Operating as a collective, Yid Vicious requires each of its members to share the load. That, or someone somehow got stuck with ALL of the instruments being stored in his/her hotel room. Plus: Fiona rocks!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Some Final Bit of Ruminating
November 25, 4:50 AM
Leaving Argentina
We’re in the air, probably above the Atlantic Ocean at this point. We’re headed home, back to houses, dwellings, loved-ones, cats and the familiarity of the day-to-day. Will we miss Buenos Aires? Yes, yes, yes; yes we will. BA has all the magical properties of a great city where you feel like anything is possible.
How can you really describe Buenos Aries? I can’t, except to say that it’s an enchanting place that combines old-world elegance with Latin American grit, a place with an incredibly complicated history that we won’t try to begin unraveling here. Each Argentine we’ve met has been extremely kind, open and sincere with an awesome sense of humor. It’s a city for walking, being and hanging around, everything always on a human scale. Everyone had a wonderful time.
Given all this, what to make of the graffiti I noticed on the side of a building during the autobus ride out of town? I took no photo, so I’ll describe it to the best of my ability. It had been made from a stencil. The image contained three elements: an outline of a person as seen from the right side, the person’s arms extended in front; a garbage can beneath where his hands were; and finally, above the garbage can and slightly below the hands as though being dropped into the can, a Star of David. None too subtle.
I noticed this little hate-o-gram, as I say, from the bus. I think I was the only one to see it. We were all laughing, joking, happy that we were all still on speaking terms after three weeks and a whole lot of bus. I didn’t point it out to anyone because I didn’t want to sour their mood like it had mine. I was saddened but not entirely surprised. After all, Argentina, magic land of tangos, parillos and cab drivers with supernatural powers, had given safe haven to a bunch of Nazis after World War Two. And of course there are always plenty of Christians around who can’t get over that whole “Jews killed our Messiah” narrative. And there are always plenty of plain, regular assholes who automatically hate whoever isn’t like them. There are something like thirteen million people living in and around BA. To expect all of them to be nice people would be kind of a stretch.
As much as I loved Buenos Aires, I have to confess to having found it a little exhausting. I spent much of our visit trying to wrap my brain around all the dynamics of history, colonialism, economics, politics and social upheaval that in various ways had formed the Argentine character, if such a thing exists. Since I don’t know a lot about the history of Argentina, my perspective tended to be colored by what little I do know, ie the military dictatorship circa 1976, remnants of which always seemed to pop up out of nowhere and contrast wildly with the bright good times we were having. Once we were standing around chatting on a (mostly) pedestrian street following a (cancelled) concert when an old, old man shuffling by, noticed us, no doubt was immediately aware of our Americanness, and stopped and stood about ten feet away, scowling toward us with the angriest, most evil scowl I’ve ever seen, for what seemed like an hour. As though he had strong personal reasons for hating Americans, which lots of Argentines surely do. Other reminders of the bad times among the enchantment of the city: the big obelisk in the middle of town, not far from our hotel, against which some of the first “dissidents” were stood up and shot when the generals took over; the ubiquitous Ford Falcons, which the Ford Motor Company, one of the corporate beneficiaries of the coup, had supplied to the federal police and which were used, among other things, for rounding up leftists; the Rio de la Plata, into which many of the bodies were dumped. Walking around the city, it was sometimes hard not to think of state-sponsored terror, hard not to wonder how people dealt with it, how they’re still dealing with its aftermath, perhaps dreading its recurrence.
And now the last thing I see before leaving the city is…anti-Semitism. The fact that it was made from a stencil and not just crudely spraypainted makes it seem extra sinister. Maybe there was more than one person involved, the maker of the stencil plus his minions, or maybe there was just one guy and he wanted to make it as fast and easy as possible to spread the most hate over the biggest area. Either way, I begin to realize that I’m dealing with this in a rather naïve and self-centered manner. Argentina is, after all, a country, and one of the unfortunate things about countries is that some of its citizens tend not to get along. Of COURSE there’s darkness in Argentina’s past and present, just like there is in the US, in France, Mexico, Russia, Nigeria, South Africa, India, etc. And, was I more disturbed by the actual hate message or by the fact that it was ruining my good time? Am I really that incredibly spoiled? Probably, but one thing I can say with certainty is: fuck that stencil guy; fuck all those stencil guys. After briefly wondering at the origin of the stencil, I thought about the other people in the van sitting next to me and how incredibly proud I am to be one of them. I remembered all the musicians we’ve met on this trip, all the wonderful, kind people who love playing music and revel in the community it creates, in its positive energy. And I thought: Give it up, Stencil Guy, because you’re not going to win. Our side is better, smarter, more fun, more numerous, swings harder, and by the way, fuck you, Stencil Guy.
And so, Dear Reader, as we say our farewell to the Southern Cone and all it’s magic and madness, my brain continues to spin, not only attempting to unravel the mysteries and complexity of this place, but the make-up of my own character as well. And that’s why we travel.
Leaving Argentina
We’re in the air, probably above the Atlantic Ocean at this point. We’re headed home, back to houses, dwellings, loved-ones, cats and the familiarity of the day-to-day. Will we miss Buenos Aires? Yes, yes, yes; yes we will. BA has all the magical properties of a great city where you feel like anything is possible.
How can you really describe Buenos Aries? I can’t, except to say that it’s an enchanting place that combines old-world elegance with Latin American grit, a place with an incredibly complicated history that we won’t try to begin unraveling here. Each Argentine we’ve met has been extremely kind, open and sincere with an awesome sense of humor. It’s a city for walking, being and hanging around, everything always on a human scale. Everyone had a wonderful time.
Given all this, what to make of the graffiti I noticed on the side of a building during the autobus ride out of town? I took no photo, so I’ll describe it to the best of my ability. It had been made from a stencil. The image contained three elements: an outline of a person as seen from the right side, the person’s arms extended in front; a garbage can beneath where his hands were; and finally, above the garbage can and slightly below the hands as though being dropped into the can, a Star of David. None too subtle.
I noticed this little hate-o-gram, as I say, from the bus. I think I was the only one to see it. We were all laughing, joking, happy that we were all still on speaking terms after three weeks and a whole lot of bus. I didn’t point it out to anyone because I didn’t want to sour their mood like it had mine. I was saddened but not entirely surprised. After all, Argentina, magic land of tangos, parillos and cab drivers with supernatural powers, had given safe haven to a bunch of Nazis after World War Two. And of course there are always plenty of Christians around who can’t get over that whole “Jews killed our Messiah” narrative. And there are always plenty of plain, regular assholes who automatically hate whoever isn’t like them. There are something like thirteen million people living in and around BA. To expect all of them to be nice people would be kind of a stretch.
As much as I loved Buenos Aires, I have to confess to having found it a little exhausting. I spent much of our visit trying to wrap my brain around all the dynamics of history, colonialism, economics, politics and social upheaval that in various ways had formed the Argentine character, if such a thing exists. Since I don’t know a lot about the history of Argentina, my perspective tended to be colored by what little I do know, ie the military dictatorship circa 1976, remnants of which always seemed to pop up out of nowhere and contrast wildly with the bright good times we were having. Once we were standing around chatting on a (mostly) pedestrian street following a (cancelled) concert when an old, old man shuffling by, noticed us, no doubt was immediately aware of our Americanness, and stopped and stood about ten feet away, scowling toward us with the angriest, most evil scowl I’ve ever seen, for what seemed like an hour. As though he had strong personal reasons for hating Americans, which lots of Argentines surely do. Other reminders of the bad times among the enchantment of the city: the big obelisk in the middle of town, not far from our hotel, against which some of the first “dissidents” were stood up and shot when the generals took over; the ubiquitous Ford Falcons, which the Ford Motor Company, one of the corporate beneficiaries of the coup, had supplied to the federal police and which were used, among other things, for rounding up leftists; the Rio de la Plata, into which many of the bodies were dumped. Walking around the city, it was sometimes hard not to think of state-sponsored terror, hard not to wonder how people dealt with it, how they’re still dealing with its aftermath, perhaps dreading its recurrence.
And now the last thing I see before leaving the city is…anti-Semitism. The fact that it was made from a stencil and not just crudely spraypainted makes it seem extra sinister. Maybe there was more than one person involved, the maker of the stencil plus his minions, or maybe there was just one guy and he wanted to make it as fast and easy as possible to spread the most hate over the biggest area. Either way, I begin to realize that I’m dealing with this in a rather naïve and self-centered manner. Argentina is, after all, a country, and one of the unfortunate things about countries is that some of its citizens tend not to get along. Of COURSE there’s darkness in Argentina’s past and present, just like there is in the US, in France, Mexico, Russia, Nigeria, South Africa, India, etc. And, was I more disturbed by the actual hate message or by the fact that it was ruining my good time? Am I really that incredibly spoiled? Probably, but one thing I can say with certainty is: fuck that stencil guy; fuck all those stencil guys. After briefly wondering at the origin of the stencil, I thought about the other people in the van sitting next to me and how incredibly proud I am to be one of them. I remembered all the musicians we’ve met on this trip, all the wonderful, kind people who love playing music and revel in the community it creates, in its positive energy. And I thought: Give it up, Stencil Guy, because you’re not going to win. Our side is better, smarter, more fun, more numerous, swings harder, and by the way, fuck you, Stencil Guy.
And so, Dear Reader, as we say our farewell to the Southern Cone and all it’s magic and madness, my brain continues to spin, not only attempting to unravel the mysteries and complexity of this place, but the make-up of my own character as well. And that’s why we travel.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Guest Blogger: Anna Purnell
THE LEAGUE OF SKETCHY WELDING AND OTHER ARGENTINIAN DELIGHTS
Hello all,
Before I commence with this last post from Buenos Aires, I want to make clear how very, very much I love and revere not just this city and the portenos, but the whole country. Even the grinding ache of missing my kids (who were having a great time with their dad and his wife), could not make a dent in complete and utter adoration I have for this place.
Being here has led me many times to reflect upon how we do things in the U.S., and how bizarre and hilarious they must appear to people from other countries. It's also led me to engage in a protracted and vigorous effort to not bring shame upon myself and my friends through dissolving into hysterical laughter at some of the things that are uniquely Argentine. Case in point: The League of Sketchy Welding.
Argentinians love their country. They are proud of it. They go out of their way to assist foreigners in finding their way to the things that are most beautiful, tasty, interesting, historic and delightful here.
At the same time, they are also really happy to trash up wherever they are like a heavy metal band in a Motel 6 honeymoon suite. Garbage? Throw it on the ground. Dog detritus? For heaven's sake, don't pick it up. Broken glass? Oh well, everything comes to an end. And so on. This is particularly evident in Buenos Aires, but it's kind of the norm in the other cities we visited too. Eventually, somebody comes along and picks up some of the trash, but there will still be car-sized, random piles of what looks like the innards of an entire apartment, or the closeout sale from a box factory.
This “Why Not” sort of approach to civic cleanliness reaches its acme in what appears –at least to somebody from the U.S.- to be Argentinians' extremely cavalier attitude towards personal safety. As I write this, I gaze upwards from the hotel's trashed and lovely courtyard into a thicket of randomly strung electrical wires (see picture above). Are some of these tangled filaments live? Who knows? Will we be electrocuted? Why not?
My very favorite manifestation of this attitude involves people welding things on city streets. Every day, literally, I encountered teams of two or three guys (never women) welding something to something. Usually one or more of them were teetering on a ladder or crouched in the middle of a pedestrian walkway.
Always, the welding device was attached to a power source via an intricate network of aging extension cords, all of which would be made whole by generous swaths of frayed duct tape. Sparks shower down on passersby and up into the face of the welder (who, of course, would bring shame upon himself if he wore a welder's mask or protective garments). Generally, he's also smoking a cigarette and carrying on a conversation while he's bent to his task.
Hello all,
Before I commence with this last post from Buenos Aires, I want to make clear how very, very much I love and revere not just this city and the portenos, but the whole country. Even the grinding ache of missing my kids (who were having a great time with their dad and his wife), could not make a dent in complete and utter adoration I have for this place.
Being here has led me many times to reflect upon how we do things in the U.S., and how bizarre and hilarious they must appear to people from other countries. It's also led me to engage in a protracted and vigorous effort to not bring shame upon myself and my friends through dissolving into hysterical laughter at some of the things that are uniquely Argentine. Case in point: The League of Sketchy Welding.
Argentinians love their country. They are proud of it. They go out of their way to assist foreigners in finding their way to the things that are most beautiful, tasty, interesting, historic and delightful here.
At the same time, they are also really happy to trash up wherever they are like a heavy metal band in a Motel 6 honeymoon suite. Garbage? Throw it on the ground. Dog detritus? For heaven's sake, don't pick it up. Broken glass? Oh well, everything comes to an end. And so on. This is particularly evident in Buenos Aires, but it's kind of the norm in the other cities we visited too. Eventually, somebody comes along and picks up some of the trash, but there will still be car-sized, random piles of what looks like the innards of an entire apartment, or the closeout sale from a box factory.
This “Why Not” sort of approach to civic cleanliness reaches its acme in what appears –at least to somebody from the U.S.- to be Argentinians' extremely cavalier attitude towards personal safety. As I write this, I gaze upwards from the hotel's trashed and lovely courtyard into a thicket of randomly strung electrical wires (see picture above). Are some of these tangled filaments live? Who knows? Will we be electrocuted? Why not?
My very favorite manifestation of this attitude involves people welding things on city streets. Every day, literally, I encountered teams of two or three guys (never women) welding something to something. Usually one or more of them were teetering on a ladder or crouched in the middle of a pedestrian walkway.
