhythms… If you're interested in hearing a wonderfully remastered performance of Nene Feo's best works, a string quartet and an illustrious washboard player, considered among the creme of the creme in the world. The show only costs 100,000,000 pesos (the equivalent of 10 USD today) and dinner is included."

"Sounds great! What's on the menu?"

"A typical Argentine meal. Starting with an appetizer of crispy, sautéed soy beans, then followed by a main course of breaded, deep fried tofu topped with tomato sauce and melted cheese (imported from Brazil since Argentina is now purely a producer of soy and cows are a thing of its distant past), referred to by locals a  milanesa de soja a la napolitana, and completed by an Argentine soy flan topped with dulce de leche (also imported from Brazil).

"And to drink?"

"Oh, yes, the scrumptious meal is served with an elegant Malbec, Argentina's national red wine, imported from Chile."

Sorry, I got a little carried away there, and perhaps a bit to sarcastic… One can only hope that one day the villas will only be a place to visit and wonder how people once had to live in such terrible circumstances.

"A Portrait of a(n Argentine) Lady"

Today is a strong, independent, intelligent, loving, beautiful woman's birthday. Unfortunately, as I am a continent away, I am unable to spend it with her, but perhaps this blog post might make up for the distance a little bit.

Perhaps when I began this blog, I was unclear about my reasons for coming to Argentina. If it was merely for soccer, why would I choose a place where women's soccer is so underdeveloped? Why would I choose a country so close to Antarctica? Why would I choose a nation where many Americans don't even know what language is spoken there? (They speak Argentinian right? Or is it Portuguese…?) Well, my decision went way beyond the level of soccer, the proximity to the South Pole, and the lack of US interest in the official language of the country. Half of my family is from this South American country, which often feels more European than Latin American, and I saw soccer as a perfect opportunity to not only spend time with my family here in Argentina but also to experience the culture in which my mom grew up.

Granted, Argentina has changed immensely since the eighties when my mom moved to the US —the military regime was still in power when she left, and this year the country celebrated 30 years of democracy—, but even so, many traditions and values have remained constant. After living almost a year in Argentina, I've been able to pick up on a couple of the ways these aspects of Argentine culture have influenced and formed my mom.

Machismo: In the late 70s and early 80s, when my mom was in university, it was just becoming more acceptable for women to become professionals. The gender ratio of my mother's graduating class at the Facultad de Medicina of the Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA) was highly skewed toward the male side, 80:20 or 70:30 male to female. She had to learn quickly to deal with stigmas associated with female doctors from her professors, classmates, and patients, stigmas which she managed to overcome in order to move to another country and begin to work in one of the world's most prestigious hospitals, the Mayo Clinic. Though Argentina has made great strides toward eliminating sexism and chauvinism, especially in the worlds of higher education (where in the last ten years the number of women studying in universities has surpassed the number of men), traces of machismo remain engrained in the culture, especially in attitudes toward women in sports. I'm not lying when I say that more than once people have told me I look too feminine to be playing soccer…

Interpersonal relationships: One of the easiest ways to pick out an American family in an Argentina restaurant —beyond hearing them speak English or seeing them arrive for dinner before 8 p.m.— is observing how long they take to eat their meal and leave. Spending time together around the table is something sacred for Argentines. Waiting for a table at a busy restaurant is always tricky business because even once the bill is paid, the table might remain occupied for another half hour or more as the family or friends continue socializing. (Oh, and I also understand my mom's frustration at American restaurants when the waiter brings you the bill while you're still eating… In Argentina, you can finish eating and wait as long as you want and they still won't bring you the bill until you ask for it, or at least until the restaurant is closing.)

I'm thankful that my mom kept the habit of spending time together at the table. Breakfast and dinner are sacred times for my family, and my parents always did everything possible to make sure we would be able to share those meals as a family, even if it meant waking up extra early before heading off for school and work or waiting to eat until late when we were all home together. Even if our table discussions were not particularly profound or captivating all the time, I look back gratefully at the time we were able to spend together during meals. It was an intentional time set apart for our family, a tradition I hope to continue when I begin my own family in the future.

Okay, so I could go on to talk about other aspects of Argentine culture and their influences on my mom and our family, but since I'm short on time and this post is starting to get longer and longer, I'm going to cut to the chase about what makes my mom so special.

At the beginning of this post, I described my mom in five fairly broad adjectives. These are qualities I've seen reflected in her throughout my life, at times some qualities shone brighter than others, but in other moments all those aspects shone through at once. One such moment was on a mother-daughter trip to Argentina in May of 2009.

Just a year before then, my mom had reconnected with one of her cousins, L, who, while they were growing up, had been like another sister or best friend to her. We went as a family to her cousin's house to eat dinner and to meet her beautiful, close-knit family. The evening went wonderfully and we left looking forward to maintaining a closer relationship with L, her husband, and her four kids (who were all around my age, two slightly older and two slightly younger).

Anyway, back to 2009… before the trip, my mother had received some unfortunate news. L had been diagnosed with lung cancer, a disease with which my mom was very familiar as a radiation oncologist. Obviously, while we were in Argentina, my mom wanted to take advantage of our time to see her cousin and make sure she was receiving the proper medical care. One afternoon, my mom and I went to the clinic to keep her company with her husband and oldest son as she received treatment. It was the first time we had seen L in a year.

As she walked in the clinic door, I couldn't believe how she had changed physically. The disease and the treatments had very clearly taken a toll. Her once beautiful, wavy, thick, blond locks had been lost and were now replaced by a wig, which could only hope to attain the former beauty of her natural hair. Gone was her full, athletic figure which had once played tennis regularly, and all that was left was a thin, bony figure leaning heavily on her husband's arm for support. What had remained unchanged was her beautiful smile and the loving look in her eyes which emerged when she saw my mom waiting for her. At that point, I just about lost it and almost began to cry uncontrollably, it was the first time I'd seen a loved one so weak and fragile, but then I turned to look at my mom. She was as strong and beautiful as ever, despite the pain she was experiencing below the surface, knowing she had to remain that way for her cousin's family. For the next few hours we spent in the clinic, she focused on loving her cousin with words and embraces, she spoke with the doctors and reviewed the studies they had performed, and she comforted and encouraged L's desperate husband and son, all the while restraining her urge to burst into tears.

Finally, when it was time to leave, after we said goodbye to L and her family, my mom broke down. She hugged me and began to weep, knowing she had just said goodbye to her cousin for the last time. It was a terrible yet beautiful moment, during which no words were necessary. I held on to her and joined her in her tears, sharing in her pain although I had only met L a year ago. It was a moment I'll never forget, and while it is difficult to recall, as some details have certainly faded away, when I remember, tears begin to well up in my eyes and a heavy feeling arises in my chest, a turbulent combination of pain and love. It is a picture of my mom painted permanently into my memory with every brushstroke displaying a beautiful part of her character.

I love you, mom. I'm blessed to have such a strong woman as my mother and role model. I'm thankful for the moments we've been able to share together both in the US and here in Argentina, for our relationship which continues to grow and strengthen even with thousands of miles of physical separation, and for the many memories which are still to be made. I hope you have a day which is as truly wonderful as you are. Happy birthday!

Momma and me (Summer 2012)