An Unforgettable Birthday

When my friend Elliot told me that Dave Matthews Band was coming to Santiago this fall I was surprised.  What was my favorite band in the world doing in South America while I’m here studying abroad? You can imagine then, that when he told me that DMB would in fact be in Buenos Aires on October 14 – my 21^st birthday – my reaction was total disbelief!

Elliot's a friend from Chicago who is spending his first semester of his last year in HS in a province 15 hours outside Buenos Aries! He's as big a fan as I am...

            Astonished by this luck, Elliot and I quickly made arrangements to get tickets and for him to travel to Buenos Aires from Río Negro the weekend of my birthday. After some cajoling and music sharing, I convinced five other good friends who had never seen Dave before to come to the concert and help me dance and sing in the beginning of a new year. Best of all, I managed to convince my two closest Argentine friends, Juan José and Agustín, to attend!

            Let me preface my description of the concert on my birthday with the context of my previous experiences. Before Buenos Aires, each concert I’d seen of my favorite band had been in a large outdoor amphitheater in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio in the lawn seating hundreds of yards from stage and every time with my best friend Patrick Schlembach. The night of the fourteenth here was quite different! We arrived together at the indoor Luna Park for the concert in the center of a very urban commercial neighborhood. And upon arrival I couldn’t believe how close we were going to be to the stage! I felt like a king to realize I would be scarcely twenty yards from the stage in general admission. The anticipation built up in a crowd that spoke less English than I’d anticipated – many Argentines had showed up to see this little old band that started in Virginia about 15 years ago. The cheers brought the band to the stage and they opened with a song I know every word of. The band was out to have as good a time as their guests that night and I could see all their faces as they grinned and winked at each other while playing a three hour long show that blew my mind! They fed off the unusual crowd – in between songs the crowd would chant the melody of the chorus of the previous song (rather than the lyrics that most of the crowd didn’t know) and Dave would get on the microphone with a you-know-what-eating grin on his face and exclaim, “I like it better the way ya’ll do it!” The band thought it was hilarious too the goofy way the crowd chanted Dave’s name: Dave Maaaaahhhews.

On cloud nine is a good way to describe the feeling of being so close to stage. We got even closer!

Near the end of the show, Dave broke his guitar strings TWICE in one song and he refused to switch guitars after the second time - he just kept strumming!

            Just when I thought the night couldn’t be any more perfect after a full set and the encore, the drummer – Carter Buford – started tossing drumsticks at an elated crowd. After a few near misses, my friend Elliot came out of a dog pile with one!!!!! It was such a gift to be singing along to my favorite songs, on my birthday with so many friends in such a cool city. I’ll never forget my 21^st birthday…ever.

A Saturday with Pam and Brent Part II

I will take the memory of the Saturday night of the Tango show with my parents wherever I go for the rest of my life.

We arranged for a driver to come pick us up in Recoleta to take us to El Viejo Almacen in San Telmo. Carlos, the driver, ascertained (give me a break, it’s just so I don’t forget my English) that we were not Brasilian as he’d guessed and switched his mixed tape to an American collection that included Elvis, the Rat Pack and many other artists my parents were better at recognizing than I was. Carlos spoke to us in broken, but enthusiastic English and switched from one track to the next as he spent more time making eye contact with his passengers than the road. But we didn’t care, because he had us laughing – hard. Before we knew it, he’d dropped us off at the show and promised to pick us up after the tango performance – okay.

Next, we find ourselves seated at the foot of the small stage as the small band of musicians took their seats: a pianist, two accordionists and two violinists. What ensued was some of the most impressive and intense tango I’ve seen since arriving in Argentina – the birthplace of this dance. The coordination not only between the partners dancing, but in between all the couples on the small stage was awesome. It was like they were all speaking a non-verbal language coordinating every movement perfectly together. However, not every moment of the show was serious, at least not to me.

An eager tourist and photographer who’d been leaning over the rail on the second level that looked right over onto the stage had been snapping away all night with his camera. On several occasions I thought he was going to get his camera knocked by some of the elaborate lifts that the dancers were executing. Turns out I was half right.  One of the pairs did a lightning fast lift on the side of the stage with the overhanging balcony and the woman did a leg lift up and over this tourists’ head. The man’s reaction to getting a face full of legs and dress was hilarious he jumped backward and sat down – obviously startled into realizing just how close he was to the stage.