Always, the welding device was attached to a power source via an intricate network of aging extension cords, all of which would be made whole by generous swaths of frayed duct tape. Sparks shower down on passersby and up into the face of the welder (who, of course, would bring shame upon himself if he wore a welder's mask or protective garments). Generally, he's also smoking a cigarette and carrying on a conversation while he's bent to his task.
In honor of this group of hardy souls I created The League of Sketchy Welding, and started awarding myself points every time I spotted a member of this august group. I got extra credit if one of a given welding team was blind or asleep, or if the rickety ladder was leaned against an electrical wire. My husband notes that I needed to also award credit for the guy chopping up a small tree, not with a chainsaw, but with a metal grinder. Why not?
Other highlights:
Fun With Explosives
The Argentinians' commendable gusto involving civic participation takes a bit of getting used to. Strikes and demonstrations are frequent and par for the course. Natives and seasoned travelers greet these outbursts of communal expression with a roll of the eyes and a shrug, or by joining whatever throng is making a ruckus. A visitor like myself, on the other hand is constantly studying other people's faces to make sure that the shouting crowd dujour is not about to turn into a murderous mob hell-bent on mayhem. If everybody else looks bored or is applauding or taking pictures (something Argentinians love to do), you figure it's o.k. It was never not o.k.My favorite manifestacion was the one we were drawn into during our stay in Cordoba. It all began when I was partaking in the free breakfast at the King David Hotel. There was a huge, percussive BANG outside the hotel, that startled me so much I half rose from my chair and said, in English, “What the hell was that?” The nice lady at the next table, who has relatives in New Jersey, reassured me. “It's just a demonstration,” she said in Spanish. “They're shooting off fireworks.” It was day light, so I hardly saw the point of that, but imagined they had just shot the one off from the top of a safe building to get the party started.In fact, when my husband and I went out about 20 minutes later, it emerged that they were simply shooting the damn things off IN THE STREET while the parade of disgruntled union workers banged drums, shouted and used a gigantic Argentinian flag as a kind of parachute to fling thousands of leaflets into the air to flutter like blossoms onto the streets. Every time a volley of fireworks would go off, the stray dogs in attendance would yap their displeasure. A man declaimed sonorously and unintelligibly from a PA system mounted on top of a mini-bus. More fireworks. The PA played stirring music. Everybody sang a lovely song.To this day, I have only the vague impression that they were demonstrating for better wages and working conditions. At the time, I was so moved I had tears in my eyes. I wanted to grab a banner and march, to learn the words to the song. In a way, I guess, I kind of did.
Ordering Food
For the first week, no matter what I tried to order for breakfast, I ended up with a ham and cheese sandwich on toasted white bread with the crusts cut off. Finally, I found “omelettes” on the menu and ordered one. It arrived, looking every inch the U.S. omelet. Then I cut into it, and uncooked egg whites and yolks gushed forth. My husband pretended we'd gotten a call and had to take the “food” para llevar (to go). Turns out there are two styles of eggs popular here, “crudo” (raw) and “cocido” (cooked). Most people prefer 'em crudo. Myself, however, not so much.
Bathrooms
Every bathroom is completely different from the next. Strike that: every STALL is its own entity, distinct from any other stall anywhere in the country. On a bus trip through the Andes, we stopped at a place where you had to pick between the stall that had light but no toilet seat, or the one that had the toilet seat and was dark as the inside of a locked suitcase. Oh yeah, and bring your own toilet paper just to be safe, and some change. Some places simply didn't have t.p. Buena suerte. (Good luck.) Others had it, but you needed to make a donation in order to have access to it. In still others, there was good old absorbent, familiar, paper product.
The “Nonkin”
And speaking of paper products, none of us were able to unravel The Mystery of The Nonkin. A nonkin is what passes for a table napkin in Argentina. At first glance, it looks like any other of its ilk, if a bit smaller, about the size of your average drink coaster folded daintily in half. Alas, if you're an American and have the misfortune to actually need a napkin in Argentina, you then come face to face with The Mystery of The Nonkin. Nonkins feel like the wax paper Americans use to pick up doughnuts, they crinkle, and have the absorbent properties of, say, steel or rubber. You cannot clean up a spill with a nonkin. You can, however, contain whatever mess has been made by building a barrier of crumpled nonkins around the liquid and waiting for it to dry on its own.
Dogs and Cats
My husband doesn't know this, but prior to coming here, it was my settled intention to acquire a very small dog upon our return. Since our sojourn in Argentina, however, I've realized there are enough dogs in the world and I don't need to encourage people to produce more. Ownerless (vs. feral) dogs and cats are everywhere in the cities we visited. They're friendly and used to people, and they're also accomplished shmoozers. I never got up enough gumption to actually touch one of the dogs. As an aggregate, they are a testimony to the wonders of the genetic crapshoot, and they tend to be filthy and sort of moth eaten. However, one night in Mendoza, I bonded with a small, yellowish dog that I surmised was the result of one night's torrid passion between a pomeranian and a basset hound. We made eye contact. I slipped him some gristle from my steak and half an egg I didn't want. He lay at my feet for a few minutes, not begging or even looking at me. Then he moved on. Wish I could have taken him home. THAT was a good dog.I have so much more to tell, but I'll stop. It's a lovely day. We only have about an hour before the taxi comes. There are guys in the high rise next door flying paper airplanes from the fifteenth story fire escape.
Why not?
Anna
Dogs and Cats
My husband doesn't know this, but prior to coming here, it was my settled intention to acquire a very small dog upon our return. Since our sojourn in Argentina, however, I've realized there are enough dogs in the world and I don't need to encourage people to produce more. Ownerless (vs. feral) dogs and cats are everywhere in the cities we visited. They're friendly and used to people, and they're also accomplished shmoozers. I never got up enough gumption to actually touch one of the dogs. As an aggregate, they are a testimony to the wonders of the genetic crapshoot, and they tend to be filthy and sort of moth eaten. However, one night in Mendoza, I bonded with a small, yellowish dog that I surmised was the result of one night's torrid passion between a pomeranian and a basset hound. We made eye contact. I slipped him some gristle from my steak and half an egg I didn't want. He lay at my feet for a few minutes, not begging or even looking at me. Then he moved on. Wish I could have taken him home. THAT was a good dog.I have so much more to tell, but I'll stop. It's a lovely day. We only have about an hour before the taxi comes. There are guys in the high rise next door flying paper airplanes from the fifteenth story fire escape.
Why not?
Anna
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Video: Klez/Chor Smackdown
There was also an international Choral festival happening in Mendoza while we were there. Sometimes we ended up at the same restaurant.
Video: Mendoza Parque Central
Mairead & Fiona make their international debut with Mames Babegenush. We'll have to keep an eye on the girls today, lest they try to stow away in the Mames' luggage.
A random note about this venue: the park is huge, and a trip to the bathroom requires a long walk from the amphitheatre, past roughly half a mile of playground. At 8 pm, this area was largely vacant. After the concert, at 12:30 am, the playground was teeming with hundreds of families with toddlers & young children, picnicking and playing. The scene was like Vilas Park on a Sunday afternoon, minus the sun.
A random note about this venue: the park is huge, and a trip to the bathroom requires a long walk from the amphitheatre, past roughly half a mile of playground. At 8 pm, this area was largely vacant. After the concert, at 12:30 am, the playground was teeming with hundreds of families with toddlers & young children, picnicking and playing. The scene was like Vilas Park on a Sunday afternoon, minus the sun.
Leaving Mendoza
November 23, 12:47 PM
Instead of scoring the nice bus (see two entries back) for the trip back to Buenos Aires and ultimately home, the organizers decided to go with Stops Every Thirty Yards For Long Periods of Time Autobus Company. We’re currently in the midst of a crowded, boring sixteen hour deathmarch. What can you do on a sixteen hour bus ride? Some of us have reading material, but some of us can’t read in vehicles thanks to motion sickness. Still others of us are just too godawfully tired to concentrate, having woken up at five AM after being out until about one. Some of us sleep, while others of us just sit and wait for that numb bus stupor to take hold, with all the wall-eyed staring out the window at a landscape that largely resembles Ohio once you get east of the Sierras. Stale, re-circulated air and trainloads of boredom: that’s our life today, all the long, long horrible day.
At least Mendoza was fun. Surprisingly, none of our three concerts got cancelled and we played every night we were there. The first two were in Mendoza’s Central Park in what amounted to a natural amphitheater, and the third was in an unnatural indoor theater. Both turned out to be very nice venues. We continued alternating our sets with those of the Danes. We also got to know them a little during the interminable waiting around. These Danes fall roughly into two categories: younger and older. The younger ones are a six piece outfit called Mames Babaganoush, mostly acoustic but also somewhat rock-oriented. Their names are Christian, Christian but goes by Bo, Andreas, Emil, Nikolai and Lukas, Bo’s brother. They’re almost all in their twenties, mostly thin and tall and with a penchant for the skinny ties. For these reasons, plus the fact that two of them are brothers, they remind me of The Lounge Lizards.
The elder Danes, Ann Magrit and Henrik, are the Klezmer Duo. Henrik is very soft-spoken but seems warm and Ann Magrit is very outgoing and enthusiastic. Between them they play accordion, vocals, soprano sax and hammer dulcimer (not cymbalon).
(Meanwhile, our driver has been turning the air-conditioning on and off at random intervals. I’ve read about this as a torture technique: you introduce unpredictability and a chaotic lack of routine in order to disorient your captive, thereby speeding along the process of breaking him and getting your information. Our CIA has trained these Argentine bus drivers well. )
The Klezmer Duo does all traditional acoustic music and provides a good counterpoint to what the young Danes and Yid Vicious do.
(Oh look, we’re stopping again!)
(Oh, and someone just noticed that the AC on this bus is leaking, just like on the first bus!)
They’re all witty and fun to be around (the Danes) and speak better English than everyone in our dumb country. Ever since I saw Hamlet, I’ve assumed that people from Denmark are gloomy, morose, Oedipal, and suicidal. I don’t know these Danes THAT well, but I’m guessing they’re not carrying that much baggage. Themost stereotypically Scandinavian tendency of theirs that I’ve observed is their clean playing, as clean and smooth as their scrubbed Nordic faces. This again provides a good counterpoint to Yid Vicious, who, as the kids were saying twenty years ago, “keeps it reals”.
(We’re making another stop. So far all the bus stations in the towns we’ve stopped in have been way way off the highway, which means more slow driving and the wheels of time grinding to an excruciating halt before we’ve even actually stopped. This stop turns out to be for twenty minutes. WE GET TO GET OFF THE BUS, or the “suckbus”, as we’ve been calling it. We’ll hang around in the bus station for a few minutes, buy some chips and beverages, try and breathe some oxygenated air, check out the bathrooms (the bathroom on the bus, by the way, isn’t too bad; it’s a little like an airplane bathroom), stand around next to the bus, finally decide we might as well just get back on the damn bus, world without end.)
The whole “clean playing” issue brings up an aspect of this particular festival that some of us at The Vicious Traveler find compelling. Domestic Yid Vicious has had several discussions over the years vis a vis the stylistic characteristics of klezmer. We’ve been told on several occasions that we play too “clean”, too precise, that we should “dirty up” our playing to, once again, keep it reals. How hard do we want to work to replicate the traditional styles? CAN we replicate the traditional style, and if so why should we? If you’ve spent your whole life learning to play with precision and then you one day make a conscious decision to unlearn what you’ve learned, isn’t it just an ingenuous grab at achieving someone’s (almost never YOUR) idea of authenticity?
(During the twenty minute or so break, Suckbus has gotten a little steamy. Members of the TVT team passed a few minutes sweating and discussing past long bus trips. One of us once took thirty hours getting from Boston to Wisconsin via the Greyhound. Others of us spent a sweltering fourteen hours at a stretch riding around Southern Asia. Every traveler has his stories.)
We’ve had some contact over the last couple of years with several of the East Coast KlezKamp people. The KlezKamp krowd are the most influential proponents of Yiddish music in the US today, maybe in the world. A couple of them are world-class musicians, a few of them influential stylists, one or two of them strident polemicists. They’re a fairly diverse lot, but they largely adhere to the principal of folk music as a marker of cultural identity and the preservation of that identity. What this boils down to in practice is that the folk musician, in this case the klezmer, can’t just play the music any way she feels like it. Like classical music, klezmer was set down by the masters for posterity and to not emulate the masters as exactingly as possible means that you’re disrespecting the tradition and trucking in charlatanry of the worst kind.
To my knowledge, nobody has ever openly accused Yid Vicious of being charlatans. We HAVE been told (BTW, did you know that central Argentina is very very flat? Like Bonneville Salt Flats flat, but with vegetation.) by some of the afore-mentioned KlezKamp people that we’re too clean. We have tons of respect for the musicianship and judgement of these particular KlezKamp people, but some among us marveled at the ramifications of this verdict. Here we were, about ten highly trained musicians, discussing style and the manner in which stylistic purity can be achieved, which largely entails adhering to the given style faithfully without the blandishment of your past training.
But how do you unlearn what you’ve worked so hard to learn? Isn’t that a kind of affectation? Like earlier, when we pointed out how reals Yid Vicious prefers to keeps it? And if you can’t add what you know to a given genre, doesn’t that just mean that that genre is sterile and pretty much dead?
Instead of scoring the nice bus (see two entries back) for the trip back to Buenos Aires and ultimately home, the organizers decided to go with Stops Every Thirty Yards For Long Periods of Time Autobus Company. We’re currently in the midst of a crowded, boring sixteen hour deathmarch. What can you do on a sixteen hour bus ride? Some of us have reading material, but some of us can’t read in vehicles thanks to motion sickness. Still others of us are just too godawfully tired to concentrate, having woken up at five AM after being out until about one. Some of us sleep, while others of us just sit and wait for that numb bus stupor to take hold, with all the wall-eyed staring out the window at a landscape that largely resembles Ohio once you get east of the Sierras. Stale, re-circulated air and trainloads of boredom: that’s our life today, all the long, long horrible day.
