Getting our bicentennial on.

On May 25, 1810, Argentina basically said, “Hey Spain, we don’t want you to have control over our government anymore. Get your controlling European-selves out of here inmediatamente.” And now, 200 years later, while I am living in this wonderful country, Argentina celebrated the bicentennial of its revolution. Throughout the week there were concerts, parades, and the much anticipated reopening of Teatro Colon in honor of the holiday. I could only make it to the celebration on Tuesday, May 25^th, but I was looking forward to finding out how Argentines party for their country.

Meredith and I were a few blocks into our walk, about ten blocks away from the center of everything, when she asked the pressing questions, “Where is everybody?” I’d been thinking the same thing since we stepped out of our apartment. The streets were virtually empty, and the few people we did pass showed no interest in their country’s holiday. I couldn’t help but think that if we had been in the United States for a celebration like this nearly every person would be wearing something red, white and/or blue. There would be people with their faces painted, American flags on every building, and the voices of people singing the national anthem as they walked toward the parade. This was not the case in Buenos Aires.

Though we did find a good amount of people congregating on the major road downtown, we were still shocked to find that not many people were sporting the country’s baby blue hue. While Meredith and I stood there in the middle of the road taking pictures of in front of the Obelisco (a national monument here that looks frightening similar to the Washington Monument), seven Blue Angel-looking jets flew above us. A few people started clapping while Meredith and I squinted up in the direction that the planes had come from.

“That’s it?” she asked after a solid minute of waiting for more planes. “200 years of freedom and they send seven planes? They couldn’t even make it an even ten?”

I laughed with her. I understood Meredith’s incredibility, but I kept telling myself that every country celebrates holidays differently and that we had to have faith that Argentina would pull through with a giant fiesta. We were in the nation’s capital on the 200^th anniversary of their independence. Something huge had definitely been planned.

We took some pictures of the newly re-opened Teatro Colon, met up with a friend for lunch and enjoyed the afternoon walking around the semi-patriotic downtown area. After sunset we headed back to the center to watch the big parade. From what I could tell each float told part of the story of the revolution. Some of the dancing and music was unbelievable. The parade moved too slow for us to stay and watch the whole thing – by this time we had been downtown for almost 8 hours – but we did get to see some of the more elaborate floats live.

Argentina celebrated its bicentennial the same way it does everything – in its own way and at its own pace. I had a great time celebrating with Argentina, but the day made me miss and appreciate the United States more than I have since I arrived here. This would have been an over-the-top, nationally televised, all-day extravaganza at home. We saw seven planes, a car show and a spectacular parade. I missed the patriotism.

But fear not, with the help of the Alamo and couple red-white-and-blue-themed care packages, Meredith and I are already planning the 4^th of July. We’re going to show this country how the celebration of freedom is done.

The not-so-patriotic crowd.

The Obelisco.

Teatro Colon re-opened on the 24th. Definitely looking into going to a show here.

Florida Street. Go Gators.

Teatro Colon.

Peron on the big screen they put up for the parade and the Obelisco by night.

Crazy dancing girl in the beginning of the parade being spun out over the crowd.

Performers running/dancing along the side and the top of a ship float. The video doesn't do it justice; it was insane.

Roughing it

When my friend Pachu showed me the apartment that Meredith and I now live in, I thought it was endearing and warm. I posted pictures showing off my quaint little place, located in one of the best areas of Buenos Aires. I realized it was small and could use a good cleaning, but it was within my budget and I knew that Meredith and I have endured worse. We have both lived in cramped college dorms, a chaotic sorority house, and several less-than-glamorous apartments. I figured that this place was a palace compared to the bad roommates, bugs, drama, and cramped quarters we have both had to suffer through. I was wrong. This place is GHETTO.

Don’t misunderstand me; I love this apartment. I still find it warm and endearing. I love its location and how it really does feel like home to me. But it is far from a palace. In fact, it is quite possibly the most rundown, decrepit place I have ever lived. And I think it’s important for my family and friends to know exactly how much ghetto this white girl can tolerate.

