Welcome to our family blog!

We began in September 2010 by traveling a portion of the Camino de Santiago, the ancient pilgrimage route that leads to the tomb of Saint James in Santiago, Galicia, in the northwestern corner of Spain. The name of our blog is inspired by the camino, and we'll have many stories (cuentos) to tell! We spent 2010-2011 on an intentional international journey, living and working in Spanish-speaking countries. Since then, we are immersed back in our lives at home but will report on occasional openings and discoveries. Please join us!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Conor on leaving Bolivia

Cha-Chunk-Cha-Chunk-Cha-Chunk, the sound of the train tracks running under the slightly aged train. The interior is very dusty, although not because of its age. The tracks sit on very loose, dusty dirt, so the speed flings it up into the air and it eagerly jumps into the face of anyone sitting next to an open window. As the sun streams in through the window, dodging even the metal washboard blinds, slipping through gaps, the car’s temperature begins to rise along with the irresistible urge to just crack open the window, only the tiniest bit. Inevitably, the dust rushes in, just before the wind cools off the inside of the car.
We are heading south, towards the Bolivia/Argentina border leaving Bolivia, our suitcases with us this time, a sign we won’t be coming back after two or three weeks. The flat south of Bolivia, contrasting with the mountainous north, whips by, leaving two months of memories behind. Some, like playing ultimate Frisbee with the kids in the Internado in Sorata, teaching “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” to first graders and sophomores alike, spending long Sunday mornings with Quakers and many other memories cling to the back of the train, following us towards Argentina, infinity, and beyond.

Home at last

We’re home! Readjusting to life in the US will take some time, integrating all we have learned. One of the things that we learned already is that we have a google email account! Unbeknownst to us, we have been receiving lovely notes from our wonderful friends and family on this account all year while we are away. Now it is like a journey back in time, reading all your notes: comments on the blog, on the weather, on your activities. Thank you for your emails, and sorry we did not respond to them at the time.

Buenos Aires

Living in Buenos Aires, we seem to have come back full circle to the European start of our year. The city looks like Paris or Madrid: cobblestone streets, cafes, buildings built in the Neapolitan style, and high fashion everywhere. We feel like we need to upgrade our wardrobe from the old sneakers and jackets we wear every day. But the sneakers are needed for walking: miles upon miles of avenues, parks and museums to explore. Unlike New York, there is no overall organizing principle, no numbered streets, no “A” train from top to bottom. Instead there are huge “barrios” to visit, each one taking a full morning to explore. The subway system covers the downtown area, supplemented by a confusing patchwork of buses and commuter rail. We have loved exploring the wide avenues and narrow pedestrian streets, the gorgeous stone buildings with towers, turrets and gargoyles, the modern streetscapes that remind us of Fifth Avenue and 42nd street in New York.
The weather, too, feels like late fall in Europe, reminding us of our time in Madrid last November. A chill wind blows off the river, scattering the autumn leaves down the sidewalk. The days are sunny and warm, but the evenings (when the city comes alive) and nights are quite cold. In the mornings, fog floats over the city and looks like a sky full of snow. June in Buenos Aires is winter.
It feels odd being in such an opulent city after living in Bolivia. The number of private cars is astounding. There are no street sellers, no young men shining shoes. Professional dog walkers, no stray dogs. Starbucks has made inroads here, vying with local purveyors of fancy tea and coffee. We choose the local alternative, and ordering a simple cup of coffee, we were treated with fine coffee topped by a dollop of ice cream, along with cookies and a glass of mineral water. Though I certainly survived without coffee for two months, it is nice to enjoy a good cup of the stuff.
We happened upon the Salon de Glace, a circular building that was a skating rink, now a modern art exhibit with creative installations of all kinds. In MALBA, the main Buenos Aires art museum, we saw an interesting exhibit on beef by Cristina Piffer. Commenting on the centrality of beef in the Argentine diet, and its connection with colonialism and violence, she works with slabs of meet (generally frozen into plastic) and rectangles of white fat. Marble parquet floors, tombstones, ropes: meat is transposed into creative shapes to tell her stories.
We visited the little museum dedicated to Eva Peron, heroine of Argentine history though she was never elected to public office. There were no facts in the museum, but a telling emotion. The myth of the little angel who sacrificed all for her people (despite her extravagant wardrobe and her pre-marital affair with her husband-to-be, Juan Duarte). Her image lives on even today in the Peronista party.
The themes in the Eva Peron museum were oddly familiar, from our visit to Che Guevara’s childhood home outside Cordoba. The same prettified biography, the same story of a life of sacrifice for country and ideals, and the accompanying strong religious overtones. In both cases, the underlying message seems to head towards beatification. This despite the violence undertaken by Che as a Marxist revolutionary and later, as an enforcer in the Cuban government. Eva ran an orphanage for poor children, but we know that as a powerbroker in her husband’s government, she was party to violence and injustice as well. Her gravestone reads, in part: I am an essential part of your existence. All love and pain I have foreseen. I have accomplished my humble imitation of Christ.
We visited a museum of a different sort in Cordoba’s “Museo de la Memoria”, Museum of Memory. This museum, and another like it in Buenos Aires, is devoted to telling the story of Argentina’s “dirty war”, the many thousands of citizens who were tortured and killed by the government in the 1970s and 1980s. The police bureau used as a detention center is the actual site of the museum. First-hand recollections of survivors echo along the walls which are unchanged since those days, frighteningly recent in memory. The museum itself is a courageous undertaking in a country where perpetrators of those crimes are still alive and well, many of them still in power.