At least Mendoza was fun. Surprisingly, none of our three concerts got cancelled and we played every night we were there. The first two were in Mendoza’s Central Park in what amounted to a natural amphitheater, and the third was in an unnatural indoor theater. Both turned out to be very nice venues. We continued alternating our sets with those of the Danes. We also got to know them a little during the interminable waiting around. These Danes fall roughly into two categories: younger and older. The younger ones are a six piece outfit called Mames Babaganoush, mostly acoustic but also somewhat rock-oriented. Their names are Christian, Christian but goes by Bo, Andreas, Emil, Nikolai and Lukas, Bo’s brother. They’re almost all in their twenties, mostly thin and tall and with a penchant for the skinny ties. For these reasons, plus the fact that two of them are brothers, they remind me of The Lounge Lizards.
The elder Danes, Ann Magrit and Henrik, are the Klezmer Duo. Henrik is very soft-spoken but seems warm and Ann Magrit is very outgoing and enthusiastic. Between them they play accordion, vocals, soprano sax and hammer dulcimer (not cymbalon).
(Meanwhile, our driver has been turning the air-conditioning on and off at random intervals. I’ve read about this as a torture technique: you introduce unpredictability and a chaotic lack of routine in order to disorient your captive, thereby speeding along the process of breaking him and getting your information. Our CIA has trained these Argentine bus drivers well. )
The Klezmer Duo does all traditional acoustic music and provides a good counterpoint to what the young Danes and Yid Vicious do.
(Oh look, we’re stopping again!)
(Oh, and someone just noticed that the AC on this bus is leaking, just like on the first bus!)
They’re all witty and fun to be around (the Danes) and speak better English than everyone in our dumb country. Ever since I saw Hamlet, I’ve assumed that people from Denmark are gloomy, morose, Oedipal, and suicidal. I don’t know these Danes THAT well, but I’m guessing they’re not carrying that much baggage. Themost stereotypically Scandinavian tendency of theirs that I’ve observed is their clean playing, as clean and smooth as their scrubbed Nordic faces. This again provides a good counterpoint to Yid Vicious, who, as the kids were saying twenty years ago, “keeps it reals”.
(We’re making another stop. So far all the bus stations in the towns we’ve stopped in have been way way off the highway, which means more slow driving and the wheels of time grinding to an excruciating halt before we’ve even actually stopped. This stop turns out to be for twenty minutes. WE GET TO GET OFF THE BUS, or the “suckbus”, as we’ve been calling it. We’ll hang around in the bus station for a few minutes, buy some chips and beverages, try and breathe some oxygenated air, check out the bathrooms (the bathroom on the bus, by the way, isn’t too bad; it’s a little like an airplane bathroom), stand around next to the bus, finally decide we might as well just get back on the damn bus, world without end.)
The whole “clean playing” issue brings up an aspect of this particular festival that some of us at The Vicious Traveler find compelling. Domestic Yid Vicious has had several discussions over the years vis a vis the stylistic characteristics of klezmer. We’ve been told on several occasions that we play too “clean”, too precise, that we should “dirty up” our playing to, once again, keep it reals. How hard do we want to work to replicate the traditional styles? CAN we replicate the traditional style, and if so why should we? If you’ve spent your whole life learning to play with precision and then you one day make a conscious decision to unlearn what you’ve learned, isn’t it just an ingenuous grab at achieving someone’s (almost never YOUR) idea of authenticity?
(During the twenty minute or so break, Suckbus has gotten a little steamy. Members of the TVT team passed a few minutes sweating and discussing past long bus trips. One of us once took thirty hours getting from Boston to Wisconsin via the Greyhound. Others of us spent a sweltering fourteen hours at a stretch riding around Southern Asia. Every traveler has his stories.)
We’ve had some contact over the last couple of years with several of the East Coast KlezKamp people. The KlezKamp krowd are the most influential proponents of Yiddish music in the US today, maybe in the world. A couple of them are world-class musicians, a few of them influential stylists, one or two of them strident polemicists. They’re a fairly diverse lot, but they largely adhere to the principal of folk music as a marker of cultural identity and the preservation of that identity. What this boils down to in practice is that the folk musician, in this case the klezmer, can’t just play the music any way she feels like it. Like classical music, klezmer was set down by the masters for posterity and to not emulate the masters as exactingly as possible means that you’re disrespecting the tradition and trucking in charlatanry of the worst kind.
To my knowledge, nobody has ever openly accused Yid Vicious of being charlatans. We HAVE been told (BTW, did you know that central Argentina is very very flat? Like Bonneville Salt Flats flat, but with vegetation.) by some of the afore-mentioned KlezKamp people that we’re too clean. We have tons of respect for the musicianship and judgement of these particular KlezKamp people, but some among us marveled at the ramifications of this verdict. Here we were, about ten highly trained musicians, discussing style and the manner in which stylistic purity can be achieved, which largely entails adhering to the given style faithfully without the blandishment of your past training.
But how do you unlearn what you’ve worked so hard to learn? Isn’t that a kind of affectation? Like earlier, when we pointed out how reals Yid Vicious prefers to keeps it? And if you can’t add what you know to a given genre, doesn’t that just mean that that genre is sterile and pretty much dead?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Video Post: Canal Siete Mendoza
The bus ride is over! Now we will proceed to the Mendoza radio station for a promotional appearance of some sort. Let's see what happens!
Friday, November 20, 2009
November 19, 11:43 PM
Leaving Cordoba
One member of our group, perhaps Melissa, was heard to remark: “This bus rocks!” This was said, and received, without irony, for this bus indeed rocks. Compared to the last bus, it’s Buckingham Palace on wheels. The seats are plush and roomy and recline WAY back so that you’re nearly lying down. They give you food on embarkation and the air conditioner doesn’t leak all over the floor, dampening our things (although occasionally our wine carton spills, serving that function). Pedro, Alejandro and Oskar have done well. Whereas the trip from BA to Cordoba was mainly on straight freeways, the Cordoba/Mendoza trip seems to be taking us down a lot of narrow, windey country roads. Since this is another overnight trip, we won’t get to really see anything.
But that’s okay. Sometimes we at The Vicious Traveler like to just sit back and let the road flow beneath us. Sit back with a carton of cheap but good wine, reflecting on the day’s events, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Maybe get a little shut-eye. Or maybe, if we’re too tired to sleep, we’ll meet up with a gambler. Or maybe we’ll spend a couple minutes reflecting and it will hit us all over again that we got to come all the way from Wisconsin to Argentina and how unbelievable that seems and how amazing is the power and magic of music.
Leaving Cordoba
One member of our group, perhaps Melissa, was heard to remark: “This bus rocks!” This was said, and received, without irony, for this bus indeed rocks. Compared to the last bus, it’s Buckingham Palace on wheels. The seats are plush and roomy and recline WAY back so that you’re nearly lying down. They give you food on embarkation and the air conditioner doesn’t leak all over the floor, dampening our things (although occasionally our wine carton spills, serving that function). Pedro, Alejandro and Oskar have done well. Whereas the trip from BA to Cordoba was mainly on straight freeways, the Cordoba/Mendoza trip seems to be taking us down a lot of narrow, windey country roads. Since this is another overnight trip, we won’t get to really see anything.
But that’s okay. Sometimes we at The Vicious Traveler like to just sit back and let the road flow beneath us. Sit back with a carton of cheap but good wine, reflecting on the day’s events, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Maybe get a little shut-eye. Or maybe, if we’re too tired to sleep, we’ll meet up with a gambler. Or maybe we’ll spend a couple minutes reflecting and it will hit us all over again that we got to come all the way from Wisconsin to Argentina and how unbelievable that seems and how amazing is the power and magic of music.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Guest Blogger: Kia Karlen
Thursday, November 18, 5:30 pm, Córdoba
Three days in Córdoba have quickly come and gone, with our second Córdoba concert canceled for somewhat mysterious reasons. We’ve been ambling about quite a bit and mixing it up with our Danish klezmorim travel mates, and I have enjoyed the best smoothie ever, the Cesar Pelli (some beautiful combination of crushed ice, fresh pineapple, fresh-squeezed lemon, and fresh mint). Córdoba is a much older city than Buenos Aires, boasting lots of colleges, women in comfortable shoes (as Sandy noted immediately upon our arrival), a bit of a State Street vibe, and a look that intermingles lovely colonial Spanish architecture and grand cathedrals with fugly Brutalist apartment buildings and office towers.
Now we steel ourselves for our second overnight bus trip. Daithi, via his Córdobanian friends, had regaled us with stories of the posh trappings of Argentinian bus travel, said trappings including fully-reclining seats, movies & bingo, passable meals and free wine. While awaiting our departure from Buenos Aires, we watched more than a few of these coaches arrive and depart at the sprawling bus station, before eventually boarding a bus of a somewhat earlier and danker vintage, complete with a dinner of knockoff M&Ms (Rocklets!) and ham-flavored crackers. For this next leg, half of our party has purchased their own tickets to jump ship to the Ejecutive Bus, while the rest of us prefer to keep it reals on the steerage bus. For now, I cling to the romantic notion that we third-class bus passengers will somehow have a more vibrant and festive experience. That, plus we’ve been promised actual sandwiches for this journey. Will they be delicious tostadas, or ham-flavored crackers TOPPED WITH Golf sauce? Time will tell, friends.
According to our most recent information, upon our arrival in Mendoza tomorrow, we shall be whisked in all our bus-steeped freshness to an audience with the Mayor, to be followed by a live radio performance and interview in which we’ve been asked to banter humorously in our “Spanish”. If all goes well, we’ll also call in to WORT for the 8:00 Buzz.
Three days in Córdoba have quickly come and gone, with our second Córdoba concert canceled for somewhat mysterious reasons. We’ve been ambling about quite a bit and mixing it up with our Danish klezmorim travel mates, and I have enjoyed the best smoothie ever, the Cesar Pelli (some beautiful combination of crushed ice, fresh pineapple, fresh-squeezed lemon, and fresh mint). Córdoba is a much older city than Buenos Aires, boasting lots of colleges, women in comfortable shoes (as Sandy noted immediately upon our arrival), a bit of a State Street vibe, and a look that intermingles lovely colonial Spanish architecture and grand cathedrals with fugly Brutalist apartment buildings and office towers.
Now we steel ourselves for our second overnight bus trip. Daithi, via his Córdobanian friends, had regaled us with stories of the posh trappings of Argentinian bus travel, said trappings including fully-reclining seats, movies & bingo, passable meals and free wine. While awaiting our departure from Buenos Aires, we watched more than a few of these coaches arrive and depart at the sprawling bus station, before eventually boarding a bus of a somewhat earlier and danker vintage, complete with a dinner of knockoff M&Ms (Rocklets!) and ham-flavored crackers. For this next leg, half of our party has purchased their own tickets to jump ship to the Ejecutive Bus, while the rest of us prefer to keep it reals on the steerage bus. For now, I cling to the romantic notion that we third-class bus passengers will somehow have a more vibrant and festive experience. That, plus we’ve been promised actual sandwiches for this journey. Will they be delicious tostadas, or ham-flavored crackers TOPPED WITH Golf sauce? Time will tell, friends.
According to our most recent information, upon our arrival in Mendoza tomorrow, we shall be whisked in all our bus-steeped freshness to an audience with the Mayor, to be followed by a live radio performance and interview in which we’ve been asked to banter humorously in our “Spanish”. If all goes well, we’ll also call in to WORT for the 8:00 Buzz.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
In Which the Autobus Journey Somehow Ends
November 18, 2:39 AM
Cordoba, Argentina:
The Arrivening
We survived the bus trip to Cordoba. Overnight bus trips don’t tend to be the most non-exhausting-and-soul-crushing of experiences. Plus, this trip tended toward the especially DAMP. There was an apparent leak somewhere in the air-conditioning that was causing water to leak all over the floor of el autobus, which tended to soak everything that was left under the seats, which was a lot since there wasn’t a lot of room in the overhead shelves in which to store our things. So we arrived in Cordoba, damp and tired. Some of us in the entourage took an immediate liking to Cordoba, noting its smaller size and more “laid-back” pace compared to Buenos Aires. Others found it on first glance somewhat nondescript. Either way, it’s a good thing there aren’t too many wooden buildings here to be ignited by all the KLEZMER FIRE we intend to unleash on Cordoba.
Although the rain could take care of that. And it did! We’ve said it before, because it’s true: Yid Vicious makes the rain. There had apparently been a four-months-and-counting draught in this area. So what did Yid Vicious do? Yid Vicious did what Yid Vicious does. We played an outdoor concert and brought the rain. Simple as that: no prayers or incantations, no metaphysical brou-ha-ha. Nothing fancy, nothing forced. We played our set and toward the end it started sprinkling. Then later, when we were safely inside, it was pouring for quite some time. It was a cool rain, too, the kind that breaks up the stifling heat (oh, did I mention that at the end of the bus ride we were tired, damp, AND hot?) and makes you feel that you can go on living after all.
So enjoy the cool, cool rain, Cordoba. Nature may never do you any favors, but klezmer is always here to lend a helping hand.
Cordoba, Argentina:
The Arrivening
We survived the bus trip to Cordoba. Overnight bus trips don’t tend to be the most non-exhausting-and-soul-crushing of experiences. Plus, this trip tended toward the especially DAMP. There was an apparent leak somewhere in the air-conditioning that was causing water to leak all over the floor of el autobus, which tended to soak everything that was left under the seats, which was a lot since there wasn’t a lot of room in the overhead shelves in which to store our things. So we arrived in Cordoba, damp and tired. Some of us in the entourage took an immediate liking to Cordoba, noting its smaller size and more “laid-back” pace compared to Buenos Aires. Others found it on first glance somewhat nondescript. Either way, it’s a good thing there aren’t too many wooden buildings here to be ignited by all the KLEZMER FIRE we intend to unleash on Cordoba.
