SUP on a lagoon during sunset

The title of this blog post makes me jealous just thinking about the next person who gets to do this soon. As you are probably aware, I am out of the city and onto the beach in Pipa, Brazil. I can't tell you what a relief it was to see the ocean and to get on a surfboard in the warm water and paddle out to try to catch waves I very rarely catch and see dolphins pop up alongside me and breathe in life and nature. Today it was flat so we went out in a group on a huge lagoon and it took us several hours to paddle to the other side. With a short break, we were paddling across the lake at sunset and I was barely afloat, as my little legs shook with the excitement of the view. I have never set eyes on anything quite so beautiful. We recovered from the effort with a big bowl of acai and these are the times I never want to leave :) And yet, it feels a little like the clock is ticking and I need to set my mind to the fact that I am coming home, as wonderful as al of this is.
But for now, a few more sunsets lie in store and perhaps a few broken surfboards. What a place.

a week in Salta

 the Salta region

Day one:

I board a flight to Tucuman in the early morning. It's a two hour flight from BA and I swiftly arrive in the home of Argentinian independence. A rental car makes an efficient yet inspiring journey through luscious forests and hills up to Tafi Valle. I stop there, despite the wind and rain and scour the regional shop for something to eat.  I settle for some typical salami and stock up on coca sweets to help with the altitude. The weather is cold and blustery, reminiscent of Wales in autumn and I start to worry I have packed for the wrong trip. I take a few pictures at the lake and carry on up to Amaicha del Valle. I stop here, spurred on by hunger and stumble across two lovely ladies prepared to take my order of beef, raviolis and salad. Heartened by their warmth and speed of service, I am drawn to the simple housing here, the picturesque square and a tourist information which is no more than three men sat in  deck chairs.

I continue on the route 40 ( the immensely long road marking the length of the country) and head to Cafayate, by now a little restless and ready to put my hat down.

I head to the square for some locro ( a corn soup containing no less than vicuna which is distressing but tiredness relieves it somewhat) 

Day two:

After a good night's sleep in a basic hotel just off the square, i pay the few hundred pesos and start the long journey to Antofagasta. The whole way, I am under the impression that this is not a road most travelled and as I climb higher onto the Andean plateau, I am struck by the immensity, vastness and total solitude of my incomparable surroundings. It is a sight for sore eyes, made all the more sore by the dusty roads and growing tiredness.

I become slightly concerned for the rental car, as it traces very old tracks, mountains and even volcanoes. It is obvious from the views that the car needs to suffer this pure nature and the layers and layers of prehistoric earth.

On arrival, I head to the prebooked hostel, Incahuasi, which contrary to expectations, is locked and dark. I am not sure whether the altitude or pure fear of being left out in the cold takes over but I am left a little short of breath. After being given a few leads, I head to find the supervisor of the hostel who is at home in her small, clay home preparing dinner for her large family.  She tells us that wifi is down a lot in these parts and perhaps the booking did not go through. However, she comforts me with news of a spare room in the hostel; a very traditional looking room with old ornaments and a couple of in-house cockroaches lurking. Despite their unwelcome presence, the place is inviting and I am grateful for anywhere indoors. I meet a pair of middle-aged travellers staying here from Rosario and they flood my mind with ideas for excursions and visits around these special parts. My somewhat limited, urban imagination just didn't expect these worlds.

Day three:

The next morning, I am served a simple breakfast of french toast and marmalade before setting off on a gentle hike towards the volcano, an ultimate goal. However, distances prove a lot longer than the eye tells me, so I head back for a rest and some lunch after wandering the plains alongside llamas, vicunas and flamingos, vowing to come back in the afternoon.

In the meantime, I move to a self-catered apartment and make a simple lunch with some products from the only little supermarket. It stocks very little, due to transportation issues and I am reminded of the simplicity of the villagers here.  Products we Londoners take for granted like olive oil, most fruits and veg simply don't exist here. I settle for some tuna salad, fried zapolla ( a type of courgette ) and some white rice. This basic meal, followed by some sneaky Aguila ( argie dark chocolate) almost puts me to sleep like a lizard on the terrace overlooking the clay coloured cordillera and the main square.I am finally at peace, after months of discovering the humdrum of porteno life- I got what I asked for when I asked for solitude.

Later on, I drive to the volcano but it is difficult to reach its base, given the sea of hardened lava surrounding it. There is none around , only those uninformed enough to walk the trek to the base of the volcano in searing heat. I make it halfway up the volcano and then lie down on the rough, rocky slant supported by my backpack and soak in lands I have never even seen in photos. My very own safari, as it were with no guides and only lost tourists. The lava beneath me mixes with the echoing old bones of wild foxes that once crept around these parts. This volcano is the great, symbolic mound of death and destruction; a great reminder to the people of Antofogasta and beyond that we are forever at its bleak yet dormant door.

Now exhausted, The descent is on automatic and the sound of footsteps carry me back. Fortunately, my weariness helps me forget my concern  about the rapidly emptying bottle of water and i carry on down this strange hill, grateful to have seen this day and to have been a transient part of its drastically different routines.