The shabbiness of the place is masked with sparkly pillows, glass tables, and a balcony. It’s when you sit on the decade-old, never-been-washed couches that the pillows lose their glamour. The place is old and has clearly been home to many careless tenants, giving it a feeling of being constantly dirty. Meredith and I clean the place several times a week, but the 4 o’clock sun shining in through the windows still shows the permanent filth sticking to the glass tabletops. The balcony really is wonderful. It’s nice being able to walk out there to enjoy the cool, fall breeze with a cup of yogurt or glass of wine – depending on the time of day. It almost doesn’t matter that the French doors never fully close so we can hear every argument, party, and wind chime coming from our neighbor’s place.

The doorknob doesn’t stay in the door. The refrigerator is from the 70’s and sounds like a radiator. There isn’t any hot water after 9 p.m., but even if you shower when hot water is available it takes a solid ten minutes to heat up. By that time, I’m finished showering. The gas oven only lights if you let the gas run for a minute and 15 seconds. Dangerous much? If anyone in our building forgets to close the elevator door, which happens hourly, we listen to the alarm go off until someone else on that floor needs to use it.

Despite all this, I have never had so much fun living somewhere. Sure, it’s hard to laugh at the situation when I’m trying to force myself closer to the freezing water pouring out of the showerhead. But Meredith and I have been finding the adventure in using antique appliances, the humor of picking doorknobs up off the floor, the health benefits of climbing flights of stairs to catch an elevator, and the joy of roughing it.

Iguazu Falls

When my Dad was working on cruises in Alaska, he would come back and tell us about the glaciers and whales and say, “It’s one of those things you look at, and you just know God exists.”  That’s the best way to describe Iguazu.  There are no words strong or descriptive enough to explain the sheer power of the Falls.  So I’m not even going to try; I’m just going to do my best to write about my experience there.

You will find Iguazu Falls on nearly every list of “The Wonders of the World.”  The Falls, which are situated on the Iguazu River between Brazil and Argentina, are one of the largest waterfalls in the world.  When moving to South America was just starting to become a not-so-unrealistic idea, Meredith sent me a link to a video of Iguazu Falls with the caption, “WE ARE GOING HERE!”  That was in October.  Little did either of us know that eight months later we would be standing on a slippery metal walkway, squinting up through the mist at waterfalls so powerful we could hear their thunder from half a mile away.

Meredith and I decided to take the 18-hour bus ride to Iguazu about 18 hours before the bus was scheduled to leave.  She came into the Alamo while I was working and said, “Let’s go to Iguazu tomorrow morning.  We can be back before your Tuesday afternoon lesson.”  I looked at her, realized she was serious, and said, “Sounds good to me.”  The next afternoon – after sleeping for a whopping 5 hours – we picked up some empanadas and a couple bottles of wine before making our way to the bus station.

We found out shortly after we’d arrived in Iguazu that a dam had recently broken and flooded the Falls, so a lot of the upper part was closed.  We’d really been looking forward to seeing La Garganta del Diablo, which translates to “throat of the Devil,” but it turned out to be one of the places that was shut down.  La Garganta del Diablo is this area in the Falls where a bunch of the waterfalls meet and it looks like a huge crater in the top of the world.  I definitely recommend Googling pictures of it, as I don’t have any of my own to show you.  Though slightly disappointed, we didn’t let this prevent us from seeing all that we could. 

Paved paths through tall trees turned into metal-grated walkways leading us closer to the sound of the waterfalls.  We were thrilled at the first sight of the fast-paced river and the softer hum of smaller waterfalls hidden in the rocks.  When we finally made it to the opening of the big falls, and I stood there looking at this incredible wonder of the world, a chill went through me.  It was absolutely incredible to feel the cold water hit your face even though the waterfall is easily 50 yards away while listening to the crashing sounds of water hitting more water and rock beneath you. 

We bought two tickets for a speedboat ride up to waterfalls.  The motor whined against the current as the driver pushed it as close to the Falls as he could get without putting us in any imminent danger.  Brazil on our left, Argentina on our right, and a massive waterfall virtually above us, a drenched Meredith looked at me through squinted eyes and said, “Is this for real? Are we actually here?”  I laughed in response, as I wasn’t quite sure of the answer myself in that moment.  The only thing that kept me from thinking I was living in a dream was the smell of mildew and body odor emanating from the lifejacket I was wearing.