Although the rain could take care of that. And it did! We’ve said it before, because it’s true: Yid Vicious makes the rain. There had apparently been a four-months-and-counting draught in this area. So what did Yid Vicious do? Yid Vicious did what Yid Vicious does. We played an outdoor concert and brought the rain. Simple as that: no prayers or incantations, no metaphysical brou-ha-ha. Nothing fancy, nothing forced. We played our set and toward the end it started sprinkling. Then later, when we were safely inside, it was pouring for quite some time. It was a cool rain, too, the kind that breaks up the stifling heat (oh, did I mention that at the end of the bus ride we were tired, damp, AND hot?) and makes you feel that you can go on living after all.
So enjoy the cool, cool rain, Cordoba. Nature may never do you any favors, but klezmer is always here to lend a helping hand.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Guest Blogger: Melissa Reiser
November 17, 12:58 AM, somewhere between Buenos Aires and Cordoba
“When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, It’s Time to Go Home… Or, at Least to Córdoba”
Thank you, Erma Bombeck – nothing could sum up my day any better…
So, where to begin? I suppose we should go back to Saturday night, the Grand Finale concert for the Buenos Aires portion of our festival tour. All of the bands, international and local, had a chance to perform one last time for the Porteños before either returning home or traveling on to Córdoba and Mendoza. We were picked up at the hotel at about 5pm, allowing 2 hours until “start time,” which by now I’ve learned to put in quotes… We were playing at the Planetarium park, and when we got there we saw a stage (a relief, if you’ve heard our Obelisk concert story) and a bunch of people milling about. We ran into Kia’s mom, Barb, and her traveling companions, and shamelessly took advantage of them by making them watch all of our stuff while we hunted for food. I had crackers.
I have to take a small aside here to tell you about the trees in Argentina (or at least BA) – they remind me of the banyan trees in Hawaii (Maui) – the roots grow upwards like miniature mountain ranges, and all sorts of crevices, crooks and crannies form into mysterious shapes – a monkey, an old woman… Mairead and Fiona are both expert tree climbers, so these trees are like getting the chance to drive a Bentley... (or in my case, a Karmann Ghia – OR, a Citroën! Our concert coincided with the 95th? Anniversary of the Frenchmobile, and there were a parade of them on display)
Needless to say, things were a little “behind schedule,” to the extent that Kia, Geoff, Matt, Dave and I went to a café for a while and I had the world’s nastiest, fishiest tuna sandwich. AND, when we ordered our wine, the waitress had to go to a store and BUY it for us! She snuck back in with the bottle in a plastic bag, but Geoff saw her.
ANYway, eventually we performed and it really was fantastic. Now we can officially say that Yid Vicious has performed to live fireworks for a writhing mosh pit!!! It was an excellent lesson in the art of listening… (Imagine trying to play in 7 to the rhythm of sporadic explosions!)
After the concert, the organizers (darlings Pedro, Alejandro, Federico) announced that we would be taken to a farewell party. Cool! It was after 1:00 AM but we were all wired because of the energy of it all. So off to the club/bar we go. We settle in, get our drinks (one free) and start to relax and celebrate. Pedro gave us all gift bags, we laughed, took pictures, visited with other bands, etc. At some point Pedro asked us if we would like to play (there’s a stage at the club), and I noticed a sound guy setting up mikes. Now, I love playing, and we were all high on the last performance, but at this point I think we were all knackered and not particularly in the mood to get out our horns again… But, of course, after a few more drinks the idea seemed more appealing. Especially after the Mames serenaded their trumpet player (Leonardo Di Caprio) and his date (someone he met a few days earlier, I think? – Thursday, actually, because that’s why he wasn’t at the jam session). So eventually we all ended up playing some more and jamming with musicians from other bands. Good times!
Finally we’re told it’s time to leave – after all, we hadn’t even gotten there until after 1:00AM. So at about 4:30 AM or so, we collectively hailed cabs – I squeezed in with Matt, Kia, and Geoff. We get back to our hotel, and the first thing I do is fall flat on my face. According to Kia, it was “spectacular.” A full-on face-splat. Now, while it is true that I had had a few gin and tonics at this point, I have to give the Argentinian streets and sidewalks their due. Not only is this city inaccessible to the disabled, it CREATES more disabled people it won’t cater to! Because surely, given that I’ve already fallen 4 times (or 5?), these thoroughfares must maim people on a regular basis. And if they don’t, the cabbies will…. (Although, actually, they have remarkably quick reflexes and I’ve yet to see any actual crashes – just lots of almosts…) By the time I made it to bed, the sun was rising (not something I see too often).
So, Sunday morning I wake up with a nauseous feeling. I realize I do not have my purse. I look everywhere. Matt’s not with me (my Matt, Sintchak) to miraculously find it, and my frantic searching is in vain. NO PURSE. Now, this wouldn’t be such a big deal if it meant that I just lost the 300 pesos I had in there (I mean, that would have sucked, but not AS bad). It even wouldn’t have been a total nightmare if I had only lost my wallet, with my credit and bank cards and drivers license in there. Easily cancelled and renewed. What made it a disaster was that my passport was in it. YAY! And, of course, I managed to forget to copy my passport before I left (being caught up in grant hell).
So, here’s how things went down…
First, I had the hotel call the place – they were closed. I had the hotel keep calling, and they kept being closed. Eventually, Kia and Geoff walked with me over to the place to see for ourselves – of course, closed. But we tried the hostel that it is connected to, and the concierge offered to look for us, since he had a key. No bag. But he said they had a safe, so it could have been found and placed in there. So, check back tomorrow – they open at 9AM (it’s a café too). Still marginally hopeful, I give up for the night and go to sleep early. (But not early enough – I still had to pack all of my crap for our trip to Cordoba, b/c we would be checking out of our hotel by 10am the next day). So, Monday morning, 9am sharp – I ask the hotel guy to call again, and he finally reaches someone. But, alas, no bag. I took a cab there myself anyway, to see if somehow there was a mistake and it was really there… I begged with them to check again, but, no bag. YAY! So I dejectedly go back to the hotel using the rest of Kia’s borrowed money for the cab. Now things kick into high gear. First, I have to deal with checking out of the hotel. Then I have to deal with all of the cancellations – credit cards, bank cards, etc. Then I have to find out what’s involved in getting a new passport – so I had to get my dad to fax a copy of my birth certificate to the hotel. Kia had to take me to the police station to file a report, because this is part of the required paperwork when you are replacing a stolen passport.
The police station… maybe I should have Kia write about that. Suffice it to say, it was very surreal… The employees were actually HAPPY. Flirty, jokey, warm. WEIRD. AND, there was religious paraphernalia everywhere – a cross, a mini-shrine… Also, the “line-lady” was pretty cool – somewhat arbitrary decisions about who’s next based on the way the wind blew… When we got up there, we quickly found that our situation was more than Kia’s (good) and my (horrible) Spanish put together, so we had to have an interpreter. Meanwhile, the rest of the line is stuck waiting for the guy; nobody gets to go in front of me while they find the translator. Good for me, sucked for them… Oh, and the last detail was that the mascot in the middle of the policeman’s patch was nothing other than: a ROOSTER! Wow.
So, documents in hand, I meet up with Greg and Anna, who take over the babysitting shift so Geoff and Kia can do something else… I didn’t want the whole band to have to deal with this stuff all day… So Anna takes me to a photo place where I can get passport photos – and at this point I have 45 minutes until the Embassy closes for the day. Naturally, the photo place takes FOR-EVER. Eventually Anna wisely advises me to take a cab separately so I can at least get my foot in the door before 4pm (tough life, those embassy workers). So, I beg the cabbie to take me to the embassy muy pronto. He kicked it into high gear (higher than normal) and I had the 2nd best cab ride since I’ve been here (the best being with Kia in La Boca a few days before) – 2 near-crashes with pedestrians, 3 near-crashes with cars… And it took forever to get there because of course we were stuck in Rush hour traffic in the middle of the country’s largest city. Lovely.
So I make it to the embassy, explain to the security people that Anna’s coming (I described her to them, assuring them that they wouldn’t have any trouble recognizing her). Off to the passport renewal place, get my number, sit and wait. Finally, I’m called, and at first the lady isn’t exactly friendly. She said it was too late, the cashier was closed. I begged and pleaded and she said she’d wait only as long as it took me to fill out the necessary forms. I filled them out as slowly as possible, and just when I thought she was going to roll down the blinds for good, Anna bursts through the door. I needed her to complete the transaction because she had the photos and also the money (you have to pay $100). Finally, all seems good to go. But WAIT! There’s MORE!
It turns out we’re FOUR PESOS short. No flexibility with these people. No kind, charitable hearts. Four pesos, or no passport. Clocks ticking. Desperate, I resort to begging. Not to her, who was immovable. But to the fellow saps waiting on their own lines. Fortunately, since I looked even WORSE than I had in my new passport photo from earlier that afternoon, I was a pretty pathetic sight and earned some sympathy points from 3 people (a peso here, 2 there, etc).
So, at LAST. Alll done! Wait some more, then passport’s ready, and I can finally breathe.
Anna, meanwhile, is calling someone to bail us out of our cab fare – we now have no money to get back to our hotel, which is quite far – need someone to meet us there. Mid cab-ride, Anna realizes she has more money tucked away somewhere that she had forgotten bout, so that’s good (whew). Then, she –gasps – she can’t find HER passport. Panic ensues. But fortunately, it only lasted a few minutes, because she finally found it tucked away in a corner of her bag. GOD!!! After this, we headed to a brew pub where the rest of the band was waiting for us, and I had the most well-earned, well-deserved beer of my life (and Anna, wisely, chose something stronger. She did just save my ass, after all).
And so the story ends… I somehow made it on the bus to Cordoba with everyone else, instead of being stuck behind dealing with passport stuff, flying or bussing seperately, etc.
“When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, It’s Time to Go Home… Or, at Least to Córdoba”
Thank you, Erma Bombeck – nothing could sum up my day any better…
So, where to begin? I suppose we should go back to Saturday night, the Grand Finale concert for the Buenos Aires portion of our festival tour. All of the bands, international and local, had a chance to perform one last time for the Porteños before either returning home or traveling on to Córdoba and Mendoza. We were picked up at the hotel at about 5pm, allowing 2 hours until “start time,” which by now I’ve learned to put in quotes… We were playing at the Planetarium park, and when we got there we saw a stage (a relief, if you’ve heard our Obelisk concert story) and a bunch of people milling about. We ran into Kia’s mom, Barb, and her traveling companions, and shamelessly took advantage of them by making them watch all of our stuff while we hunted for food. I had crackers.
I have to take a small aside here to tell you about the trees in Argentina (or at least BA) – they remind me of the banyan trees in Hawaii (Maui) – the roots grow upwards like miniature mountain ranges, and all sorts of crevices, crooks and crannies form into mysterious shapes – a monkey, an old woman… Mairead and Fiona are both expert tree climbers, so these trees are like getting the chance to drive a Bentley... (or in my case, a Karmann Ghia – OR, a Citroën! Our concert coincided with the 95th? Anniversary of the Frenchmobile, and there were a parade of them on display)
Needless to say, things were a little “behind schedule,” to the extent that Kia, Geoff, Matt, Dave and I went to a café for a while and I had the world’s nastiest, fishiest tuna sandwich. AND, when we ordered our wine, the waitress had to go to a store and BUY it for us! She snuck back in with the bottle in a plastic bag, but Geoff saw her.
ANYway, eventually we performed and it really was fantastic. Now we can officially say that Yid Vicious has performed to live fireworks for a writhing mosh pit!!! It was an excellent lesson in the art of listening… (Imagine trying to play in 7 to the rhythm of sporadic explosions!)
After the concert, the organizers (darlings Pedro, Alejandro, Federico) announced that we would be taken to a farewell party. Cool! It was after 1:00 AM but we were all wired because of the energy of it all. So off to the club/bar we go. We settle in, get our drinks (one free) and start to relax and celebrate. Pedro gave us all gift bags, we laughed, took pictures, visited with other bands, etc. At some point Pedro asked us if we would like to play (there’s a stage at the club), and I noticed a sound guy setting up mikes. Now, I love playing, and we were all high on the last performance, but at this point I think we were all knackered and not particularly in the mood to get out our horns again… But, of course, after a few more drinks the idea seemed more appealing. Especially after the Mames serenaded their trumpet player (Leonardo Di Caprio) and his date (someone he met a few days earlier, I think? – Thursday, actually, because that’s why he wasn’t at the jam session). So eventually we all ended up playing some more and jamming with musicians from other bands. Good times!
Finally we’re told it’s time to leave – after all, we hadn’t even gotten there until after 1:00AM. So at about 4:30 AM or so, we collectively hailed cabs – I squeezed in with Matt, Kia, and Geoff. We get back to our hotel, and the first thing I do is fall flat on my face. According to Kia, it was “spectacular.” A full-on face-splat. Now, while it is true that I had had a few gin and tonics at this point, I have to give the Argentinian streets and sidewalks their due. Not only is this city inaccessible to the disabled, it CREATES more disabled people it won’t cater to! Because surely, given that I’ve already fallen 4 times (or 5?), these thoroughfares must maim people on a regular basis. And if they don’t, the cabbies will…. (Although, actually, they have remarkably quick reflexes and I’ve yet to see any actual crashes – just lots of almosts…) By the time I made it to bed, the sun was rising (not something I see too often).