Day four:

I wake up early, in a sensible attempt to flee the cosy Antofogastan nest I have made for myself and make solid attempts to head back to Salta from  here. On my way out,  am diverted to the town square, where the Feria de la Puna is taking place, a traditional festival to celebrate the indigenous community's life in the mountains. I know I will not be back in a hurry, so I stay and take pictures of the old and the young, the gauchos and llamas, the community at its most alive. The villagers captivate me with their colour, pride of place and joyous vibe. I watch a octogenarian woman light a cigarette, only to throw it as an offering to Pachamama, or mother earth into a hole dug up especially for the occasion. The children follow suit, throwing wine, spirits, coca leaves into the hole as part of the ritual.

Unfortunately, the locals warn me against travelling up the challenging roads to Tolar Grande, as there is no help for miles should a flat tyre decide to catch me out. So, I choose to go back on myself back to Cafayate, another long and uncomfortably sticky journey  but make it to the Quebrada Saltena and there find just enough strength to marvel at both sides of the road, stopping to take pictures and awaiting the next bend with curiosity. I hit the Garganta del diablo, the throat of the devil and decide to take a rest in its special natural chambers . It is a jaw-droopingly huge rock, carved out from years of evolution and erosion and is, in fact, million of years old.It is not difficult to understand why it became a sacred, indigenous relic back in the day.

After a fly-by visit and with layers of old rock etched in my mind, I arrive in Salta and as if awoken from the strange, nomadic dream I have been in, I realise it is a friday night with little chance of a hotel room for the night at this very last minute. Fortune favours the brave, it seems, as I land the only room left for the night in an old hotel by the plaza central. Granted it has no windows the walls are marked, the doors creak  but the painting above the bed is Van Gogh's La chambre de l'artiste'. So, artist or not, I settle here and at least my illusions protect me from this new batch of cockroaches under my bed.

Day five:

A narrow road in profoundly green hills takes me up to Jujuy in the morning and I am eager to leave the city behind. A winding, scenic ride and sights of birds, perhaps even condors, keeps me entertained until I reach a man-made lake named Dique las Maderas. I stop here to take pictures and stretch my legs, pleased with the progress en route.

I reach Jujuy and am more at ease here in this town The friendly atmosphere is contagious and I find my mini goldmine of a veggie restaurant serving quinoa and continue on my path to peace to stay in Yala, the nearby national park. I instinctively lean towards staying in Las Hortensias b and b, a set of cabanas, or cabins nestled in dreamy countryside, with a pool, tennis court and countless geese to play with. In the afternoon, I head up to the lagoons on a hike not expecting to be surrounded on all sides by the most wonderfully scented, oversized magenta /violet hortensias (hence the name of the residence) and am so startled by these that I lose my way to the lagoon and just trace these around the mountain, finding more birds and deer along the way. It is a hive of natural wonders and I don't notice the hours pass as i weave my way along the paths. I come back down only with the intention to find a cheap fill at the base. The draw of freshly made empanadas, tamales and papas makes my mouth and eyes water and I am sold to this cosy street side restaurant for the night.

Day six:

The next day, I head up the mountain to Purmamarca and a day of shopping for the most colourful looking bedspread ensues. I stop only to eat some quinoa pasta, fresh avocado salad and coca cake at Gabriels restaurant. Another short drive later on takes me to Tilcara, home of the Incan settlement and a spectacular botanical garden, which I am sure is one of its kind, given the enormous cacti and international herb collection. A delight to see it all and take in more stunning views the length of the quebrada. I meet a local artist who sells me a miniature indigenous looking print, whilst talking to me of the perils of living in a large city. 

I eventually leave behind the colours, fabrics, leather and souvenirs of the picturesque mountain villages and head back down to Yala to eat a picnic of empanadas once again.. it turns out you can't get too much of a good thing. `These are magical settings and magical days and I would wholeheartedly recommend anyone to do just the same.

Elections tomorrow and the country is feeling it

San Telmo señor

San Telmo in a storm

Today was another sweltering day and as summer heats up, so do my travel plans. Tomorrow, the deserted andean plateau and it could be a tricky climb. I have been studying ways to avoid altitude sickness and it appears coca leaves are the best remedy. I despair at the thought of my slightly pathetic, urbanised travel habits facing an isolated stretch of this enormous country. Cold at night and a desert closer than comfort to the Atacama, I am interested to see it and react to it and play with my humanity in these parts. And apart from that, buy a poncho.

moving times

I feel that things are finally moving career-wise here. I have been offered a freelance writing job for a languages/culture website, I now have an official RumboSur email address, from where I will be sending out many emails attempting to gain the attention of anthropological/ethnological organisations all around the world in the hope that they will diffuse the content that Rumbo Sur ha created about the survival of indigenous communities. And whilst that is all fireworks and taking off, I am contemplating moving to France as of January, as I am on the brink of being placed in a small, private school for some Spanish teaching. What a beautiful juggling act this would all be.