Now I’m going to let Iguazu speak for itself.

Me, Meredith, and Iguazu Falls.

Usually you can go all way way to the end of this walkway, but the river was so flooded we could only get halfway.

The view from the upper level.

At the top.

The boat.  That's Brazil on the left side of the river and Argentina on the right.

Drenched and very happy after the boat ride.

A video of some of the waterfalls, just to give you an idea of how powerful they are.

Zoo Lujan

When I first heard about Zoo Lujan I didn’t believe it was real.  I didn’t think my friends were outright lying to me, just exaggerating… a lot.  It seemed a little far-fetched to me that there was a place where I could ride an elephant, hang out cages with lions and tigers, and have grizzly bears eating out of the palm of my hand.  This place was supposed to be two hours outside the city; I didn’t want to pay for the round-trip bus ticket and the admission to a sketchy, possibly fictional, zoo.  Especially when there’s a zoo in Buenos Aires.  Why waste perfectly good booze money on a zoo in the middle of nowhere when there’s one right here?

I realized my friends were being totally serious when my friend Erin actually went to this zoo and came back with picture proof of its existence.  If anything, they had been downplaying the place.  They hadn’t mentioned anything about monkeys, seals, or camels.  The hadn’t told me I could take best friend pictures with a llama and enjoy some beer while the male lion’s roar served as the soundtrack of our afternoon.  I had to go.  So, in true Kelly fashion, I got some friends really excited about going and then left the planning to someone else.

Thanks to my friend Willy P we were at Zoo Lujan within a week.  I can say with confidence that there is not another zoo in the world like Zoo Lujan.  Within five minutes of being in the park, I was standing in a tiger’s cage.  Within two minutes of being in the cage, this massive beast was licking milk from the palm of my hand.  My mind was calm (in awe of what was happening, but calm), but my body’s physiological reaction was absolute terror.  My heart rate was going crazy and every bone in my body was trembling.  The day continued as we walked from cage to cage, often entering them, looking at some of the most exotic animals in the world.  Here are some pictures from an unforgettable afternoon.

Zoo people.

Five minutes after being in the park.  He was licking my hand a few seconds after this picture was taken.

Como se llama?

Just hanging out with some lions.

Feeding 9-month-old grizzlies some prunes.

These seals were absolutely massive.  They would bite the fish right out of your hand.  Nothing compared to Sea World.

The activity I was most excited about all day - riding an elephant!

Feeding my new friend.

Feeding my other new friend.  He ended up "kissing" my whole face in order to get this carrot.  Not many people can say they've kissed a camel, though I'm not sure that's something to brag about.

Adult lions feeding.

Baby tigers!

In his effort to get more milk, he almost knocked me over.

Don't be deceived; I was way more terrified than I appear at the prospect of being knocked on my back inches away from an animal that has teeth as long as my fingers.

T.I.A.

During my two months in Argentina, I’ve become somewhat jaded to the absurdity of things here. The laundry place is stealing my clothes? Of course they are. The popular restaurant around the corner is closed at 7 p.m. on a Saturday, even though I ate there last Saturday at 9 p.m.? Of course it is. You have to tip the trapito for waving his handkerchief in the empty parking spot because he “found” the spot for you or he’ll damage your car? Of course you do. My reaction to the overall irrationality of this country has transformed from shocked disbelief to amused indifference.

A few weeks ago I was talking with a friend from the States, who has lived here for almost four years now, about how some of the “quirks” of this country are really just injustices. He laughed at me.

“Have you ever seen the movie ‘Blood Diamond’?” he asked, parking his car without even glancing at the trapito.

“No.”

“Well, in it Leonardo DiCaprio keeps saying ‘T.I.A.’: This Is Africa. Well, T.I.A. This Is Argentina.” This time I laughed at him. “Seriously, nothing in this country makes sense,” he added, slipping the thieving trapito two pesos.

I admired his good humor at being robbed, even if it was only two pesos. I realized then that, really, the only thing you can do is accept it. I can’t force the bakery downstairs to have regular business hours or stop people from allowing their dogs to poop in the middle of the sidewalk. But I can laugh at the ridiculousness of this city and say, “Of course. This is Argentina.”