So, Sunday morning I wake up with a nauseous feeling. I realize I do not have my purse. I look everywhere. Matt’s not with me (my Matt, Sintchak) to miraculously find it, and my frantic searching is in vain. NO PURSE. Now, this wouldn’t be such a big deal if it meant that I just lost the 300 pesos I had in there (I mean, that would have sucked, but not AS bad). It even wouldn’t have been a total nightmare if I had only lost my wallet, with my credit and bank cards and drivers license in there. Easily cancelled and renewed. What made it a disaster was that my passport was in it. YAY! And, of course, I managed to forget to copy my passport before I left (being caught up in grant hell).
So, here’s how things went down…
First, I had the hotel call the place – they were closed. I had the hotel keep calling, and they kept being closed. Eventually, Kia and Geoff walked with me over to the place to see for ourselves – of course, closed. But we tried the hostel that it is connected to, and the concierge offered to look for us, since he had a key. No bag. But he said they had a safe, so it could have been found and placed in there. So, check back tomorrow – they open at 9AM (it’s a café too). Still marginally hopeful, I give up for the night and go to sleep early. (But not early enough – I still had to pack all of my crap for our trip to Cordoba, b/c we would be checking out of our hotel by 10am the next day). So, Monday morning, 9am sharp – I ask the hotel guy to call again, and he finally reaches someone. But, alas, no bag. I took a cab there myself anyway, to see if somehow there was a mistake and it was really there… I begged with them to check again, but, no bag. YAY! So I dejectedly go back to the hotel using the rest of Kia’s borrowed money for the cab. Now things kick into high gear. First, I have to deal with checking out of the hotel. Then I have to deal with all of the cancellations – credit cards, bank cards, etc. Then I have to find out what’s involved in getting a new passport – so I had to get my dad to fax a copy of my birth certificate to the hotel. Kia had to take me to the police station to file a report, because this is part of the required paperwork when you are replacing a stolen passport.
The police station… maybe I should have Kia write about that. Suffice it to say, it was very surreal… The employees were actually HAPPY. Flirty, jokey, warm. WEIRD. AND, there was religious paraphernalia everywhere – a cross, a mini-shrine… Also, the “line-lady” was pretty cool – somewhat arbitrary decisions about who’s next based on the way the wind blew… When we got up there, we quickly found that our situation was more than Kia’s (good) and my (horrible) Spanish put together, so we had to have an interpreter. Meanwhile, the rest of the line is stuck waiting for the guy; nobody gets to go in front of me while they find the translator. Good for me, sucked for them… Oh, and the last detail was that the mascot in the middle of the policeman’s patch was nothing other than: a ROOSTER! Wow.
So, documents in hand, I meet up with Greg and Anna, who take over the babysitting shift so Geoff and Kia can do something else… I didn’t want the whole band to have to deal with this stuff all day… So Anna takes me to a photo place where I can get passport photos – and at this point I have 45 minutes until the Embassy closes for the day. Naturally, the photo place takes FOR-EVER. Eventually Anna wisely advises me to take a cab separately so I can at least get my foot in the door before 4pm (tough life, those embassy workers). So, I beg the cabbie to take me to the embassy muy pronto. He kicked it into high gear (higher than normal) and I had the 2nd best cab ride since I’ve been here (the best being with Kia in La Boca a few days before) – 2 near-crashes with pedestrians, 3 near-crashes with cars… And it took forever to get there because of course we were stuck in Rush hour traffic in the middle of the country’s largest city. Lovely.
So I make it to the embassy, explain to the security people that Anna’s coming (I described her to them, assuring them that they wouldn’t have any trouble recognizing her). Off to the passport renewal place, get my number, sit and wait. Finally, I’m called, and at first the lady isn’t exactly friendly. She said it was too late, the cashier was closed. I begged and pleaded and she said she’d wait only as long as it took me to fill out the necessary forms. I filled them out as slowly as possible, and just when I thought she was going to roll down the blinds for good, Anna bursts through the door. I needed her to complete the transaction because she had the photos and also the money (you have to pay $100). Finally, all seems good to go. But WAIT! There’s MORE!
It turns out we’re FOUR PESOS short. No flexibility with these people. No kind, charitable hearts. Four pesos, or no passport. Clocks ticking. Desperate, I resort to begging. Not to her, who was immovable. But to the fellow saps waiting on their own lines. Fortunately, since I looked even WORSE than I had in my new passport photo from earlier that afternoon, I was a pretty pathetic sight and earned some sympathy points from 3 people (a peso here, 2 there, etc).
So, at LAST. Alll done! Wait some more, then passport’s ready, and I can finally breathe.
Anna, meanwhile, is calling someone to bail us out of our cab fare – we now have no money to get back to our hotel, which is quite far – need someone to meet us there. Mid cab-ride, Anna realizes she has more money tucked away somewhere that she had forgotten bout, so that’s good (whew). Then, she –gasps – she can’t find HER passport. Panic ensues. But fortunately, it only lasted a few minutes, because she finally found it tucked away in a corner of her bag. GOD!!! After this, we headed to a brew pub where the rest of the band was waiting for us, and I had the most well-earned, well-deserved beer of my life (and Anna, wisely, chose something stronger. She did just save my ass, after all).
And so the story ends… I somehow made it on the bus to Cordoba with everyone else, instead of being stuck behind dealing with passport stuff, flying or bussing seperately, etc.
Leaving Buenos Aires
November 16, 11:10 PM
After a day off recovering from the super-mega-blockbuster closing night concert by the planetarium, we boarded a bus for Cordoba. Upon embarking, we were fed much sugar, which rumors say were meant to cause a mass sugar crash, thereby putting us to sleep and shutting us for the bulk of the OVERNIGHT bus ride. We’re on a public bus, along with all the Danes and a bunch of strangers. There’s a Bernie Mac movie playing on several video screens throughout the bus, and also several BRIGHT FLUORESCENT LIGHTS that one hopes to god will be turned off in the not-too-distant future, although why would they do anything that would cause travel by autobus to be slightly less unpleasant? No, we’re in this for keeps: a long, interminable, bright, noisy, exhausting, soul-crushing, lengthy hell-ride that will last well into tomorrow. If we survive it, we’ll be in Cordoba, where we’re told we’ll be playing a couple concerts. We shall see, Gentle Reader. We shall see.
After a day off recovering from the super-mega-blockbuster closing night concert by the planetarium, we boarded a bus for Cordoba. Upon embarking, we were fed much sugar, which rumors say were meant to cause a mass sugar crash, thereby putting us to sleep and shutting us for the bulk of the OVERNIGHT bus ride. We’re on a public bus, along with all the Danes and a bunch of strangers. There’s a Bernie Mac movie playing on several video screens throughout the bus, and also several BRIGHT FLUORESCENT LIGHTS that one hopes to god will be turned off in the not-too-distant future, although why would they do anything that would cause travel by autobus to be slightly less unpleasant? No, we’re in this for keeps: a long, interminable, bright, noisy, exhausting, soul-crushing, lengthy hell-ride that will last well into tomorrow. If we survive it, we’ll be in Cordoba, where we’re told we’ll be playing a couple concerts. We shall see, Gentle Reader. We shall see.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Guest Poster: Kia Karlen
BUENAS NOCHES, BUENOS AIRES
Sunday, November 15, 2:30 pm
KlezFiesta Buenos Aires officially wrapped sometime around sunrise this morning, following a six-hour concert and an after party with all of the bands. The concert featured the talents of Simja Dujov (Argentina), A Mejaie (Argentina), Adzi (Brazil), Hakeshet (Rumania), Lenka Lichtenberg (Canada), Christian Dawid (Germany), Klezmerduo (Denmark), Alem (Chile), Yid Vicious with Miro and John from Pressburguer Klezmer Band (Slovakia), and Mames Babegenush (Denmark). Please to enjoy the montage! Tomorrow evening we board the klezbus with Mames and Klezmerduo for the (guidebook-recommended) overnight bus to Cordoba.
Sunday, November 15, 2:30 pm
KlezFiesta Buenos Aires officially wrapped sometime around sunrise this morning, following a six-hour concert and an after party with all of the bands. The concert featured the talents of Simja Dujov (Argentina), A Mejaie (Argentina), Adzi (Brazil), Hakeshet (Rumania), Lenka Lichtenberg (Canada), Christian Dawid (Germany), Klezmerduo (Denmark), Alem (Chile), Yid Vicious with Miro and John from Pressburguer Klezmer Band (Slovakia), and Mames Babegenush (Denmark). Please to enjoy the montage! Tomorrow evening we board the klezbus with Mames and Klezmerduo for the (guidebook-recommended) overnight bus to Cordoba.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Guest Poster: Greg Smith
FEET, CARS AND SCHEDULES
A PIE (on foot)Because of our hotel’s wonderful location in the middle of Buenos Aires (BA as we now experienced Vicious Travelers call it), we find ourselves doing a lot of walking. In BA, this requires a certain amount of concentration when traversing a crowded center city sidewalk. Take, for example busy Avenida Corrientes, a main thoroughfare and our home address. Not unlike the loop area in Chicago USA, there are different categories of folks making their way: slow-moving tourists and others who are simply not in a hurry, locals speeding along (see also endnote #1), street vendors, shoe-shine experts (see endnote #2), individuals handing out “advertising” material, and couples smooching, to name a few. As mentioned in one of the travel guides, there are also unexpected pieces of pavement missing or in serious disrepair, similar in size and variety to our Wisconsin potholes, but in the sidewalk (see endnote #3). There are also a lot of dogs in BA, and while they seem to prefer the potholes, their, um…"matter" is often strategically placed to complement the hazards presented by the potholes.
So, a trip via foot, involves navigating and avoiding a variety of obstacles that require the wary Vicious Traveler to keep his or her eyes on the walkway ahead. Look up at a building, across the street, or into a store as you pass, and a pothole, other pedestrian or dog mine will be sure to come in play. Thus far the group appears to have avoided any severely twisted ankles. Not so sure about clean shoes, however.
The flow of foot traffic is is another variable, too. Pedestrians always hurry to the next corner. If it’s in “don’t walk” status, they crowd forward to be first in to cross. Leave three or four inches between you and the curb, and someone will quickly and expertly squeeze in front of you. As the light changes, all surge forward from both sides of the street and a great step and dodge ensues as the two phalanxes meet and the flow continues.
So when walking in BA, one needs to think ahead, pay attention to what’s in front of you, hurry up, wait, and be ready. It’s all kind of like living in a video game.
EN EL TAXI (you figure out the translation)
Then there is the traffic and driving practices. The Vicious Travelers have often had occasion to make use of the many, many, many, many (did I say “many”?) taxis scuttling through the city (see endnote #4). The drivers are all pros, take pride in what they do, and most are glad to share their observations on any topic the curious rider may raise. Most of the roads in “our” part of the city are one way, with the main arteries at four to five lanes. However it has quickly become evident that these carefully painted signals are merely suggestions, as the traffic weaves and flows all across the lanes as if the roadway is a hockey game played with fifty players on the ice at any one time…for each team, with everyone trying to skate to one end of the rink at the same time.
The traffic is a mix of:
trucks
personal vehicles
taxis
busses
motorcycles
emergency vehicles
I place them in list to show their order of aggressiveness in the application of the rules of the road. Some of which appear to be the following:
- Pedestrians have immediate and absolute right of way when the light is their way. Drivers with their front bumper six inches into a 15-foot wide cross walk have been observed backing up to assure they are completely clear.
- Vehicles have immediate and absolute right of way when the light is their way. Pedestrians will dash across. Those infrequent few who dally are unceremoniously “tooted”.
- The group goal is to keep the flow moving.
- The individual goal is to do whatever you can to get ahead of what’s in front of you.
- Do not leave any space in front yourself when in stopped traffic.
- It’s OK to cut someone off. It’s also proper to let them in to keep the flow going.
- Toot your horn to let everyone know you’re there or about to do something (see endnote #6).
- Toot your horn to let everyone know you’re there or about to do something (see endnote #6).
- Road rage is a waste of time. Just go with it and don’t get your undies in a bundle. Everyone wants to get where they’re going and the best way to make this happen is to keep the flow going. (It may also be that road rage is easily engaged, see endnotes #7 and #8)
- If the driver on your right wants to make a left turn in front of you, that’s OK. (It apparently gets them out of the way so everyone can move ahead. There’s also a common move where two left lanes make the turn and merge into single file during the turn. I think we used to do something like this in marching band.)
- The motorcyclists are, in a word, “nuts”. They zip around in any space they can find. They commonly use dirt bikes and dress the same, although this is street riding. (see endnote #9)
- Headlight use is optional, particularly after dark. If even on, many vehicles have very dim lights, like their alternator is about to fail. This includes busses, taxis, and ironically the power company service vehicles. Some vehicles have specially-colored lights, a dim green is common, which appears to be some sort of vehicular fashion statement.
A taxi ride then becomes an experience similar to that of the walk. Please to enjoy a video below documenting one of our more tame taxi experiences.
Having used a taxi at least a couple of times each day and other than one unfortunate scene of a downed motorcyclist, Anna and I have yet to see a vehicle collision in all this chaos. One taxi driver proudly stated he’d been driving for 28 years without an accident. I believe him. They are all pros. They are also quite entertained when Anna describes her brief cab-driving career and how she earned nickname “Crash”.
So when driving in Buenos Aires, one needs to think ahead, pay attention to what’s in front of you, hurry up, wait, and be ready, or better yet take a taxi. Either way, it’s all kind of like living in a video game.
NUESTROS AMIGOS ARGENTINOS (our Argentinean handlers)Working with our KelzFiesta contacts for the past week is also starting to show some patterns and what may be cultural practices and values for timeliness.
