La Recoleta Cemetary in Buenos Aires

I started making this video back in February when we were in Buenos Aires. I had basically given up on making videos for the web because its difficult to secure license rights for a decent soundtrack. But then, thanks to my friend Amanda, I found out about Moby's very cool policy of making some of his music available for budding filmmakers on mobygratis.com. I'm not really a budding filmmaker, more just a guy with a cheap video camera that wants to share stuff with the world who really really really requires a sharp soundtrack. In any event, I got approval from Moby to use his great song titled Papa in this short. All footage was shot in La Recoleta Cemetaria which is an amazing place chock full of glycerine embalmed Argentines and funky tombs galore. Needless to say: great imagery to sketch and paint from -- you might recognize some of our hands and work flashing by. So, crank up your headphones, expand to view on a full screen, and enjoy.

Escape from Water World

Perhaps a week into our stay in Buenos Aires, the kids and I got caught in a torrential downpour. It was dark out, and we were sheltered under a restaurant awning, laughing about the rain and milling with other folks. The kids insisted we go for it and head home, despite my many warnings that we would be totally soaked. I relented, and so, we three started running; perhaps not 20 feet into our journey it was as if we had jumped into a lake. Nayan and I had a blast, laughing all the way home, enjoying the mixture of heat and heavy rain. Ananya shreaked after losing her flip flop and remained totally spooked that night, and for weeks after; for the remainder of our time in Buenos Aires, anytime Ananya saw clouds, or signs of rain, she stubbornly refused to go outside. We bribed her with a push button umbrella and lots of ice cream, and we spent much time convincing her that the rain was nothing to fear, and not much could happen. Looks like we were wrong. Our friend Maria who lives in Buenos Aires, just forwarded this article published in La Nacion, about the torrential rains. Take a look. Many of the pictures are from our neighborhood with water levels rising over 1 meter. The first shot is of a group exiting a bus while clutching a rope to cross the currents. Looks like we indeed escaped just in time.

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.