The search for Tango shoes

Volunteering can be intense, especially when, like me, you have come from a first world country and am witnessing some challenging situations on a regular basis.  When I first arrived, I quickly realised that I needed an outlet, a way to relax and let some steam off. And what better way than to hit the Milonga dance halls of Buenos Aires and learn some tango steps? So, I did and it was exactly as I had hoped; fun, varied and a dance spectacle every time, for a measly 80 pesos the whole night!

I started going to a place in Palermo called LA VIRUTA, which is located in an Armenian centre and is one of the better known centres around town. Despite a vast proportion of beginner dancers being tourists or ‘gringos’ (me!)  as they are best known, La Viruta still has a pretty good reputation for quality classes and a relaxed atmosphere. There are, of course, millions of milongas in town but most are usually strict, with rules to follow (e.g the man does not ask you to dance, he nods from far away!) so I preferred to stick to the tourist trail a little bit. 

As weeks went by, I realised that my beloved flat shoes that I was dancing in were not allowing me to get my feet stuck into the steps (I find that in tango, your feet take on a mind of their own and you have to let them seek out the floor beneath you!) The heels not only give your feet the shape they need but also I noticed that people in heels look a little more regal and a lot more elegant. 

So, I finally went shopping for the infamous tango shoes. A friend recommended Comme Il Faut, a boutique store in Arenales 1239, which makes handmade tango shoes and tailors them to your height, ability and of course, feet. When I arrived down a little European-like alleyway and up some flights of steps and rang the bell, a lovely lady answered the door and I was whisked inside the secret world of this important Porteno shoe. I was asked my size and sat down (whilst desperately trying to steal a quick click of my camera as photos are prohibited) to try on a million and one pairs of shoes; high heeled, less high heeled, thick heels, fine heels… spotted, silky, satin, velvet, leather designs...you name it, I tried it.  I told the lady my size was 39 in Europe and asked if it was the same here, to which she indignantly replied ‘but, mi amor, we are European’, bemusedly, if not a little indignantly! In any case, the name of the shop says it all. Of course they attest to being European because tango is a result of the diverse European community that settled in this very port and Uruguay. Tango itself is an amalgamation of all the colour and character of the italians, spaniards and many more immigrants who settled on these shores but who remained restless, passionate and nostalgic. The shoes are testament to that and almost characterise the fiery spirit of the dance. These shoes are there to be seen and so are you. If you dance tango, you are making a statement about the world you know and the person you are.

I ended up putting some shoes on hold, as I really could not decide which ones I would wear. I like my tango shoes simple, as it happens and black. The rest I will leave to the pros.

la noche de los museos

Last night was a busy one and as soon as I stepped out onto the streets of BA, I knew it was a special one. As I walked down my road towards Avenida Libertador, I realised that this was a unique opportunity to see the 222 galleries, museums and historic buildings that open their doors once a year until 3am for the 'night of the museums'. As I waited for a friend, I watched an open air ballet and although it was windy, the atmosphere was buzzing. We walked over to some of the museums and went to a sound exhibition followed by a strings quartet concert inside an art gallery and finally headed to Congreso, a huge and beautiful building and one which aesthetically proves the mix of cultures and history that BA stands for.
Unfortunately, I got home a little earlier than three and must have eaten something rotten, as I have been in bed all day with some kind of stomach upset or food poisoning.

Keeping healthy in BA

When i first arrived here as a volunteer, I became aware that staying fit and healthy whilst working on the projects was going to be important but perhaps a little difficult. It is not that portenos don’t stay fit but they just do it slightly differerently, so I decided to take a look into it. Here are the tips I would recommend to stay in shape or eat healthily:

1. If you like outdoor running, then BA doesn’t do badly. I have had some great moments out in the Bosques de Palermo ( nearest station plaza italia) where you can run, rollerblade and bike for miles. This is a really great part of town if you just want a moment to yourself, to absorb what you have seen, read and done so far; a momentary pause to give you back a boost of energy.
2. I am a huge yoga enthusiast and when I came here, I found it hard to find a class that would suit me. It’s great for back problems or just to get you back in touch with your body if you are running around like a headless chicken trying to see and do everything at once. Your body needs a break, so if you have time, you should try ValleTierra on Plaza Armenia (the posher part of town but so great) where you can take an Iyengar yoga class and hang upside down for a while
3. Back home, I make smoothies and juices in the morning but I don’t have a machine here, so I found a few affordable options to go and get one squeezed for me. The first is called The Factory and they are a chain in both Recoleta and Palermo that do super juices. The company was started by a venezuelan/ danish couple who moved to the city realising that they needed to inject a little health awareness into the porteno population. It worked and now a lot of people go. Another one I really like is called Mango Bambo in Recoleta and they are the dons of juice. You can literally ask for anything and they will juice it up, all the while chatting and talking to you in Spanish. Thees pit stops in the city are fun and I find it easy to strike up a conversation in these cosy spots.
4. If you want to make your own healthy fare, I would suggest going to barrio chino in Belgrano where the shops are stocked with lots of products you perhaps can’t get elsewhere in the city. I have a soft spot for almond butter and they do a really good one there, along with fresh pak choi, coriander (usually a little tricky to find) and other delicious bites.
5. A really lovely afternoon can be spent on the banks of the river in Puerto Madero and for the more adventurous, you can try the Reserva just behind Puerto Madero, where green space stretches for miles. 
6. It would almost be criminal not to mention the huge craze that BA has for Crossfit. If you haven’t tried it, I would recommend it only for the die hard amongst you. It is a series of circuits that, should you actually survive a class, will make you feel like an olympic champion. I tried it and nearly died but i can see that a lot of portenos swear by it, so there must be something to it.

