Agentina.
Rosario Argentina, to be exact.
When I flew into the country last week, this is what I knew:
It is the third largest city in Argentina and the largest city in The Provence of Santa Fe. Its population is roughly 1,800,000. It is situated on the Parana river, which looked pretty big in the pictures I found on Google.
That was about it. Everything I knew could be found on informative sites on the Internet. I could write a fantastic research paper on the city. In some circles that might be considered important information. I would possibly make a great tourist, armed with a map and an agenda. In groups of friends, I was the one to go to for information Rosario’s facts and figures. But in reality I knew nothing about Rosario.
It has been through walks and talks with my host mom, Denise, that I have truly begun to understand the heart of what Argentina is. For instance, Argentina is known for the tango. But did you know that Argentina also deserves credit for ball point pens? Oh yes, and dulce de leche. If you’re not familiar with this fabulous stuff, it’s an amazing caramel-like and milk-based substance that is EVERYWHERE and in EVERYTHING down here: cookies, ice cream, candy… When my host mom discovered I had never tried it, she promptly bought some (the actual, gooey original stuff, that practically has its own entire aisle in every supermercado). It has become a part of our routine down here, this shared appreciation for dulce de leche. We spend time each morning talking and eating our bread smeared with dulce de leche and sharing a mate (the herb drink I mentioned in my first post). The sharing of mate in itself is a social experience here, and I am slowly learning its intricacies. It is during these precious morning moments that I learn so very much.
Anyone can visit Argentina, but to experience it through the perspective of a resident is to learn and live Argentina. And it’s all the little things that add up to compose the heart of an area.
Allow me to share an example. Argentineans love ham and cheese. It’s used for sandwiches, fillings in empanadas, cracker favors, and frozen meals. This is easily deduced while walking through any food store or glancing at any restaurant. But in many restaurants there exists a sandwich called The Carlito. Rumor has it (or “they” say) that singer Carlos Gandel visited Rosario once (specifically the Pichinche barrio I am staying in, Denise told me proudly) and asked for one of their grilled ham and cheese sandwiches (tostado con jamon y queso). BUT, he additionally asked them to add ketchup to it. And voila, The Carlito was born. And resident of Rosario will be glad to tell you this story with great pride.
I have been down here for almost one week, and it feels more like one month. The days have been a constant roller coaster of emotions and experiences, and none more so for me than the blatant dual existence of extreme poverty and tourism. This weekend I traveled to Iguazu Falls with a peer and one of my instructors. It was one of my greatest desires when planning this trip to see this amazing wonder of the world, and I excitedly embraced the 18 hour bus ride to the border of Brazil and Argentina with glee.
As we pulled into Puerto Iguazu tired and ragged, I glanced out the window of my plush, air conditioned bus to see 3 children at the roadside, not 5 feet from me. The oldest couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11, and they were all barefoot. Selling handmade wares with forelorne and exhausted faces at the stoplight, children such as these work any daylight hour they are not in school. Entire families contribute as they struggle to put food on the table. While the children were wearing clothing that looked as though it had seen a year of constant wear, the outlet mall behind them bustled with tourists purchasing name brands, jewelry, and souveniers. I burst into tears as their beautiful faces receded into the background, unprepared for being presented with such injustice.
The trip to the falls the following day was nothing short of unforgettable and exhilarating. The views and experiences were simply indescribable. Eleanor Rosevelt once said, upon viewing Iguazu for the first time, “poor Niagra”. Standing at the apex of Gargante del Diablo (Devil’s Throat) I concurred. The air was saturated with a hearty and thick mist, thrown from the falls and intermingling with the humidity and earthy smells of the jungle. I watched as a seemingly lazy and still river toppled and exploded like fireworks in various shades of sage green and white. There is a Latin proverb which reads
Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi
-or-
The deepest rivers flow with the least sound (still waters run deep).
What a fitting metaphor and description, both of the river and my experience thus far. It is just when I am quietly settling into a familiar and steady routine down here that I discover another layer of depth to my host country.
I spent the entire day at Iguazu spying monkeys in trees, sneaky coaties, tropical birds, and some of the most beautiful butterflies I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing. One actually came along for a walk with me for several minutes, perched on the tip of my finger. I saw more waterfalls than I could count. The highlight of my day was standing at the base of a tremendous one that took my breath away, both figuratively and literally. As water deafeningly thundered not 20 feet away from a height of several hundred feet above, I was washed with a constant and powerful spray of water. The power created a circulation of air that sucked and swept at my lungs, and I threw my arms up in complete release. When I begrudgingly returned to my traveling companions, who chose to wait a considerable distance back, I was drenched and laughing with glee. It was a beautiful day filled with the wonder and awe-inspiring power of nature.
As we were leaving the park that evening, we came upon a group of children singing and dancing. They were Guarani, the indigenous people of Argentina and Paraguay. As the sweet “nenes” sang a traditional prayer to their lord I was mesmerized by their young faces. Dirty and tired, they continued to move and sing while wiping at their eyes with fatigue. When each song ended I whooped and hollered with applause. Several of them would break into tentative grins while others giggled and repeated to one another my “woo hoos”. During a break, I went up and conversed with them, speaking solely through gestures and expression as we had no shared language. They excitedly showed off for me, and looked with great excitement at the led screen on my camera as I displayed their own performing faces. Before long, I had a group of posers on my hands, eager to see their creativity captured in digital form. We giggled and interacted with one another, and I could have stayed there for hours. Even with a visit to one of the natural wonders of the world fresh in my memory, it was these children who brought the greatest beauty to my day.
I have not yet come to terms with how to handle such injustice and poverty at at expense of beautiful and innocent little babies. Returning from the falls, all I could think about was the Guarani children. As we entered the grocery store across the street from our hostel to purchase some food for dinner I came upon another family selling their wares on the street. I watched as the children came into the store to refill their water bottle and my heart just broke. As I spoke and played with them a part of me wanted to scoop them up and take them home with me, away from such a harsh life. I felt utterly powerless. Other than buying their wares, which I already had, I couldn’t make any difference in their lives. Suddenly I remembered the individual-sized boxes of chocolate milk I had purchased for myself in a moment of craving. I ran the milk back across the street and gave each child their own after gaining permission from their mother. It felt like trying to stop Iguazu Falls with a bandaid, but the mother in me couldn’t help but mentally envision the calcium building up their starving bones. I was able to watch them enjoy the treat from my room, and my emotions churned with sadness, powerlessness, and awe at the sheer beauty of their innocence.
Life in Argentina is beautiful and full of great stories. But it can also be incredibly heart wrenching and harsh. Although I know these injustices exist on the United States, they are much more vivid here. Those in extreme poverty exist right alongside those with money to burn, moving as if completely unaware of one another. The experience has left me raw and desperate for answers I know don’t exist. And as I tumble from highs to lows daily, I realize that Argentina has already taught me so much more than I could have ever planned for.
Jessie