For example: Say the Yid Vicious musicians have a performance at 7pm. We haven’t heard a specific time, but are planning to a 6pm departure. However, in the early afternoon we receive a call to be ready at 5:30pm. However at 4:00pm we receive another call to be ready at the 5:00pm. However the bus shows up at 4:45pm and we are asked to hurry up, rush, rush, rush! We get to the venue at 5:45 or so. The show starts late at 7:20pm without a chance for a sound check, and we’re on last anyway. Troopers that we are, Yid Vicious nonetheless pulls off the show with great aplomb.
We’ve since planned to just be ready way ahead of time, stay ready to adjust to what comes at us, and to carry a concept forward from the BA driving experience , not get our undies in a bundle with all the vagaries (see endnote #10).
So when working with our KlezFiesta handlers, we’ve learned that, we Vicious Travlers need to think ahead, pay attention to what’s in front of us, hurry up, wait, and be ready. It’s (you guessed it) kind of like living in a video game.
ENDNOTES (this is an English term)
ENDNOTES (this is an English term)
#1: That is until they find the need to use their cell phone, at which point some of them may suddenly slow to a stagger or even stop right in front of you or even stop in place, without warning.
#2: The gentleman on the corner near our hotel has quite a system. The shoe shine he applies is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. The shine itself is lustrous and virtually epoxy-like in its durability. And it is applied with such vigor your feet feel like they’ve received a mini-massage, right inside your shoes! And when it suddenly begins to rain, as it does here every couple of days, and the pedestrian flow changes its priorities to keeping dry, the man quickly closes up shop and begins selling umbrellas to the passing throng.
#3: Depending on the part of town there may be just a few, as in the rich areas, or one or more every 20 feet or so, and even some of 20 feet or more in length. Many appear to have been there a long, long time. However, our group of Vicious Travelers has reported two separate instances seeing crews actually fixing a sidewalk. We have been unable to confirm if it was the same crew or not, but there appears to be at least one crew deployed for this metropolis of 13 million pairs of feet.
#4: We have also made use of the subway system. I leave it to my compatriots to regale you with their subway (aka SubeT) adventures (see endnote #5). My one experience included being the last Vicious Traveler to struggle onto a very crowded car and almost having my shoulder bag removed by the closing door. Kind of scary. We nonetheless continued that trip stuffed together as Yid Squishious and reached our destination efficiently and safely.
#5: Including Kia’s experience with the flood of Friday the 13th.
#6: The vehicle horns here are not very loud, and in general, neither are the people. The vehicle operators also seem to have a much more sophisticated horn dialect than Wisconsin’s three stock phrases: (1) “howdy” as in the familiar to a friend, (2) “Look Out!”, and (3) #$%&*! . In Buenos Airesian car-horn-speak, there a wide variety of signals, few of which seem to infer mounting anger or rage. Eexamples and apparent translations of some common expressions may include the following:
- “toot-toot” approaching an intersection: “Hey you pedestrian types, the light’s green and I expect you don’t want a special ride on the grill of my vehicle.
- “toot” in traffic: the aforementioned: “Hey, I’m about to do something” or “Hey, I’m here”, which message depending on what’s going on in the immediate area.
- Group “tooting” from back in the pack in stopped traffic: “Hey, what’s going on up there, the light is green and we’re not going anywhere?”
- Group “tooting” in moving traffic: “Hey, there’s an emergency vehicle back here, time to make holes to let them zoom by. (But nobody pulls over. They instead make spaces so the ambulance can weave through traffic.)
-
- “toot-toot” approaching an intersection: “Hey you pedestrian types, the light’s green and I expect you don’t want a special ride on the grill of my vehicle.
- “toot” in traffic: the aforementioned: “Hey, I’m about to do something” or “Hey, I’m here”, which message depending on what’s going on in the immediate area.
- Group “tooting” from back in the pack in stopped traffic: “Hey, what’s going on up there, the light is green and we’re not going anywhere?”
- Group “tooting” in moving traffic: “Hey, there’s an emergency vehicle back here, time to make holes to let them zoom by. (But nobody pulls over. They instead make spaces so the ambulance can weave through traffic.)
-
#7: Just ask Daithi about his encounter with a taxi driver at a crosswalk.
#8: A note on traffic jams: Most of them are very short-lived. The keep-it-moving-moving-moving mentality seems to contribute to this.
#9: Anna and I asked a taxi driver if there was a common name for these cyclists and their apparent subculture. He used a swear word. Research on this topic will continue as time and opportunity permits.
#10: Yid Vicious appears to have been very fortunate with all the vagaries. Several groups have had concerts canceled. Our show on Friday November 13, followed a similar trajectory to that described above, except we ready early and the bus came about an hour late. The concert line-up was not decided until just before the show, which started 30 minutes late. I asked a local musician if it was common for shows to start this late, and he confirmed it was not unusual or problematic. We played last, and there appeared to be more people there than at the beginning.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Guest Poster: Dave Spies
November 11, 3:30 PM
Buenos Aires
It turns out we never made it to Uruguay. We took a cab ride to the ferry station, being passed along the way by several glaciers. Not giving ourselves enough time plus the excruciating progress of our cab meant no getting a ticket for the noon boat, which meant No Uruguay For Us Today. But that was okay, because we had a back-up plan: visiting the ANIMATRONIC OUTDOOR JESUS THEME PARK. As soon as Kia had found out about this and told us all about it, we knew we MUST GO. It’s located in the northern part of town by the Rio de la Plata. We took a long subway ride and a long (but swift!) cab ride to get there. To find it closed. CLOSED, GENTLE READER!! Thwarted yet again…however much we strained against gates of steel, the mighty bars held us from sights of hourly ascensions, Calvary and camels, palm trees and pachyderms.
So, we came up with PLAN C, which was to turn around and look at the mouth of the widest river of the world, Rio de la Plata. The path led to parakeets, piers, and planes, all of which would have been shielded from our longing gaze should we have followed the ORIGINAL PLAN to the T. A cab ride later, we found the Mecca of bohemians in BA—Palermo! This home of penguin pitchers pouring precious milliliters of Vinho tinto y Vinho Rosado into goblets destined for thirsty pilgrims provided an opportunity for another first for Yid Vicious—attacks of teeming throngs of those mighty raptors, the pigeon. Lest ye turn your back on your nourishment, literally thirty of these voracious avian stalkers will instantly tear into your meal with zeal hither unknown to ornithologists and consumers alike. Leaving shards of glass and peanut hulls in their wake, they escape to their native awnings and umbrellas, shielded from harm.
The wine-pouring penguin café also yielded another rich diversion into the world of the Porteno. We have wondered, fair reader, how the Porteno can withstand the onslaught of late-night dining, tango shows, subway fires, and the like. Well, wonder no longer—it is a concoction that infuses significant antioxidants into the corpus di porteno, and stimulates both mind and body for late-night forays. The substance of wonder to the Vicious Traveler—MATE. Ceremoniously consumed in a social setting, the mate container is filled aplomb with ample amounts of the leafy green goodness, then infused with piping hot water. A teaspoon of sugar makes the Mate go down much more smoothly. The container is drained by each Vicious Traveler via the bombilla, then is refilled with water, passed to next Vicious Traveler, Porteno, or acrobatic offspring, whereby the ritual continues anew. Every third pass around the circle, the spent Mate is changed out, ready to reinvigorate the weary, the curious, and the addicted.
So, Mate is good, mate with friends is better, Mate is NECESSARY to maintain the late-night/early morning tempo, and Mate is a friend of the Vicious Traveler!
Buenos Aires
It turns out we never made it to Uruguay. We took a cab ride to the ferry station, being passed along the way by several glaciers. Not giving ourselves enough time plus the excruciating progress of our cab meant no getting a ticket for the noon boat, which meant No Uruguay For Us Today. But that was okay, because we had a back-up plan: visiting the ANIMATRONIC OUTDOOR JESUS THEME PARK. As soon as Kia had found out about this and told us all about it, we knew we MUST GO. It’s located in the northern part of town by the Rio de la Plata. We took a long subway ride and a long (but swift!) cab ride to get there. To find it closed. CLOSED, GENTLE READER!! Thwarted yet again…however much we strained against gates of steel, the mighty bars held us from sights of hourly ascensions, Calvary and camels, palm trees and pachyderms.
So, we came up with PLAN C, which was to turn around and look at the mouth of the widest river of the world, Rio de la Plata. The path led to parakeets, piers, and planes, all of which would have been shielded from our longing gaze should we have followed the ORIGINAL PLAN to the T. A cab ride later, we found the Mecca of bohemians in BA—Palermo! This home of penguin pitchers pouring precious milliliters of Vinho tinto y Vinho Rosado into goblets destined for thirsty pilgrims provided an opportunity for another first for Yid Vicious—attacks of teeming throngs of those mighty raptors, the pigeon. Lest ye turn your back on your nourishment, literally thirty of these voracious avian stalkers will instantly tear into your meal with zeal hither unknown to ornithologists and consumers alike. Leaving shards of glass and peanut hulls in their wake, they escape to their native awnings and umbrellas, shielded from harm.
The wine-pouring penguin café also yielded another rich diversion into the world of the Porteno. We have wondered, fair reader, how the Porteno can withstand the onslaught of late-night dining, tango shows, subway fires, and the like. Well, wonder no longer—it is a concoction that infuses significant antioxidants into the corpus di porteno, and stimulates both mind and body for late-night forays. The substance of wonder to the Vicious Traveler—MATE. Ceremoniously consumed in a social setting, the mate container is filled aplomb with ample amounts of the leafy green goodness, then infused with piping hot water. A teaspoon of sugar makes the Mate go down much more smoothly. The container is drained by each Vicious Traveler via the bombilla, then is refilled with water, passed to next Vicious Traveler, Porteno, or acrobatic offspring, whereby the ritual continues anew. Every third pass around the circle, the spent Mate is changed out, ready to reinvigorate the weary, the curious, and the addicted.
So, Mate is good, mate with friends is better, Mate is NECESSARY to maintain the late-night/early morning tempo, and Mate is a friend of the Vicious Traveler!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
In Which Various Dynamics of Daily Life in Other Lands Are Discovered
December 10, 4:50 PM
Buenos Aires
Today we were whisked to the venue at about 10:30 AM for a 12:30 PM concert. The venue was out-of-doors at the Paseo Astor Piazzolla, in the shadow of the big obelisk in the middle of town. The other band scheduled to perform was the Gyps Yiddishe Brass Band, one of the Buenos Aires ensembles. We were dropped off with all our stuff at what appeared to be a small construction site at the end of a (mostly) pedestrian side-street. It appeared that the construction site would eventually turn into the stage upon which we would perform, but it was too soon to be sure. None of the organizers were anywhere to be seen, so we commandeered a table at a nearby café, keeping a close eye on our stuff and the progress of the stage builders. It was a very nice morning, sunny but with a breeze. We enjoyed our various beverages as the stage was gradually constructed. Okay, maybe “constructed” isn’t the right word. “Imagined” might be a little closer. As in: We imagined that a stage would be constructed in the not-too-distant future, but that seemed wildly unrealistic, so instead we imagined schlepping ourselves and all our stuff back to the hotel in a couple hours having not played a concert. What we were witnessing was about fifteen guys hanging around, surrounded by huge boards and metal braces and other building materials. At any given time, three to four of them were actively rearranging the building materials. Whichever ones weren’t moving stuff around were either congregating for short meetings or wandering off somewhere and eventually returning. It seemed like an obvious parody of unionized labor.
Buenos Aires
Today we were whisked to the venue at about 10:30 AM for a 12:30 PM concert. The venue was out-of-doors at the Paseo Astor Piazzolla, in the shadow of the big obelisk in the middle of town. The other band scheduled to perform was the Gyps Yiddishe Brass Band, one of the Buenos Aires ensembles. We were dropped off with all our stuff at what appeared to be a small construction site at the end of a (mostly) pedestrian side-street. It appeared that the construction site would eventually turn into the stage upon which we would perform, but it was too soon to be sure. None of the organizers were anywhere to be seen, so we commandeered a table at a nearby café, keeping a close eye on our stuff and the progress of the stage builders. It was a very nice morning, sunny but with a breeze. We enjoyed our various beverages as the stage was gradually constructed. Okay, maybe “constructed” isn’t the right word. “Imagined” might be a little closer. As in: We imagined that a stage would be constructed in the not-too-distant future, but that seemed wildly unrealistic, so instead we imagined schlepping ourselves and all our stuff back to the hotel in a couple hours having not played a concert. What we were witnessing was about fifteen guys hanging around, surrounded by huge boards and metal braces and other building materials. At any given time, three to four of them were actively rearranging the building materials. Whichever ones weren’t moving stuff around were either congregating for short meetings or wandering off somewhere and eventually returning. It seemed like an obvious parody of unionized labor.
We were enthralled. We’re from a place where everyone’s of German or Scandinavian descent and punctuality is the order of the day and ORDER AT ANY COST. But this…we weren’t used to this. It got to be noon and when were the sound guys going to show up? Was this REALLY the venue and what if what we thought was going to be the stage was in reality something much more complicated and hard to build? WOULD there be sound guys? Occasionally a guy with a suit or a lady would show up for the worker meetings. Okay, this was probably some kind of union thing. Also, there was a hotel across the street where we could see a worker climbing down a ladder that led down to a narrow terrace on the third floor to an open window on the fourth floor. It looked really dangerous. Too dangerous to watch, too dangerous not to watch. Luckily, he made a safe landing.