Dance for peace

Tonight, I was awestruck by a dance production for Unicef at the Cervantes theatre, in which many nationally famous dancers and prima ballerinas participated as an ode to all that is at this very minute affecting millions of children and their future. The dances reflected the passion of the project and I was surprised to like the argentine dance interpretation of an Ed Sheeran song, 'i see fire' the most. A Brazilian ballerina interpreted the swan's death so beautifully, she was literally falling apart gracefully.  Another famous pair paid a balletic tribute to tango in what was the most impressive set of moves i have ever seen. A greatly moving night and one which reminds me why I am here. Argentina is pure, raw and inspiring culture and every day, I feel hungry for more.

una charla

http://www.rumbosur.org.ar/RumboSur/culturaysociedad.html

Today I had a wonderful morning at Rumbosur office with Pablo, talking about the various projects he has on the go with films, books and pitches for new ideas. This organisation is just amazing and one of a kind. It spreads the voice of the indigenous, the impoverished and immigrants and is a platform and reminder that those communities not only exist and need help but are also invaluable for the preservation of Latin culture. I am fascinated by someone who has so much energy for the various projects and is consistently looking for new ones. Maybe one day I could pitch him an idea....

a little note

I haven't written tons here because things have been pretty busy. The projects are going well but I am nearly ready to let them go for a while and travel the country. Judging by the dynamism, grandeur and sheer enormity of what is on offer here in Buenos Aires, I am quite sure that the rest of the country will offer this in truck loads. Of course, I don't have the time to do it all but will attempt the south for a few days and hopefully head to Mendoza after that. I have been reading some journals about the first Polish immigrants (mama would be proud) and it turns out live in Misiones and are responsible for a large amount of yerba mate production. So, if time and resources allow it, I would love to head that way at some point. Our small island mentality makes it quite a challenge to remember the distances involved in covering a country like Argentina, so I have to tone down the hope to see absolutely everything and just go with the flow.
This weekend was busy socially, as my intermediate level tango lessons hit a high (i am still stepping on people's feet and deluding myself in the intermediate level group) and ended up dancing until 4am. The next night was spent at the Hotel Alvear, ahead of the elections on sunday. You might be as surprised as me to know that the government put a ban on alcohol after twelve the night before the elections, so this hotel was the only place in town to party! With an invite from a friend, it was a fun night. A lot of Argentine jet set dancing to Cumbia in a posh bar. Variety is the spice of life and this weekend was proof. Last night, I went to see Woody Allen's new film and finally cooked some beef.

a little kindergarten somewhere

Just a little way outside Buenos Aires in a particularly run down suburb,  is a special little kindergarten, where two French girls have taken us to see what they are doing here. When we arrive at this colourful little place, the children shout their names in unison and the Clemence and Claire respond in kind. Everyone is happy to be there and help each other out. A child falls from a monkey bar and Clemence rushes to help. The boy picks himself up an carries on without crying. 

The first thing I notice about this centre is the incredible words of encouragement all the children receive. When dogs start barking on the street, the children momentarily show fear but then realise it is nothing and carry on playing in their safe bubble. They are distracted by the constant but comparatively basic entertainment they have at their little hands; I was particularly softened by a group of little ones who were determined to help Clemence sharpen their pencils. They seem completely trusting of the volunteers and are safe and confident in their routines.

It is evident that this is a place of limited resources but they make the best of it. The children take turns to play on the swings and seem happy enough making paper planes out of old political leaflets.  I can't help but overhear a conversation that one of the helpers is having on the phone, as she talks of a fellow helper's family member who has died and they try to arrange the funeral without the alarming costs. I am left humbled by their modest situation and yet, it is obvious that each one, children and adults alike, make the most of their lot. They make it count.

As we leave to go, having whirled little toddlers on our backs and played with their toys, the helpers bring out a box of chocolate brownies as a surprise and the children are happy to leave with a treat in their hands. We leave empty handed but not empty hearted, all of us a little lifted from our day here. As we catch the bus and drive past a field filled with rubbish and rusting cars, I feel relieved that this little centre of light and fun exists in a world that can feel somewhat dark sometimes. Chatting to the two French girls on the way home, they feel much the same way and are grateful to have experienced this bit of the world and as they prepare to leave on their travels, they talk of their days here with fondness and laughter.  A slice of the perfect in the imperfect, I guess.