Traveling south from Bolivia

On the bus, heading south to Argentina. We left La Paz for Oruro, then the train overnight to the border town of Villazon, arriving at 7 am. Riding the last train line in Bolivia was an interesting experience, even though the reality did not match the amenities advertised. The seats did recline to varying degrees, but the cold wind emanating from the windows as we traveled through the altiplano prevented us from getting much sleep. As advertised, we were served a choice of hot dinner at our seats by bow-tied waiters, quite a change from the lurching buses we have been traveling on without even a restroom. I was impressed at the cleanliness of the train until I happened to see what happened to the trash swept up at intervals: out on the track it went. Nevertheless, the relaxing rhythmic sound of the train running along the old tracks all night, with a bowl-full of stars above and deserted plains all around us, was something to remember.
After arriving at Villazon, we crossed the border and took the next bus heading south. Traveling all day through northwestern Argentina gave us a chance to see the changing landscape. From the altiplano, we descended 3000 meters or 9000 feet, to a familiar 1100 meters in altitude. The first change I noted as we descended was vegetation: a wide variety: first, cactus in the dry Quebrada mountain range, then hillsides covered with hardwoods of all kinds. Further down, we traveled through fertile river valleys filled with cropland bordered by willows and the ever-present yellow-flowered perennial, rudbeckia, here growing to plants over 10 feet tall.
In La Paz, both the lack of public resources and the climate mitigate against green spaces. The Prado, the main street running through La Paz, has a park down the middle, where palm trees (amazingly prospering at that altitude) and green grass are growing, along with flower beds with hardy autumn flowers: petunias and marigolds. On weekends, Bolivians stretch out luxuriously on the grass and take a snooze, or play cards or chat. These are among the only green areas available in the city. It is quite a change to see hillsides covered with trees and fields of green crops growing.
The general level of prosperity is much higher in northern Argentina than in Bolivia: good paved roads, even highways, many private cars, and well-dressed travelers are everywhere. All the little towns we pass have playgrounds, green parks, well equipped football fields, and much more foreign investment than we are used to seeing. Pedestrian streets with antique streetlights and restaurants appealing to the middle-class traveler are in evidence.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Life in Buenos Aires

Living in Buenos Aires, we seem to have come back full circle to the European start of our year. The city looks like Paris or Madrid: cobblestone streets, cafes, buildings built in the Neapolitan style, and high fashion everywhere. We feel like we need to upgrade our wardrobe from the old sneakers and jackets we wear every day. But the sneakers are needed for walking: miles upon miles of avenues, parks and museums to explore. Unlike New York, there is no overall organizing principle, no numbered streets, no “A” train from top to bottom. Instead there are huge “barrios” to visit, each one taking a full morning to explore. The subway system covers the downtown area, supplemented by a confusing patchwork of buses and commuter rail. We have loved exploring the wide avenues and narrow pedestrian streets, the gorgeous stone buildings with towers, turrets and gargoyles, the modern streetscapes that remind us of Fifth Avenue and 42nd street in New York.
The weather, too, feels like late fall in Europe, reminding us of our time in Madrid last November. A chill wind blows off the river, scattering the autumn leaves down the sidewalk. The days are sunny and warm, but the evenings (when the city comes alive) and nights are quite cold. In the mornings, fog floats over the city and looks like a sky full of snow. June in Buenos Aires is winter.
It feels odd being in such an opulent city after living in Bolivia. The number of private cars is astounding. There are no street sellers, no young men shining shoes. Professional dog walkers, no stray dogs. Starbucks has made inroads here, vying with local purveyors of fancy tea and coffee. We choose the local restaurant, and ordering a simple cup of coffee, we are treated with fine coffee topped by a dollop of ice cream, along with cookies and a glass of mineral water. Though I certainly survived without coffee for two months, it is nice to enjoy a good cup of the stuff.
We happened upon the Salon de Glace, a circular building that was a skating rink, now a modern art exhibit with creative installations of all kinds. In MALBA, the main Buenos Aires art museum, we saw an interesting exhibit on beef by Cristina Piffer. Commenting on the centrality of beef in the Argentine diet, and its connection with colonialism and violence, she works with slabs of meet (generally frozen into plastic) and rectangles of white fat. Marble parquet floors, tombstones, ropes: meat is transposed into creative shapes to tell her stories.
We visited the little museum dedicated to Eva Peron, heroine of Argentine history though she was never elected to public office. There were no facts in the museum, but a telling emotion. The myth of the little angel who sacrificed all for her people (despite her extravagant wardrobe and her pre-marital affair with her husband-to-be, Juan Duarte). Her image lives on even today in the Peronista party.
The themes in the Eva Peron museum were oddly familiar, from our visit to Che Guevara’s childhood home outside Cordoba. The same prettified biography, the same story of a life of sacrifice for country and ideals, and the accompanying strong religious overtones. In both cases, the underlying message seems to head towards beatification. This despite the violence undertaken by Che as a Marxist revolutionary and later, as an enforcer in the Cuban government. Eva ran an orphanage for poor children, but we know that as a powerbroker in her husband’s government, she was party to violence and injustice as well. Her gravestone reads, in part: I am an essential part of your existence. All love and pain I have foreseen. I have accomplished my humble imitation of Christ.
We visited a museum of a different sort in Cordoba’s “Museo de la Memoria”, Museum of Memory. This museum, and another like it in Buenos Aires, is devoted to telling the story of Argentina’s “dirty war”, the many thousands of citizens who were tortured and killed by the government in the 1970s and 1980s. The police bureau used as a detention center is the actual site of the museum. First-hand recollections of survivors echo along the walls which are unchanged since those days, frighteningly recent in memory. The museum itself is a courageous undertaking in a country where perpetrators of those crimes are still alive and well, many of them still in power.