SO THEN it was like noon, the concert was “starting” at 12:30 and the “stage” was a bunch of huge pipes cobbled together next to a pile of lumber and we were having a good time but starting to really wonder. Then, two significant events occurred: 1) a van full of sound equipment pulled up near the site, stayed a couple of minutes while some guys conversed, and then drove off, and 2) a plastic portable toilet thing was delivered and placed near the site. 1 was significant because it at least confirmed that we weren’t the only ones who were expecting a concert to occur. 2 was significant because it turned out to be the whole reason the stage in all likelihood wouldn’t be ready for a 12:30 hit. We later learned that union rules require that there be a portable toilet of the type that we had seen delivered at any work site. Apparently our portable toilet had arrived late, disgruntling the workers and causing a rift and a glacial slowdown. From the workers’ standpoint, this is understandable; they shouldn’t be expected to tolerate substandard conditions. The weird thing was what happened after the portable toilet had been delivered: the worker guys up and left, leaving the skeleton of the stage sitting there, a gnarled monument to futility. WHY did they wait for the porta-toilet get there and THEN leave?
Los Syndicatos!
Or something beyond our comprehension entailing city politics, union politics, someone wasn’t bribed enough or the right person wasn’t bribed, who knows. SO, for whatever reason, the concert got cancelled, but not before the other band started assembling. After an interval of milling about and bafflement and awkward overtures we decided to play anyway and gradually began de-casing our instruments. The other band did too, and eventually we were having a KICK-ASS AMAZING KLEZMER JAM right there on the pavement. Because Gyps Yiddishe Brass Band and Yid Vicious don’t need no stinkin’ stage. Gyps Yiddishe are all young guys with much energy and verve. We played a bunch of music together and separately and had lots of fun. People gathered around and watched. Some clapped, others danced, and it was a really fun time, probably more fun than if we had been on a big stage far from each other and standing above the audience.
Afterward, Alejandro treated us to lunch (Che sushi!) and we hung around with the members of KlezmerDuo, who are making the westerly trip with us. They seem very easy-going and we at The Vicious Traveler look forward to spending time with them.
Meanwhile: URUGUAY!
Meanwhile: URUGUAY!
Monday, November 9, 2009
November 9, 4 PM
Buenos Aires
We had a free day the day after the opening concert. The members of Yid Vicious did various things around the city. Daithi, Sandy, Mairead and Fiona went to San Telmo to see a thing called “the tango”. Apparently, this is a dance that originated in Argentina a couple years ago and now it’s all the rage. (We’re learning so much on this trip, Gentle Reader!) Meanwhile, the rest of us headed to the waterfront to see some of the other KlezFiesta bands perform. We took an exciting cab ride with a cabbie who took care of business and played by his own rules. Did I say “cabbie”? I meant to say “cowboy”, because that’s what this guy really was, a cool cowboy playing by his own cowboy rules. Car lanes? DON’T FENCE ME IN, HOMBRE. Bands we heard included A Mejaie, Segundo Mundo Klezmer , Der Shpiller and Murga Klezmer, all from Argentina, Azdi from Brazil and Hakeshet from Romania. They were all very enjoyable. Murga Klezmer is a super fun party band whose sound appears to have been influenced by the samba. Azdi had a cajon player! Each band was pretty traditional, but each in its own way. Hakeshet was probably the most traditional, being from Eastern Europe and all, but they added their own touch, for example when they “hipped up” the chords to Bai Mir Bist du Shein. There’s no one way to play the klezmer, Good Reader.
Buenos Aires
We had a free day the day after the opening concert. The members of Yid Vicious did various things around the city. Daithi, Sandy, Mairead and Fiona went to San Telmo to see a thing called “the tango”. Apparently, this is a dance that originated in Argentina a couple years ago and now it’s all the rage. (We’re learning so much on this trip, Gentle Reader!) Meanwhile, the rest of us headed to the waterfront to see some of the other KlezFiesta bands perform. We took an exciting cab ride with a cabbie who took care of business and played by his own rules. Did I say “cabbie”? I meant to say “cowboy”, because that’s what this guy really was, a cool cowboy playing by his own cowboy rules. Car lanes? DON’T FENCE ME IN, HOMBRE. Bands we heard included A Mejaie, Segundo Mundo Klezmer , Der Shpiller and Murga Klezmer, all from Argentina, Azdi from Brazil and Hakeshet from Romania. They were all very enjoyable. Murga Klezmer is a super fun party band whose sound appears to have been influenced by the samba. Azdi had a cajon player! Each band was pretty traditional, but each in its own way. Hakeshet was probably the most traditional, being from Eastern Europe and all, but they added their own touch, for example when they “hipped up” the chords to Bai Mir Bist du Shein. There’s no one way to play the klezmer, Good Reader.
We also happened upon a band called Duarde. They were set up literally twenty feet from the big outdoor stage where the klezmer was happening. Also, they were LOUD. Luckily, the klezmer sound guys were able to crank it up enough that you could hear the klezmer over Duarde, but in between each tune was a wall of Duarde. Two of us went to investigate during one of the between-klezmer-bands breaks. They were five, with two guitars, bass, drums and a lead singer. The lead singer looked a lot like seventies Lou Reed, and Matt found his spastic/goofy shenanigans analogous to those of the guy from The Cramps. The drummer played HARD and had wild rock hair. Their sound tended toward the blues but with more wildness and maybe a little bit of Who. They were the awesome. The rhythm guitar and bass held it down, the drums thundered voraciously, the singer ran back and forth, working the crowd and cracking up at jokes being told in his brain, and the lead guitar squealed. They were using Peavey speakers, which added a lot to the rawness of their sound. Later it occurred to me who they REALLY sound like, with all the craziness, blues and two-guitar attack: the MC5. The BA Cinco.
And now, on to The Pants and Intestines Story. During the course of the outing described above, a few of us decided to enjoy a sit and enjoy a beverage or two, plus a little nosh. We found a nice little sidewalk wine-and-meatery and sat down at a table. We ordered a couple bottles of malbec, plus some fries, chorizo, salad, AND…intestines. We were feeling adventurous. I’d never had chitterlings before and thought the place to try it would be in a place where they know meat. The Argentinians know meat, Dear Reader. They know meat to within an inch of its life. We were in good hands, and we went for it. Eventually the intestines arrived. Pig or cow, I never learned which. They had been cut into small sections, each about three inches long, and grilled hard. They seemed crispy and charred on the outside and looked like they would be good. Three of the people at our table declined to sample the intestines. Greg and Dave each tried some, but I don’t know if either of them had a whole section. I cut off a small piece and put it in my mouth. Here are the two things I learned immediately: 1) that intestines are a chewing-intensive food, sort of akin to calamari, and 2) there are different layers to the intestines, the crisp and chewy outer layer and the soft pasty inner layer. Putting these two facts together, one realizes that you have to keep the intestine in your mouth for a while before you can swallow. This is a problem if the soft inner layer turns out to be the most foul thing you’ve ever had in your mouth. I could hear my tongue thinking, This is a nightmare, I will wake-up, this is a nightmare, I WILL wake up over and over again, but it wasn’t even really the taste that was horrible, it was almost a horrific ABSENCE of taste, like eating make-up or wood pulp and then the REAL horror comes when you remember that the thing in your mouth used to be part of an animal, the part that processes feces and IS THIS WHAT FECES TASTES LIKE?!?!?!? After about ten seconds I gave up and spit it out into a napkin. When we were in Japan for two weeks I put whatever someone told me to in my mouth and never once did I spit anything out. Argentina: 1, Japan: 0.
While this was unfolding, Melissa excused herself momentarily. She came back to our table soon thereafter with a sense of urgency. She requested the assistance of Kia or Anna, and without explanation Anna followed Melissa away. The rest of us looked at each other with puzzlement. What was this mysterious assistance that was required? Was it some sort of, um…ladies’ issue? Or was it, as Kia suggested, a translation problem, Anna being our strongest Spanish speaker and Kia the second strongest?
Well, it turns out it was a pants problem, or as they say down here, ¡que situacion escandalosa! Melissa was wearing side-zipping trousers and the zipperteeth had split apart with the handle of the zipper stuck at the top. This posed two problems: 1) potential public exposure and 2) with her pants zipper stuck she would never again be able to go to the bathroom. Action had to be taken. Luckily, Melissa had brought a sweater that would easily cover the exposed region. She’d called in Anna to help with the second problem. Anna offered a safety pin and told Melissa that the zipper would have to torn off. With a yank and a prayer this was accomplished. Then Anna turned out not to have a safety pin. However, there WAS an eye-hook on the waist of the pants. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but it would have to do: Melissa would secure the eye-hook and continue wearing the sweater draped over the exposed area.
What we learned from this incident was how to work together and keep your head in a crisis. Also, next time someone offers you a safety pin, make them show it to you first.
The Van and The Meat Man
November 9, 1:04 AM
Buenos Aires
Yesterday Yid Vicious performed at the KlezFiesta Opening Gala Concert at the Auditoreo de Belgrano, along with A Mejaie, Mames Babegenush (the band Bo plays in), Lenka Lichtenberg and Christian Dawid. We were all very excited about this event and resolved to “bring our ‘A’ game”. Toward this end, we organized a rehearsal. As it turns out, only about a third of the band knew about the rehearsal and anyway the van was scheduled to pick us up around the time we would have been theoretically assembling. Undaunted, we resolved to “roll with the punches” and “hurry our asses into the van” in order to make it to the event.
Along with the van and its driver, we were greeted on the curb by our friend Maru and her husband Nick (we think). Their goodwill and calm reassurance helped convince all of us that not only would KlezFiesta turn out to be an actual event, but that we, Yid Vicious, would be participants and would ACTUALLY MAKE IT TO THE EVENT. When you’re in a new hemisphere and don’t know quite what to believe, this sort of thing means a lot. Once in the van, we met Alejandro, the leader and driving force behind KlezFiesta. Alejandro is a meticulously groomed, soft-spoken and witty man who, like Maru, immediately gained our trust. However this whole crazy adventure played out, we knew the van ride would be worth it.
The van ride got off to a slow start due to a phalanx of emergency vehicles addressing a fire in the subway (!), but we eventually got going, gradually flowing through the baffling morass that is Buenos Aires traffic . Along the way, Alejandro pointed out the Buenos Aires sights, such as the big park in the ritzy area that looks like New York’s Central Park and the very very short traffic tunnel that took twenty-five years to build. We were taken with the vibrancy and architectural beauty of the city. Looking out the van windows at the insane traffic, the people, the strange balance of the elegant and the ramshackle that defines all great cities, but more so this one for some reason, many of us at The Vicious Traveler felt overwhelmed at being in the middle of something so vast and unpredictable, and also so alive. It was a van ride we wouldn’t soon forget.
Eventually the van stopped at the curb on a quiet side street where about fifteen people were standing around on the sidewalk with a bunch of stuff. These were the other performers, their various hangers-on, and their stuff. We exchanged pleasant greetings and then for a couple minutes nobody really knew what was supposed to happen and things were beginning to take an awkward turn but just in time Alejandro directed us into the venue. It didn’t look like a theater from the outside, but it was definitely a theater, and a pretty big one. Estimates placed its capacity in the nine-hundred to a thousand range. The stage was gigantic. You could have three Mahler symphonies going on simultaneously on this stage. What were we going to DO with such a big stage? Fill it up with KLEZMER, THAT’S what!
So, while we were waiting for that to happen, we met the rest of the organizers. We finally met Pedro! And also Federico, who was our other contact during the organizing stages of the trip. We all got along famously. In fact, all the organizers of KlezFiesta have been more kind, accommodating and fun to be around than we ever would have expected. The Vicious Traveler experienced a surge of optimism in appraising the couple of weeks ahead.
We spent a while in the basement of the theater assembling instruments, chatting, killing time, wondering what would lie ahead. Eventually we rehearsed Ali Breder with Esteban the cantor and the folks from A Mejaie. It soon became evident that major klezmer ass was going to be kicked all over that huge stage. And what could possibly stop it? A subway fire? Please. No, Yid Vicious was in the house, delivering the air-mail klezmer goods from the SIX-OH-EIGHT, YO. Strong sets by Mames Babegenush and Lennka Lichtenberg/Christian Dawid preceded the Yid Vicious set.
And the Yid Vicious set preceded the evening’s REAL main event.
OKAY. Not a lot of people know about this, but here’s how it is: IN ARGENTINA, THEY KNOW HOW TO MAKE FOOD.
QUESTION #1: Do you know how good food can be?
QUESTION #2: Have you been to Argentina?
If question # 2 is answered “no”, then the default answer for #1 would also be “no”.
We at The Vicious Traveler recently dined at La Estancia in Buenos Aires. The food and the people making and serving the food were amazing. It turns out that these Argentinians have a flair for the preparation of meat. Who knew? We ate about twenty kinds of meat that night, became drunk on the meat, wanted to marry the meat. It was one of the great meals of all time. But here's all you really need to know about La Estancia and dining in Buenos Aires: When various members of Yid Vicious were walking out of the restaurant to smoke their cigarets, the Grillmaster General of La Estancia beckoned them near and insisted that they light their cigarets with the EMBERS FROM THE BIG GRILL THAT HAD MADE THE FIRE THAT HAD MADE THE AMAZING MEAT THAT YID VICIOUS HAD CONSUMED. The smokers of those cigarets were honored and humbled, and the memory of that genius grillsman will live forever in our hearts.
Buenos Aires
Yesterday Yid Vicious performed at the KlezFiesta Opening Gala Concert at the Auditoreo de Belgrano, along with A Mejaie, Mames Babegenush (the band Bo plays in), Lenka Lichtenberg and Christian Dawid. We were all very excited about this event and resolved to “bring our ‘A’ game”. Toward this end, we organized a rehearsal. As it turns out, only about a third of the band knew about the rehearsal and anyway the van was scheduled to pick us up around the time we would have been theoretically assembling. Undaunted, we resolved to “roll with the punches” and “hurry our asses into the van” in order to make it to the event.