Masks in San Telmo

El Caminito

La Boca

One of my favourite pics from the school

Mel and I sharing a neon juice :)

The perfect mate

back in BA

For some reason, I was locked out of the site for a couple of days, so excuse the blank walls of this blog for a while. Lots of news, as usual and a whole different feel to BA as spring takes its sunny course. I spent a beautiful weekend visiting botanical gardens and sitting amongst the unique leaves of the yerba mate plant. I visited the Art Deco museum, which is actually a family home of the infamous Alvear family and it is a wondrous palace, filled to the brim with eclectic works of art, including an El Greco and a Rodin. I also stumbled across the BA photographic competition in the cultural centre, so all in all my perfect weekend, topped off with a night of whirling and twirling in the tango halls of the milonga. Despite the overdose of stinky men and slightly leachy dance partners, I  am still in awe of these places and always leave with the dramatic tones of the tango singers whirring in my head. I still don't have any tango shoes but my moves don't warrant them yet. I will keep you posted when the time comes.
In other news, I have just finished the grand translation of the Gran Chaco book, written and photographed by one of my favourite artists and people of all time- the Great Pablo Rey, who has currently asked me to translate his film about tango. A perfect match, I feel, for digging my non-existent tango heels slightly deeper into the underground scenes of the milonga here in this wild city.
I will post pics as soon as I can find a way.

strolling in style

Yesterday, I had a very special day with two friends as we walked around San Telmo sunday market, looking at all the crafts and creative exploits of Argentinians. It was inspiring, as many of these people have true talent, whether it is painting, carving, producing leather goods, jewellery. I felt giddy with how positive it made me feel that I could see it all. We then had tea inside the market to refuel and walked for hours down the River Plate, near Puerto Madero. I was suddenly transported back to good ol' blighty, as flashes of my own river flat in Hammersmith echoed the space, air and bankside of Puerto Madero. A great city, up there with all the big ones, for sure.

ocho por atras

It has been a particularly cumbersome week, with a broken phone, a painful ear, issues with the flat's electricity so no cooking and a general feeling that something bad was going to happen. However, the thing that most shocked me was last night, as a couple of friends and I exited the milonga after a night of dancing with our hearts and walked to the car to go home. On arrival, we all realised that someone had stolen Pablo's wheel, which was not surprising in itself. Actually, it was the reaction of my two friends, expert portenos, who just sighed and didn't react, fully aware that this is a daily occurrence. Laura said that had we parked on the other side of the street, where a little more light was coming from a nearby building, then it never would have happened. Incredible but it showed that these thieves cannot take the porteno spirit away, that hours in a milonga suffices to wash over these hideous happenings.
Of course, I had a great night and danced in the intermediate group, where I learnt more tango steps. After a long week visiting projects and translating, I was ready to let off some steam.

ouch

I have been absent from the blog for a couple of days as I have an ear infection and am taking antibiotics, which is never a particularly pleasant feeling. The doc thinks that it is due to the changes of climate ( they have 95%) humidity here and I am probably very sensitive to the changes of season, going from the start of autumn to the start of a particularly cold and unpleasant spring. I am recuperating and working from home on some translations for a wonderful man from Rumbo Sur, one of the organisations I am working with. He compiled a book of photos and texts about the people of the Chaco region and I am translating it for him. It is a fascinating story, one which reminds me what colonialism truly did to the area and how some parts of history and tradition cannot be eradicated, despite attempts from the Spanish conquistadores for so long. A brave indigenous crowd of people. I will, of course, put the link up when it is ready....

Barracas kindergarten

a day with little people in Barracas

Playfulness and bursts of colour define this pretty, pink kindergarten in Barracas and despite the relentless rain, the children were full of excitement and fun. A rock of the plastic horse, a play on the roundabout or  just a giggle amongst friends is all it takes for these children to feel cared for.

Of course, there is the odd tear and familiar situations play out in front of me; a little girl crosses her arms in a sulk as she sees a boy take her chance to play on the rocking horse; a boy cries because his mother is next door preparing food and he has decided it is time to see her. 

However, it is mostly just smiles and as i look at their painted handprints on the walls, I understand why this place is so important to them.

The volunteers are on hand to help with any rifts between the children and to help keep the peace. I marvel at their composure and it is clear that their two eyes act as twenty to keep this place running smoothly. You see, when you are four years old or so, your emotions tend to run high but unlike adults, a quick manoeuvre on a yellow, plastic slide is enough to turn things around.