At the end of the great show, Carlos met my parents and I to take us home. He was jubilant as the way over and the music was taking my parents back – and took my dad, WAY back. Never will I forget my father belting out, “It’s my party, I can cry if I want to,” if I live to be 200! My mother and I were laughing so hard in the back seat that I’m amazed my father could still hear the music well enough to carry on.

A Saturday with Pam and Brent Part I

The highlight of my parents’ visit to Buenos Aires was our day together two Saturdays ago split between going to Tortugas to see a polo match and that night going to see a tango performance!

My parents had wanted to see an Argentine polo match for two reasons. First, none of us had ever seen polo before and second, we’d heard that the best polo players in the world come from Argentina. So my parents treated us to tickets to the match and an English-speaking guide to explain this very strange sport to us. Ezeqiel spoke to my parents and other guests in English, but explained the game to me in Spanish, which I appreciated.

So here’s the interesting stuff I learned about the game. Two teams were facing off on a field much larger than a football pitch on horseback, four players against four. The object of the game is to put the bolcha (white wooden sphere the size of a baseball) through two posts on the opponents’ side. The four players each bring as many as TEN horses with them that are bred and trained to play polo! Each horse comes with a taco (the mallet made of cane) of the appropriate length for that horse’s height above the field. So when players switch horses, they change mallets too. Swinging the tacos can be dangerous, so the referee on horseback tending to the game is the judge of which player has called “the line.” When a player has the linea or line, no opponent can cross the path ahead where the player will strike the bolcha. 

The level of play of this semi-final match was the highest in the world – the handicap system ranks players internationally on a 1 -10 scale (10 being highest). The team in black jerseys was made up of all 10s, and it showed – their agility with their horses and long shots with the bolcha were impressive. Seated right on the side of the field, it was absolutely thrilling to be hear the hooves of the horses converge on our side of the field to chase after the bolcha as the shouts of the players grew louder. As beautiful as the horses were and interesting the game were, I think I’ll remain more of a basketball spectator… Would rather wear my HOYA SAXA shirt to a sporting event than an oxford.

The Cousino's in Argentina

I had a lot of fun translating for my parents and helping my host mom Ana and host brother Juan speak in English when I introduced the two halves of my family.

Sometimes my head didn't even realize I was trying to switch between the languages and I'd try to speak in Spanish to my Mom and Dad or to Juan and Ana in English! My parents were given a glimpse of the reason why Argentines are the number one per capita consumers of beef in the world; The asado (grilled beef) here is really savory and for a family that loves to grill in Sylvania - it's kinda like a taste from home.

Buena Onda: Argentine Ulimate Part II

Ian (11) makes a dump to Luchito.

row one: me, Gabby, Ian, Danny, Molly; row two: Nacho, Lucho, Gabriela, Marcelo, Angelita, Dianis, Sabina, Brian

For me, it’s been since my years with Sylvania Mapleleaf Lacrosse that I’d participated in a competitive sport with practices, dedicated teammates, expectations, joy and disappointment. After being invited to become a part of the new Argentine ultimate Frisbee team known as Sapukay, I still didn’t realize that the things I love best about sports – competition, harnessed aggression, sportsmanship, camaraderie and desire were all about to come rushing back to me.

Dire straits: Brian and Ian talk strategy to the team before the pull.

First off, why the team name Sapukay? Well it’s an old Guarani war cry that we adopted as our motto, name and cheer. Plus it fits right in with the other teams in the league: Discosur, Big Red, Aqua, Cadillacs and Corporal Punishment. They’re all ridiculous. Who are these teammates that have become my friends? Well from Colombia we’ve got our matron Juanita, Luchito with the unbreakable spirit, our everlasting attack dog Danny Torres, Gabriel with the trucker hat, Julian the team stretch leader, Angelica, Pepe and Moises. From Argentina, we’ve got spindly and scrappy Ian, my patient teacher Sabina, crazy Nacho, quiet and confident Diana, vocal Fernando and smiley Marcelo. Finally, we’ve got the gringos: myself, bearded Brian and our friend Molly, from Bowdoin via Indiana. Last, but not least, we’ve got our Peruvian friend Gabriella. 

Our 'coach' and teammate Juanita giving Sabina a pointer.

