The calm before the storm

So, the past several weeks did not go exactly as planned and we suddenly and unexpectedly found ourselves in the small city of Jujuy, Argentina -- at the hospital emergency room. It's been a rocky road that continued on into Bolivia with more doctors, more blood tests, and more medication. But just to reassure everyone right from the beginning, here is a photo that beautifully illustrates how Rebecca is doing now: (she is doing great!)

Here is installment #1 of how we got from there to here...

From Barioloche to Cordoba

When I last had the energy to blog, we were at the beginning of our long long bus trip from Bariloche, Argentina up to Cordoba. Cordoba is the second largest city in Argentina, with many universities, language schools, and rich culture. We decided to leave our Lonely Planet Argentina in our giant backpacks and forge out on our own to find a hostel (with a little help from the internet). A fantastic decision it turned out, and we got to spend a wonderful week with Willy and Ele (Eleanora) in our own room in their awesome little hostel attached to their house. The first thing we noticed on getting there was how incredibly warm and inviting they were. The second thing we noticed was the photos of young drag queens on their wall amidst the collage of photos of people who had stayed in their hostel and the t-shirt pinned to the wall saying "No a la SIDA, No a la discriminacion" (No to AIDS, No to discrimination). Needless to say, we (rather unexpectedly) felt very at home.

... Right about now I would be offering a ginormous plug for their hostel to any of our friends who might be considering visiting Cordoba. Unfortunately they are in the process of selling their hostel in favor of a quieter life on the east coast of Argentina...

Cordoba, as we had read somewhere or other, is the gayest city in Argentina. We were beginning to believe that whoever had written that had written a downright lie, because that was not our experience at all. But, then we saw this:

It turns out, there are a lot of gays in Cordoba, but they are certainly much more underground that in San Francisco. Unless they are marching in a big demonstration...

We were lucky to have arrived in the city in time for the March 24th Día de la Memória, a national holiday to remember some of the darkest days in recent history in the country. It marks the day that a miltary dictatorship came into power in the late 1970s. Those in power tortured and killed tens of thousands of Argentinans -- mostly college students, activists, intellectuals, and trade unionists -- in what is now known as the Dirty War (click here for a brief history). Activism among young people and college students here has a dark cloud that hangs over it. Most of us in the U.S. think of the 60s and 70s and as time of greater freedom and activism -- the civil rights movement, feminism and the equal rights amendment, the free speech movement. In Argentina during the late-70s and 80s, anyone who had anything to say about the government was detained, tortured, and often killed. This included people who drew satirical political cartoons, students who were involved in campus activism, gays and lesbians, intellectuals and college professors who had written academic works that the new government did not like, and even those who by intention or accident checked out books from their library that the government considered subversive (including some children's picture books).

Cordoba has an incredible museum located in a former secret detention and torture center devoted to the lives of many of "the disappeared" and to the memory of the this era in Argentine history. We decided to visit the museum the day before the holiday and big march to better understand it.

(Outside the museum was a special display for the holiday that included photos of hundreds of people who had been "disappeared." Many of them looked in their early twenties.)

We weren't sure what to expect from the march -- a somber shuffle through the streets of Cordoba, a loud protest marking the distinct and undeniable unpopularity of the current President (we heard this loud and clear from everybody we spoke to about politics), or something more lively and celebratory of life. It turned out to be a mix of emotion and celebration, tens of thousands of people long, lasting hours and hours, and giving us a new appreciation for Argentina, the city of Cordoba, and the kinds of political activism that are happening here today.

Here are some of our photos from the day:

(The faces of "the disappeared" at the front of the march.)

(As we spent more time in Cordoba, we began to realize that many, many, many people had been touched very personally and very directly by the Dirty War and the legacy of the disappeared.)

(A handbill that was being handed out that read: "If you were born between 1976 and 1981 and have doubts about your identity, contact the organization Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo." At least 500 babies born during this era were kidnapped from homes the government found unsuitable for the above reasons and placed in "more appropriate" homes.)

