A Day on the Paraná Delta Near Tigres

Well I finally started reading the manual for our SLR camera after 5 years. I've been playing around trying to get decent shots in the extremely bright sun, something that can be a challenge if you rely on the camera's automatic modes. These shots are from a day trip we took to "The Delta," which is where Porteños go to escape the city heat and relax in the cool milk chocolate waters of the Paraná Delta . And for you factoid lovers: the Paraná Delta is fed by the 1600 mile long Paraná River running through Brazil, Paraguay, and Argentina ultimately dumping as much water volume as the Mississippi into the Atlantic ocean.

Rockin the Tango at San Telmo

Our Sunday ritual here in Buenos Aires is to hit the San Telmo antique and craft market. Today, we spent a good time sitting on the curb listening to this rocking street orchestra called Orquesta Tipica Imperial. I never thought there could be anyone crazier then my dear friend Timothy of Bellingham who hauls his full size acoustic piano around in a mini van, that is, until I saw the piano player from Orquesta Tipical, lugging his massive instrument through the cobble stone alleyways of San Telmo. What a glorious treat.



It turns out someone made a documentary film on these guys. The trailer looks interesting, apparently they are often harassed by the police for playing on the street. If anyone finds out how to get a hold of the film, please let me know, I'd love to see it.

Boys, Bodies and Bashings

One of the greatest joys of marriage is that your partner's stories become your stories. So my wife was sitting in the kids play area at Plaza Cortezar, the local park and restaurant area where we spend a lot of time. The kids were busy digging in the sand, sliding and playing their never ending game of tag. It was late morning, lots of folks were milling about, many sipping coffee, some setting up for the daily craft fair, and some preparing their restaurant for the day. A couple guys in their late teens were a part of a construction crew working on some repairs in the plaza. One of the boys was drunk. The two broke out into a fist fight. All bystanders remained in their pre-fight positions; no one rushed in to stop the fight or gawk, but everyone was watching, and aware of the fight. At one point, the drunk boy fell to the ground and struggled to stand. Blood gushed out of his nose. The other boy kicked him hard in the face. At this point, immediately multiple older men, around 50 years in age, stepped in, constrained the standing boy, and walked him away. Other men helped the fallen boy, someone arrived with a large bottle of water and poured it on his head; another brought a towel and started cleaning his wounds. Soon the police arrived.

So what my wife found most interesting were the cultural dynamics at play. For one, it seemed no one was particularly worried about weapons, or serious danger. Also, there was an acceptance that boys will be boys, and the fight was fair and therefore immediate intervention was not required or desired. Upon the violence taking a turn toward the "unfair," however, with one boy clearly down and incapacitated, bystander response was swift and thorough.

This story reminds me of another story. One day a few years back in Punjab, we were driving home from a day trip to the Himalayan foothills. My Thiaji (father's older brother), myself, my wife and kids. We slowly drove through the chaotic, dusty streets of Nawanshar. A cacophony of cars, goats, people, cows, honking buses, strewn wires, and a uniformed policeman directing traffic. As we approached the town center where multiple streets intersect, right in the middle of the street were about 15 boys, again late teens, in a full fist fight. My Thiaji scratching his gray beard, started laughing, "Deep, look at our boys! This is how we live. Ah, I wish I was young again." Thiaji then stopped the car in the midst of the chaos to chat with a policeman who was calmly directing traffic as if nothing was going on. Thiaji asked, "what's going on?" The policeman responded, "oh the kids are just bored, it happens every Friday evening." My uncle looked at the cop like he was totally daft, pointed out his window toward two flying fists a few feet away and said, "well of course, but what is this particular fight about?" He needed the details. Something about a boy, a sister, a crass remark. Thiaji rolled up his window, waved to the cop, smiled at the fighting boys, and we inched along, wondering what was for dinner.

Buenos Aires Nose Beatings

So a few minutes after arriving in Buenos Aires, I noticed some woman with a broken nose sipping coffee at a cafe. A day later I saw another broken nosed woman chatting with a well coiffed tough looking guy; I wondered if she was a domestic violence victim. Then yesterday I saw another one, and thought, wow, are the men here abusive? Maybe its all that hot Mediterranean blood. Then today I saw another one, and thought, okay, something is up; all of the broken noses have the same exact bandaging. Later, we met a tour guide who started cracking jokes about the "lions" here in the BA jungle -- she pointed out plasticated boobulation examples everywhere; she said the national health insurance even covers it. So I did some searches, and a bunch of weird things showed up. I don't typically follow the Miss Universe news, so I missed the fact that Miss 1994 Argentina died recently from a botched buttocks implant. And this freaky woman has issues with hers as well. Apparently though, this is all old news. This 1999 Newsweek article has a punchy quote:

In "The Masks of Argentina," author Luis Majul estimates that one in every 30 Argentines has undergone cosmetic surgery. And with prices plummeting, face-lifts and nose jobs are becoming "democratized," says plastic surgeon Maria Cristina Zeaiter. But the country's elite sets the tone; everyone from Diego Maradona to President Carlos Menem has gone under the scalpel. Menem's ex-wife, former First Lady Zuelma Yoma, is a frequent client of cosmetic-surgery clinics. But few Argentines are put off by such dangers. "Mankind suffers two great ills: aging and ugliness," says cosmetic surgeon Jose Juri. "Plastic surgery can treat them both."