Consistent with what I know about Frisbee elsewhere in the world, Argentine Ultimate is about one thing more than anything else: Buena Onda. Buena onda translates to good vibes. But in this sport it means putting it all on the field, trusting your teammates, playing one more point than you think you have energy to, helping your opponents up after a spill and cheering for the best dives and catches. What else does it mean? For team Sapukay, it’s meant getting burgers after Saturday and Sunday games, getting drinks for each others’ birthdays, meeting at each others’ apartments to talk strategy, watch YouTube and eat pizza, and throwing lots of discs in lots of parks. It means playing on muddy fields and getting filthy, it means finding the positive in a loss or having the grace to win like ladies and gentlemen.

We’re a team. We’re family. And before and after every game we circle up after Juanita or Danny has told us how lucky we are to be playing together on a Saturday - we all put our left hands in the middle and starting with Ian we begin one by one to add to the growing cry around the circle until we’re all cheering and then we yell, SAPUKAY! All together. Why the left hand? Because according to my friend Molly, it’s closest to the heart.

Team spirit on the line.

Brian makes a lateral pass as Dianis breaks up field.

Basically, I’m just plain grateful to have been a part of this team. We didn’t have jerseys, or referees, cheerleaders, coach buses or personal trainers. And it was refreshing to be back at square one with a sport, which is completely about the sport and the people playing it and nothing else. Before the hardware, before the championship t-shirts, before the framed photos, before the jerseys comes the game and your brothers and sisters on the field. Thank you Sapukeños. Les quiero.

Argentine Ultimate Part I

I’ve been amiss on this blog to do little more than add one photo of my ULTIMATE FRISBEE experiences here in Buenos Aires. Now that our formal league is sadly coming to its close, I’ve reflected a lot on what my experience with this new sport and new friends has meant in three months, but first to tell an intro to the tale.

Once upon a time, two American students arrived in Buenos Aires – bright eyed and anxious to explore one of the world’s ten largest cities. Their names were Will and Brian, and they didn’t have beards, weren’t 21, didn’t know what classes they’d be taking, or what activities they’d be doing, but they knew one thing: they’d be damned if they didn’t play a sport while here in Argentina.

At the end of July, Brian enthusiastically cajoled me into coming to the Argentine Ultimate league’s pick up game that weekend – the field they use is located just a few kilometers walk from where I live in the city. So that Saturday, Brian and I make the walk there together, after twenty minutes or so of walking and estimating we were getting close we saw the looming of the enormous River Plate football stadium (where Argentina won the world cup in 1978). The building impressed us, but as we kept walking our ears detected something out of place: the pop, pop of gun shots from all different calibers was creating a dull roar along with the cars from the highway we were approaching. No big deal, we were just walking by the Tiro Federal – a shooting range surrounded by fortress like walls that were over fifteen meters high, from which gunshots were ringing this Saturday morning. After crossing the massive Panamericana highway via a narrow pedestrian walkway we’d arrived at the league’s field. Nestled near this massive stadium, gun range, many lane high way and a swath of pubic university owned athletic fields is our field. Field nine, nestled in this urban jungle.

Like nervous new kids at their first day of school, we smiled nervously at everyone around us speaking fluent Spanish and greeting old friends. The players had jerseys, were organized and looked comfortable with each other. We just stood off to the side and threw Brian’s disc, trying not to draw attention as we tried to scope the situation. Looking back, those first passes were pathetic - I hardly had an appreciating for how much finesse the sport has a capacity for.

Eventually, a player Brian and I suspected was the anonymous Ian whom Brian had contacted about the league, came over and introduced himself to us Gringos. With a big smile atop his small frame of strong legs and gangly arms, he explains in a combination of English and Spanish that we should just hop in and play!

And that was our first day meeting Argentines, Colombians, Venezuelans and other Americans like us that live, study, work and play here in Buenos Aires and love Frisbee as much as Catholic Justice and Hucking Foyas seem to. For me, my experience with Ultimate was just beginning. Little did I know how great of friends Ian, Brian and I would become, nor how many more Saturdays full of ultimate and Spanish were in store for us.

TILCARA - The Andes!

Three weeks ago we flew to the northernmost province of Argentina, named Jujuy for a field trip and vactaion to the Andes region. The overall conclusion after hiking and touring in these BREATH-TAKING mountains: I want to return with more time. I sifted through all my photos to give you a glimpse of highlights from this long weekend up north.

So here I am at 12,500 feet feeling pretty dandy. We drank tea made from coca leaf to help with the altitude in the Andes. The beverage helps with oxygen capture by making the red blood cells bulge. Kinda useful!