(The brightly colored flag that represents the communities of indigenous peoples of the greater region. Beautiful dancers, brass bands, and others groups performed.)

(Maté -- because it wouldn't be Argentina without it.)

(Thousands gathered in Plaza San Martín where stages were set up with bands playing and various installations about the Dirty War were set up. We walked across the street to view a free play in the theatre that was showing for the Día de la Memória. Unfortunately we barely understood a word of it...)

(The Cordoba Cathedral at the Plaza lit up and surrounded by marchers. The churches in Cordoba were plentiful and stunning. Some of the most beautiful I have ever seen.)

(While we're on the topic, the top of another stunningly beautiful church.)

We decided to take a day trip out of the city to see a little of the surrounding hills and towns. We took a very long and very hot 2.5 hour train ride up to a small town whose name I am totally blanking on. While we were waiting in line to get on the train, we noticed a woman about our age with a beautiful tattoo on her arm. I decided to ask her about it. 2.5 hour later we had become friends with María and her very precocious 10 year old daughter Xena and had plans to join them for dinner at their house later in the week.

María owns and runs a large day care center with about 50 kids under 5. It was really interesting to talk to her about the ways that being in business for herself shelters her a slight bit from the inflation that is beginning to spiral here, because she can raise her prices to at least vaguely follow inflation. She told us that buying meat, however, was becoming harder and harder because of skyrocketing costs and that she and Xena were rather begrudgingly having to experiment with vegetarian meals.

Nonetheless, when we arrived at María and Xena's cute little apartment with a beautiful view and built-in outdoor grill, with our good Malbec and homemade side-dish in tow, she had a feast of steaks and chicken which she grilled to perfection -- seriously, I think the best steak I've had in Argentina, a country known for its good steaks. Rebecca and María had tons of favorite bands in common. Xena gave us a wonderful grand tour of their two-bedroom apartment, made a delicious fruit salad, and then proceed to crash out cold on the couch from the excitement of dinner guests.

(María and Xena at the beach.)

We decided that travelling from place to place was a little hard at times -- it was really nice to make two friends in Argentina who we had a lot in common with.

Back to the daytrip... we left María and Xena at the train station and decided to check out the river. I had been hoping for a swimming river because it was so hot that day, but the water was far too shallow to swim in. So we proceeded to head to another town called Villa Carlos Paz that supposedly had more swimming. It did. But within the 45 minute bus ride to get there, the sky had completely clouded over and it was getting downright cold. And, a huge car/racecar show was there that weekend and the city was mobbed. We were expecting another little village-like town, but it turned out to be an entire small city planned out in the 40s (?) or so specifically to be a resort-town to those getting out Cordoba for the weekend. The good news was that it had fun stuff to do:

(Rebecca practicing her archery skills. If she ever doubts how much I trust her, she can just revisit this photo. We discovered a whole little adventure theme park with all kinds of little summer-campy activities... archery, mini-train ride around the park, and...)

(Zipline!) I love ziplines. Rebecca does not.)

(But we both loved the ski-lift that took us up the the little adventure park.)

A few days later we took another small daytrip to the house that Che Guevara grew up in in the town of Alta Gracia.

(Here it is.)

The museum, frankly, wasn't all that interesting. It didn't shed much more light on his life than the movie Motorcycle Diaries. And, it didn't deal with any of the complexities surrounding his life, his actions, his time in Cuba, or his death in Bolivia. It was cool to read a copy of his resignation letter to Fidel Castro and see photos of him as a kid, but said nothing of the tension between Che and Castro, or anything else controversial. The museum was more of a portraiture of a national hero than anything else.

But we enjoyed walking around Alta Gracia. And especially, this drunk driving warning:

("If you drank, don't drive. Your city cares about you.")

We spent our last day in Cordoba going to the natural history museum and the truly incredible modern art museum that had large exhibits of about 15 amazing Argentinian artists.

Next stop on our journey: Jujuy, Argentina and the beautiful small farm and natural reserve that we had to flee after only 4 days because of Rebecca's ginormous fever. Stay tuned for our next entry "Comparative Health Systems 101".