So, it turns out that, not only do folks here get a lot of plastic surgery, but BA is actually a major plastic surgery "medical" "tourist" destination. Here's a rather disturbing CNN expose.

Homeschooling at La Campana National Park in Chile

We're still working out many of the kinks in our home schooling efforts. One of the things that seems to be working is field trip based learning. So recently we hauled the pod out to La Campana National Park which is in the Vizcachas Mountains about 60 kilometers from where we are staying in Valparaiso.


This was probably the most public transportation we have ever taken for a day trip, so we started out the lesson discussing how to catch the train, how the automated ticketing system works, where to find the bus, and how to find a toilet at a bus station without eating a meal. Since we haven't had a Lonely Planet guidebook with us, we're flying a bit blind relying heavily on our hosts for some advice; stuff like: "I'm pretty sure if you make it past the land of the big tomato to Olmue, you'll find a bus that will get you close to the park. From there, just hike into the park." Our homeschooling lesson continued by a colorful illustration of how to look really clueless on a bus in the middle of no where while butchering a major world language; our illustration rendered perfectly, inspiring a wonderful Chilean gentleman to help us flag down the next ride in our route. This photo below shows the man running away from us as fast as possible, fleeing the half baked field trippers.


Along the way, we continued our lesson discussing what horses eat in the Cordillera de la Costa, apparently smooshed tomatoes from the back of a truck.


And more information on why you might hang a cow skin from the ceiling.

Here was another quick lesson on why National Park's are located on the end of really long dirt roads:


And another one on why you might build a blue shack on top of a well a half mile up from the rangers station.


Ah yes, and the environmental lesson we originally set out on, which was to witness and understand the very unique ecological system of this region in Chile.

So we also spent some time understanding how a plant ecosystem can remain shielded from the world at large (in the case of Chile, huge mountains a short distance to the east, and a big ocean to the west). And of course, we chatted about who this Charles Darwin guy was, since he climbed this mountain during his "Voyage of the Beagle." Darwin was interesting to the kids, in part since Manuel, one of our hosts, while recommending the park, described how he came here with Darwin's great, great, ... great grand daughter, who herself is also apparently a scientist.

So there you have it, a serendipitous field trip based ecological homeschooling lesson on the last of the Jubaea chilensis (Chilean Wine Palm) forests.

Downhill Distractions in Valparaiso

My wife has grown tired of me constantly checking out the lines here, as in, me imagining how I would hit a set of stairs, or launch out into the street off a nice drop with a downhill bike. Obsessing over lines is something I've done ever since I was a kid and I first started skiing. It seems I can't enjoy a hike unless I convince myself first that it wouldn't be that great of a mountain bike ride. I've never though, had this problem in a city, since I normally think of cities as terrible places to mountain bike. Valparaiso changed that; it is simply so obviously built for 8 inches of suspension, a downhill helmet, and some armor.

So, after feeling a bit OCD, I was thrilled to discover that I am not the first to obsess on the Valparaiso lines. This morning, I was chatting with Manuel, a very relaxed gourmet Chilean chef who cooks for guests here at the cozy Valparaiso Experience; I was telling him how amazing the streets are. He asked me what I meant, and I explained. He then asked me if I was one of those crazy guys. I laughed while my wife nodded. So Manuel went on to tell me a story. Apparently the traditional male Valparaisians are a pretty hardy stock of fisherman and port people. When they first saw an army of "green haired, pierced skinny kids" parading through the streets on their beefy rigs, they laughed. Then, they witnessed the Valparaiso Urban Downhill, and were hand-on-forehead impressed at the kids "bravery." Manuel even described his personal shock at witnessing a hard core rider get some fat air while jumping out the window of a house; upon landing, this rider removed their helmet revealing long flowing locks of blond. Manuel said, with a starry look in his eyes, "we have wonderful women here in Val, they are artists, painters, architects, but wow, I'd never seen anything like this. She was amazing."

After some quick YouTube sleuthing, I've dug up some footage of the 2007 Downhill race. Enjoy.

A Day at Pablo Neruda's

We had a wonderful day visiting Neruda's house here in Valparaiso, Chile. The gardens are beautiful. Slideshow courtesy of Smilebox, a friend's company in Seattle.