The rooms are small, clean and splashed with colour. There are three main rooms and each one has its own character; a calming room with the curtains drawn, a games room full of boisterous toddlers and a playful but rather quiet room full of what some would call the terrible twos. This is where Lovisa, a swedish volunteer, sits and helps out. She explains that this is where she feels most comfortable, given that these children do not speak yet and her spanish is not quite up to the speed of the older kids. She adores it here and you can see why. The toddlers hug her and recognise her as part of the place and although she is not in charge, she keeps the kids smiling and happy. Of course, there are many different personalities in the room and she has to be watchful to pay attention to all equally. Some shy away whilst others bounce all around her. It is a mixed bag with noise and laughter very much in the mix.

The most impactful part about this place is the very lack of fancy toys and equipment yet the sheer joy of the kids.  You hear 'hay que compartir' as children are urged to share out the limited materials in the rooms.  Some are content to carry cardboard boxes around, others jump in and out of plastic crates whilst others use plastic skittles as drumsticks. It is as simple as it gets and yet it works.

My job as a teacher back home means I have a personal connection to this little, cosy school and I hope to return soon. Perhaps on a sunnier day, the kids will be even happier? 

technological hitch

Today was a very productive work day and lots of projects on the menu, including translation, short film, articles (it turns out people are reading my articles on the NGO website -eek!) but this was largely overshadowed by the big monster of a techy hitch that is an iPhone breaking in Argentina. In my western head, I did not think much of it at first and assumed (wrongly) that taking it to an Apple store would fix it all nicely. When I got to the store (appropriately named Macstation) I quickly realised that Argentina does not deal in iPhones and fixing them is even more of an issue. The kind lady tried to restore it from her mac but this failed and I ended up taking it to a dodgy dead-end repair shop in the hope that they may be able to whisk me quickly back to the land of the living.  I have until tomorrow to find a back-up plan in case the slightly off-record, illegal dealings don't pull off. Maybe my dreams will come up with something.

Milongas

Another milonga night and my tango steps are improving. Once the fear is gone and you realise that there are even porteños who don't have a clue, it becomes more breezy. I met a film director last night who has just made a film about the resurgence of tango in local milongas. He told me the history of this sensual dance and was so passionate that it made me feel like dancing until three am.  Still searching for those tango shoes and maybe like Dorothy from Kansas, this will miraculously whisk my dancing feet to a level I can be proud of :)

Frivolity

I went to a gorgeous champagne bar at the Hotel Alvear in Recoleta last night. To be honest, it could have been an old wine bar in London and it had that cosy, European atmosphere that slotted me straight in. I met some friends of friends and everyone is so friendly. They immediately invite you to the next party and so it continues.... It's true what they say about Latinos. They really can move in any context, even standing around an intimate setting. Their hips don't lie.

soup kitchen in Barracas

The soup kitchen family

The hustle and bustle of the soup kitchen's daily grind in suburban Barracas is an impressive sight. As the volunteers involve themselves in the humdrum, already very much alive from the early morning, I am aware of just how special this place is. Enormous hot pans steam in unison and are the piping centre piece in a kitchen equipped to feed the many hungry souls who come here. It is clear from the sheer quantities of beef, lentils, sauces, vegetables and fruit that feeding the throngs of men, women and children is no easy feat.  As the chefs prepare the food, count out the numbers of dinners and give and take instructions, I am left in awe of their will, discipline, organisation and immense energy. 

They start as the sun rises, along with the volunteers from Voluntary Global and with jovial expressions and warm spirits, face the heat of the pans, the endless chopping and occasional stirring that lays ahead of them for the rest of the day.

Mel, the regular volunteer from Germany, is being taught by one of the ladies here how to make empanadas and the look of concentration as he handles the wraps carefully between his fingers and seals each one delicately is clearly a direct result of this mentor's advice.

Despite a significant language barrier, they work efficiently and cooperatively without a drop of sweat or a hint of fatigue.

Leon, another German helper, places piles of bagged yoghurt for the dessert in the fridges as he chats to his mentor, whom he has appropriately named 'mama'. You can see why and I am almost tempted to give these lovely, characterful ladies a thankful hug for making my day and reminding me of home. They may be on a terribly tight schedule, only stopping to sharpen their knives or stir a pot but they still have all the time in the world for a smile and are grateful for the added support these boys offer.

Whilst I watch amazed at the productive atmosphere of this facility, I talk to Mel who tells me that he loves the feel of this place and describes it as 'like a family, where you feel at home, not at work'. He talks to me of the past month working for this kitchen and tells me how open, warm-hearted and helpful these people are. "People in Europe wouldn't give you something for nothing, they would not load you with food like they do here". He is completely aware of how this will change him and how perhaps he will not be able to see things the way he saw them previously at home.

When asked about the skills he has taken away with him, he laughs and tells me that other than his ability to make empanadas, he feels more involved in this type of social work, that the time he is spending here allows him to see both himself and the project change. ' I do not just want to come here one time and chop some bananas. The ideal time is at least eight weeks'

He later tells me that he is beginning to realise that this experience has taught him never to give up on his dreams, even if it is a struggle to make it all work out at first, ' You need to outgrow yourself", a line I personally appreciate as a wise lesson for all of us who come here to find out some things about us and the new world that surrounds us.