This is a handful of salt that is gathered here in Las Salinas Grandes. As far as the eye can see there were salt deposits surrounded by mountains.

Some friends and I made time to throw a frisbee while we were in Las Salinas.

On an afternoon hike my friends Kate, Megan, Sam and I paused for a photo overlooking this Quebrada (gorge) after climbing a steep trail. Views like this didn't help us feel like going back to the city...

 Aside from seeing the beautiful landscape there are two things that I'd be amiss if I left out. Number one, llama tastes delicious! And two, I love the music from the Andes region with flute, drums and guitar - I danced the folkloric chacarera again while here when we went to a bar and had a blast. For someone who might not have time to learn the subtleties of tango - chacarera is a variety of line dancing that for some reason is just PLAIN FUN. I'm going back to these mountains. Period.

Testimonies at a human rights trial

September 29

On Wednesday two weeks ago I confirmed that my interest in human rights and my decision to work for the Committee for the Defense of Health, Ethics and Human Rights (CODESEDH) in Buenos Aires was the right decision. For a total of four hours a week, I schlep across down in the 168 to the pink 19^th century looking building where CODESEDH is located. I’m greeted by Sabina or María Ofelia (my supervisor) and I get right to work as a librarian: we’re cataloging and numbering a collection of roughly 1200 magazines, pamphlets and books the organization has produced or collected since roughly 1985. To answer your question - yeah, it’s dusty work. The best part about this admittedly tedious job is chatting with María about topics like the trials going on here against government or military members who ran the secret detention centers around the city from 1976 – 1982 when as many as 20 – 30,000 individuals were detained, tortured and, or murdered for being political enemies of the state. As we drink maté and I work on the computer with a stack of literature from the United Nations or Defence for Children International, I’d felt detached from the reality of the topic of human rights. That was until Wednesday morning. I’d arranged to go to a public session of a trial against a number of repressors affiliated with the detention site known as ESMA (the acronym in English translates to Mechanical School of the Navy).

El edificio de Tribunales near Retiro in BA on a rainy morning. As I looked for the room where the trial was, I passed many cuffed and escorted defendants - it felt like a movie set until I realized I was in a justice building.

I arrived in Retiro via subte early to walk the last few blocks in this industrial part of town to the Tribunal building. After having my documentation checked out and accredited I was instructed it is prohibited to use cameras, recorders or to demonstrate while in the trial. That wasn’t surprising. The room was in the subsuelo (basement) of the building and I seated myself in the back of the room with other members of the public. The trial was running late (typical in Argentina), but I was far from bored. A man named Adolfo had sat down next to me and as we were both alone we began to make small talk after noticing our phones were identical. After asking me if I’d had family involved in the testimony that was going on that day, he told me a story about his son. On 8 December 1977 his family was taking mass at a church south of the main government district. His son – probably ten at the time, sneaked out of the service and took a walk a few blocks away. All of a sudden, armed men appeared, threw a bound and blindfolded person in a trunk and shot another. Needless to say his son fled back to the church. Adolfo’s son is just one of the many to testify as a witness or victim of the state conducted kidnappings in that era.

When the trial began, the first witness of the day was called in. Her name was Elizabeth and she is approximately Mom’s and Dad’s age. Her testimony was being added to the evidence against a collection of navy personnel responsible for human rights violations. One such individual was there - until a few years ago he'd been on the run in Mexico, eluding capture. One morning when Elizabeth was 17, she awoke to a man with a machine gun from the military on the landing who told her, “Nena te vamos a llevar.” We’re taking you girl. She was blindfolded as her mother screamed and they put her in a van with other people a few of whom she was able to recognize. They drove away and eventually she arrived at (what she now knows was) the Mechanical School of the Navy. She was put in a room by herself in the basement and always wore a blindfold. At the time, she’d been dating an architect student named Luis and she soon learned that she was taken in because they wanted to capture Luis. They threatened her life at gunpoint on several occasions and she was physically tortured as they asked her about the political activities of her and Luis. The only time she cried throughout the whole experience was when her captors told her they would release her. She broke down. And just as they said they would, they dropped her on a street corner and sped away. She sat in a café to regain her wits and then took a cab home. For her, the trauma “only” lasted 3 days. Luis was captured and released sometime later, but many of their acquaintances in their group of politically interested youth were never seen again. Her story is one of thousands like it.

 This theme remains present in the consciousness of Argentines whether through trials like these or work of organizations like the one where I volunteer, CODESEDH.