This advert for the city says ' I felt the new, the different, the incredible' which is exactly the sentiments I've had so far. Yesterday, we talked about the short film and we have an idea to base it on the growth and development of the volunteers. There's no way out of growing here in BA. Nooone can turn a blind eye to the magic or the opposite of that in this city.

The displaced

This week, I am meeting with one of the other girls from the communication team and we are planning the structure of a short film about some of the projects we have been to. Tomorrow morning, we plan to go to the city soup kitchen to interview some of the volunteers; most of these are older women who have been helping out for years but there are younger helpers too as well as the usual spread of foreign volunteers. A good idea would be to shadow them for a while, find out what makes them come back and perhaps how it has improved in recent years. There are so many homeless people in parks, squares and city doorways. You can also guarantee a few subte (underground) beggars, most of whom seem to be suffering from illnesses. One man got on the tube with his son yesterday and was asking for money. Upon closer inspection, I realised the little boy was blind and they were trying to save money for his treatment. Eye-opening, humbling and extremely sad. This city has many sides.

On one of my many walks through the city

My beautiful temporary home

Papaya, ceviche chef and Alex

Jardin japones

The japanese and papaya

I woke to sunshine pouring into my room and it brought a smile to my face, as I remembered which part of the hemisphere I was in. I practically jumped out of bed, late for a meeting with Laura in the gorgeous Japanese Garden. I could have rescheduled but they were hosting a zen meditation and shiatsu event there. It was perfect to weave my way through planted bonsais and tea rituals to attend the lectures emphasising serenity, living in the present and the Japanese culture of improving oneself to be able to help others. The fact that this garden exists here is testament to just how much is available and just how interested Portenos are in looking beyond their own good airs. 

After this, I met  friend for ceviche and a delicious papaya juice and strolled around Palermo with the sun on my back. I really could get used to this life but for now, I am grateful to be immersed in it.

La tanguera

If you have never been to a milonga to dance tango, salsa, bachata, you have to because it is probably the single most enjoyable, alive thing you can do. I have never seen so many people outdo me in rhythm, style, fun and high heels. It has motivated me to get tall and find some appropriate footwear to tap out on the dance floor. I'm going again most definitely. And so should you.

La Viruta

La primavera

Spring has finally landed in BA with its new floral scents and colours. The weather has been absolutely awful in recent days and I couldn't even tell I was in another country, let alone continent. And now I can breathe a big sigh of relief as I take the hood of jacket off and finally arrive in the city.
Two nights ago, I went to the Migrant film festival and stumbled upon a brilliant Polish film set in the Republic of Abhazia. For 8 pesos (that is about 60 pence) you can go to the Gaumont cinema and it's part funded by the government so it costs nothing. I've spent the last few rainy days sitting in its warmth and soaking up the visuals. Today is tango night in the milonga and my one real worry is I have no heels ... And possibly no rhythm but we will see. I got a job teaching two four year olds English so I'm happy to be slowly finding a mini purpose here for mini people

Spring is here

Maté in red cups

Riachuelo 109.9fm

La Boca

Beats for La Boca

An incredible and enriching day and one I will find difficult to put into words. Today, I visited La Boca, a somewhat impoverished but wonderful area of BA. I went with the aim of seeing a local radio programme in action but I took a lot more away from the experience. If grass roots had a definition, it would be this exact spot, with the exact colourful murals on the walls and in the exact basic set up in the attic of an old building in what looked remarkably like a car park.  In the cold and humid conditions of early spring, it could have been a nightmare invitation but instead, I sat down over a yerba mate to talk about the fascinating and relatively fresh project that the community has established to give locals a voice or as the operator said ' donde caben todas voces'.  And all voices fit in this place, even that of Mel, a German volunteer, who kicked off the show with a description of the weekend charity 'marathon' run (a 5km shortened version of the real thing :)  And this radio station in the heart of the people's barrio supports foreigners who wish to volunteer, recognising the need to harmonise, collectivise and come together not only to act against political neglect but also to stay true to community. There is a mini but significant revolution happening within the painted walls of this attic, dotted with satirical animations and reminders of Che Guevara's infamous motto of 'hasta la victoria para siempre'. This radio laughs at propaganda and smiles at truth, not forgetting the country's harsh past, the ashes of which still glow beneath the energy and voices of this community.
If they need a 'vivienda digna' or decent living conditions, they will fight for it through every channel possible and they have helped to mobilise their people to claim their right to live. Live better, live well. All with a great sense of humour, a few cups of mate and a divine playlist. A brilliant crowd and one I will never forget.

Rumbo Sur

As I celebrate half a week here in Buenos Aires, the multiple projects I have in mind here are gathering force. Today, I had meetings with the guys at Rumbo Sur, an NGO and an organisation seeking to preserve Argentinian culture as well indigenous Latin american culture through film, literature and online presence. Ex advertising guru and graphic designer, Pablo Rey, is passionate about the project and has poured his heart into finding funding for  award-winning films and stunning photography collections. We talked about recent projects- the success of the photography collection based on the communities in Charco, the beautifully illustrated book about Porteno urban myths, all sourced straight from the older generation's mouths in true oral tradition, the book about social funding providing opportunities for financially disadvantaged but hugely talented entrepreneurs and much much more.
I am stunned by the number of the projects this association tackles and am keen to help in any way I can. Pablo has asked me to become more involved whilst I am here, perhaps even helping out with his next film. We will see but I am so excited that I am ignoring the terrible weather that keeps my cold well and truly alive.
Here is the link to the organisation for those interested:

http://www.rumbosur.org.ar/RumboSur/inicio.html

Taking on BA

Today was the first day of the project and this meant meetings with the organisation as well as the volunteers. The 20 or so projects in and around BA were explained in detail and we were each assigned our personal project, as well as the activities we are expected to carry out. The organisation is more of a cooperative of many organisations and projects working to improve the lives of disadvantaged communities in BA.  They are unique in character and include youth projects aiming to get young people into work and finding new ways to fund their future studies. There are also not-for profit orphanages, schools, hospitals and many more. It was incredible to hear the stories of those involved, the role the volunteer plays and the overall objectives of the NGO. Of course, my part is small and seemingly insignificant but our help and contribution play a wider role, one which I hope I can steal a glance throughout my time here on the communications team. My role as observer of all the projects across the board means that perhaps I get to dig a little deeper than most to assess the validity of these projects and measure in some way their sustainability long-term.

touch down

Finally, after many false hopes and tail-chasing, I managed to get hold of an adaptor to accompany my best traveling friend, the MAC and can at long last share some impressions. I arrived a few days ago; tired, excited and decidedly overwhelmed by the enormity of such a trip. As the plane circled over the misty morning view of Buenos Aires,  I was able to acknowledge the sheer size and beauty of the view beneath me and something stirred. I wanted to know more...

My studio is a gorgeous mix of cosy and cool and I love that it is tucked away in residential Recoleta, where portenos roam freely alongside their urban puppies and elegant friends. I am in the thick of the middle classes on Austria street with some quaint little cafes on French street and phenomenal embassies and grandiose buildings a block away.  A far cry from trendy Palermo but quieter than the dizzying heights of downtown. The perfect mix. And although adapting to the changes of season, time, food and people has been hard (I caught a horrible cold which prevented the letter M from ever uttering my congested self), I have seen some truly wonderful parts of this city. Highlights include the Malba ( contemporary art Argentine style) where an installation of disappearing lights had me confused but intrigued, Palermo Viejo which should perhaps join the ranks of cultural heritage sights and is by far my preferred location to hang out and practice the almost long lost yoga I so adored back home (!) and of course San Telmo on a Sunday. I have been spoiled by scenes I could previously only imagine in films and have been encouraged by locals to take up the romantic dance of tango as soon as I find a milonga willing to take such a debutante on. Exciting times... but of course, I miss you all and homesickness really does happen. It is not just the jetlag or too much Yerba Mate :)

the wait

When I woke up this morning, the feeling was hard to shake off. It wasn't just the start of the week, it was my last full day in London ahead of the big viaje to the south of the americas. Hard to even fathom when life has been on such rotation for so long. The difference is amazing and I keep having to pinch myself to check that it is all actually real. So today is about wrapping my head around the travels ahead and also wrapping up the very last of the material objects which, for one reason or another, have made the shortlist to accompany me there. Vitals like camera and a pair of tango shoes are unquestionable but the rest? I am beginning to think I should just start from scratch with the clothes on me and I will dance into the city with my tango shoes already worn in from the journey, ready to burn their fiery heels in the first place they see.

On second thoughts, maybe I will take a case :) 

shedding layers

I have started to sort through the innumerable clothes I have, realising with each irrelevant top and each indistinct skirt just how much I have accumulated over the years. It is the perfect moment to do away with it, to adhere to the useful minimalism that many are already happily doing with no regrets. I look forward to a time when I don't feel crowded or stifled by it all; the somewhat useless comfort blankets we choose to own when the rest of us doesn't feel quite right; the endless need to fit in with people who they themselves are just fitting in. So, out go the various patterns of my material existence these last few years and in comes experience, travel and new perspectives. I am shedding layers and gaining strength. And if the strength doesn't come, I'm sure to come across an H and M somewhere :)

the build up

It's bank holiday weekend and the tickets to Buenos Aires are booked and airbnb reserved. It has been an immense journey to even get to a place where I can envisage going so far for so long on. Somewhere deep inside, I am just listening to the sound of heart, that lively pump, giving signs of life and right now, I am going where the sounds beat harder, where life meets real living. I am excited and  terrified but if exploration is my end goal, then it cannot be so bad. Down the line, it is all I could be guilty of wanting from a new place, a new project and new company.
This is a note to say that after a long pause from the virtual comfort blanket, of blogging my steps, I am back to track the biggest journey of a lifetime. First stop: Buenos Aires.