Along with the van and its driver, we were greeted on the curb by our friend Maru and her husband Nick (we think). Their goodwill and calm reassurance helped convince all of us that not only would KlezFiesta turn out to be an actual event, but that we, Yid Vicious, would be participants and would ACTUALLY MAKE IT TO THE EVENT. When you’re in a new hemisphere and don’t know quite what to believe, this sort of thing means a lot. Once in the van, we met Alejandro, the leader and driving force behind KlezFiesta. Alejandro is a meticulously groomed, soft-spoken and witty man who, like Maru, immediately gained our trust. However this whole crazy adventure played out, we knew the van ride would be worth it.
The van ride got off to a slow start due to a phalanx of emergency vehicles addressing a fire in the subway (!), but we eventually got going, gradually flowing through the baffling morass that is Buenos Aires traffic . Along the way, Alejandro pointed out the Buenos Aires sights, such as the big park in the ritzy area that looks like New York’s Central Park and the very very short traffic tunnel that took twenty-five years to build. We were taken with the vibrancy and architectural beauty of the city. Looking out the van windows at the insane traffic, the people, the strange balance of the elegant and the ramshackle that defines all great cities, but more so this one for some reason, many of us at The Vicious Traveler felt overwhelmed at being in the middle of something so vast and unpredictable, and also so alive. It was a van ride we wouldn’t soon forget.
Eventually the van stopped at the curb on a quiet side street where about fifteen people were standing around on the sidewalk with a bunch of stuff. These were the other performers, their various hangers-on, and their stuff. We exchanged pleasant greetings and then for a couple minutes nobody really knew what was supposed to happen and things were beginning to take an awkward turn but just in time Alejandro directed us into the venue. It didn’t look like a theater from the outside, but it was definitely a theater, and a pretty big one. Estimates placed its capacity in the nine-hundred to a thousand range. The stage was gigantic. You could have three Mahler symphonies going on simultaneously on this stage. What were we going to DO with such a big stage? Fill it up with KLEZMER, THAT’S what!
So, while we were waiting for that to happen, we met the rest of the organizers. We finally met Pedro! And also Federico, who was our other contact during the organizing stages of the trip. We all got along famously. In fact, all the organizers of KlezFiesta have been more kind, accommodating and fun to be around than we ever would have expected. The Vicious Traveler experienced a surge of optimism in appraising the couple of weeks ahead.
We spent a while in the basement of the theater assembling instruments, chatting, killing time, wondering what would lie ahead. Eventually we rehearsed Ali Breder with Esteban the cantor and the folks from A Mejaie. It soon became evident that major klezmer ass was going to be kicked all over that huge stage. And what could possibly stop it? A subway fire? Please. No, Yid Vicious was in the house, delivering the air-mail klezmer goods from the SIX-OH-EIGHT, YO. Strong sets by Mames Babegenush and Lennka Lichtenberg/Christian Dawid preceded the Yid Vicious set.
And the Yid Vicious set preceded the evening’s REAL main event.
OKAY. Not a lot of people know about this, but here’s how it is: IN ARGENTINA, THEY KNOW HOW TO MAKE FOOD.
QUESTION #1: Do you know how good food can be?
QUESTION #2: Have you been to Argentina?
If question # 2 is answered “no”, then the default answer for #1 would also be “no”.
We at The Vicious Traveler recently dined at La Estancia in Buenos Aires. The food and the people making and serving the food were amazing. It turns out that these Argentinians have a flair for the preparation of meat. Who knew? We ate about twenty kinds of meat that night, became drunk on the meat, wanted to marry the meat. It was one of the great meals of all time. But here's all you really need to know about La Estancia and dining in Buenos Aires: When various members of Yid Vicious were walking out of the restaurant to smoke their cigarets, the Grillmaster General of La Estancia beckoned them near and insisted that they light their cigarets with the EMBERS FROM THE BIG GRILL THAT HAD MADE THE FIRE THAT HAD MADE THE AMAZING MEAT THAT YID VICIOUS HAD CONSUMED. The smokers of those cigarets were honored and humbled, and the memory of that genius grillsman will live forever in our hearts.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Conepost, Day 1
November 6, 10:30 PM, We Think
Buenos Aires
Still no awesome sports bars. In order to maximize our efforts, we’ve split up into several discrete units of kick-assery. While several members of the Yid Vicious team comb the streets of the city seeking excitement, others choose serenity and napping in their hard-won hotel rooms. And that’s what life in the Southern Cone is all about: freedom and choice. Meanwhile, we have yet to meet Pedro, the event organizer, but we’re still confident that he and the KlezFiesta event exist.
Meanwhile, Escalandrum is a band that kicks some pretty major ass. If you ever get the chance to hear them, The Vicious Traveler highly recommends that you do so. You can probably google them or something.
AND PLUS, we met Bo, who’s also playing in the event we came so far to attend. He’s from Denmark and seems very nice, which proves that klezmer festivals aren’t JUST for bored Midwesterners: they’re also for Scandinavians! At least according to The Vicious Traveler, your source for arts and geo-politics writing since at least like two days ago.
Buenos Aires
Still no awesome sports bars. In order to maximize our efforts, we’ve split up into several discrete units of kick-assery. While several members of the Yid Vicious team comb the streets of the city seeking excitement, others choose serenity and napping in their hard-won hotel rooms. And that’s what life in the Southern Cone is all about: freedom and choice. Meanwhile, we have yet to meet Pedro, the event organizer, but we’re still confident that he and the KlezFiesta event exist.
Meanwhile, Escalandrum is a band that kicks some pretty major ass. If you ever get the chance to hear them, The Vicious Traveler highly recommends that you do so. You can probably google them or something.
AND PLUS, we met Bo, who’s also playing in the event we came so far to attend. He’s from Denmark and seems very nice, which proves that klezmer festivals aren’t JUST for bored Midwesterners: they’re also for Scandinavians! At least according to The Vicious Traveler, your source for arts and geo-politics writing since at least like two days ago.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Estamos Aqui
November 6, 12:24 or 1:24, depending on what’s up with daylight saving time here.
With some trepidation, we tore ourselves away from the Atlanta airport and got on a plane. Throughout the ten hours of flying, we wondered at what Buenos Aires would hold in store. What would the baggage claim room at the Buenos Aires be like? Would the duty-free store have everything to fit our needs? What about getting a cab? Or would the Festival hire some van guys to pick us up.
Never to worry. Maru had our back, as the kids used to say. As we wandered out of the baggage claim, exhausted, broken, each of us wondering Wither Yid Vicious, there she was, a vision of calm, serene authority, an eye in the storm of airport vexation. Mere seconds after we spotted her holding aloft the “Yid Vicious” sign, it was as though we’d known her for years.
FACT: After the initial introductions and mind-bending hoopla, the first thing Maru said to me was: “You look tired.” AMAZING! I DID look tired. And in fact I was! But Maru was undaunted and dispatched her duties with aplomb, delivering us to our destination, negotiating the wild South American traffic and bureaucracy to keep us safe and insure that the project moved forward.
And move forward it did. We were driven from the airport to the hotel. This I can say with some authority. There was some waiting involved. We knew we would enjoy luxurious hotel rooms. But when? Thankfully, there are hotel lobbies. You can wait in them in comfortable chairs. Hotels have certain routines. If you upset their routine, i.e. by showing up way before expected to check in, you may spend an inordinate time in the hotel lobby with No Sports Bar. Which is fine. Yid Vicious has plenty of time to find excitement. And plenty of time to find an awesome sports bar.
Since we don’t have to play our music until tomorrow night, we will drink. Heavily. Uff-da!
With some trepidation, we tore ourselves away from the Atlanta airport and got on a plane. Throughout the ten hours of flying, we wondered at what Buenos Aires would hold in store. What would the baggage claim room at the Buenos Aires be like? Would the duty-free store have everything to fit our needs? What about getting a cab? Or would the Festival hire some van guys to pick us up.
Never to worry. Maru had our back, as the kids used to say. As we wandered out of the baggage claim, exhausted, broken, each of us wondering Wither Yid Vicious, there she was, a vision of calm, serene authority, an eye in the storm of airport vexation. Mere seconds after we spotted her holding aloft the “Yid Vicious” sign, it was as though we’d known her for years.
FACT: After the initial introductions and mind-bending hoopla, the first thing Maru said to me was: “You look tired.” AMAZING! I DID look tired. And in fact I was! But Maru was undaunted and dispatched her duties with aplomb, delivering us to our destination, negotiating the wild South American traffic and bureaucracy to keep us safe and insure that the project moved forward.
And move forward it did. We were driven from the airport to the hotel. This I can say with some authority. There was some waiting involved. We knew we would enjoy luxurious hotel rooms. But when? Thankfully, there are hotel lobbies. You can wait in them in comfortable chairs. Hotels have certain routines. If you upset their routine, i.e. by showing up way before expected to check in, you may spend an inordinate time in the hotel lobby with No Sports Bar. Which is fine. Yid Vicious has plenty of time to find excitement. And plenty of time to find an awesome sports bar.
Since we don’t have to play our music until tomorrow night, we will drink. Heavily. Uff-da!
Atlanta
November 5, 5:30 PM
Atlanta
Eventually we were able to pry ourselves away from the amazing awesomeness that is the Fox Sports SKYBAR and, following an uneventful two-hour flight, spent several hours ambling around the Atlanta airport. Escalators were used, food and drinks were consumed, things were bought. During our perambulations we walked by a sports bar that looks EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN THE FOX SPORTS SKYBOX! If this trend continues throughout the trip, Buenos Aires will have the most super kick-ass sports bar ever in the history of both sports and bars!
To review, first we went to an awesome sports bar in Chicago, then we walked by an even MORE awesome sports bar in Atlanta, whose awesomeness was such that we DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO GO IN TO SEE HOW AWESOME IT IS! And the sports bar in Buenos Aires? FORGET ABOUT IT!! Needless to say, Dear Reader, we’re gearing up for some super-extra excitement way down in the Southern Cone. Read all about it here at The Vicious Traveler, where we always say: “Read about it at The Vicious Traveler, because those other guys all suck.”
Atlanta
Eventually we were able to pry ourselves away from the amazing awesomeness that is the Fox Sports SKYBAR and, following an uneventful two-hour flight, spent several hours ambling around the Atlanta airport. Escalators were used, food and drinks were consumed, things were bought. During our perambulations we walked by a sports bar that looks EVEN MORE AWESOME THAN THE FOX SPORTS SKYBOX! If this trend continues throughout the trip, Buenos Aires will have the most super kick-ass sports bar ever in the history of both sports and bars!
To review, first we went to an awesome sports bar in Chicago, then we walked by an even MORE awesome sports bar in Atlanta, whose awesomeness was such that we DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO GO IN TO SEE HOW AWESOME IT IS! And the sports bar in Buenos Aires? FORGET ABOUT IT!! Needless to say, Dear Reader, we’re gearing up for some super-extra excitement way down in the Southern Cone. Read all about it here at The Vicious Traveler, where we always say: “Read about it at The Vicious Traveler, because those other guys all suck.”
O Hair
November 5, 10AM, Chicago
The members of Yid Vicious, except for one, convene at the airport from which we'll be embarking, Chicago O'Hare. It's a very good day for embarking. All the members of YV are extremely excited about all the embarking. Maybe they'll make it to Buenas Aires eventually, but for now they've found something better: the Fox Sports SKYBOX. This is an awesome bar and grill RIGHT INSIDE THE AIRPORT, with drinks, tvs, cocktails, sports paraphernalia on the walls, beer, ambience and booze.
How would we ever leave? Could Argentina possibly have anything nearly as awesome as the Fox Sports O'Hare SKYBOX? Do you, Argentina? Do you?
Or does Yid Vicious have to put you ON NOTICE?
The members of Yid Vicious, except for one, convene at the airport from which we'll be embarking, Chicago O'Hare. It's a very good day for embarking. All the members of YV are extremely excited about all the embarking. Maybe they'll make it to Buenas Aires eventually, but for now they've found something better: the Fox Sports SKYBOX. This is an awesome bar and grill RIGHT INSIDE THE AIRPORT, with drinks, tvs, cocktails, sports paraphernalia on the walls, beer, ambience and booze.
How would we ever leave? Could Argentina possibly have anything nearly as awesome as the Fox Sports O'Hare SKYBOX? Do you, Argentina? Do you?
Or does Yid Vicious have to put you ON NOTICE?
Monday, November 2, 2009
Update
Okay, Perspicacious Reader.
I pulled an all-nighter and did some exhaustive research. To wit, I hit the button on the computer that made the link below work, the one to the website for Klezfiesta. Looking at the website makes the event seem like a real thing, with, eg, pictures and text that don't look fake at all. So there probably is a real klezmer festival in Argentina. Getting to the bottom of this type of mystery using research, moxie, and good, old-fashioned shoe leather is just the type of thing we do here at The Vicious Traveller, so you best get used to it, buddy!
I pulled an all-nighter and did some exhaustive research. To wit, I hit the button on the computer that made the link below work, the one to the website for Klezfiesta. Looking at the website makes the event seem like a real thing, with, eg, pictures and text that don't look fake at all. So there probably is a real klezmer festival in Argentina. Getting to the bottom of this type of mystery using research, moxie, and good, old-fashioned shoe leather is just the type of thing we do here at The Vicious Traveller, so you best get used to it, buddy!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
KlezFiesta: Ask Fez Let I
Valves are being oiled, bows rosined, and travel pants waxed as we make preparations for our trip to Argentina Nov. 5-25 to perform at KlezFiesta in Buenos Aires, Cordoba, and Mendoza. Check this travelblogue for various musings, photos, and video, and tune in to the Friday 8:00 Buzz on WORT 89.9 FM for weekly reports.
When we tell people that there's a klezmer festival in Argentina and that we'll be attending it, the usual response is a mixture of astonishment, incredulity and, ultimately, pity.
1) Astonishment: The hapless recipient of this information is at first caught off guard by the sheer improbability of it all. Argentina, after all, is in South America, but KLEZMER ISN'T SOUTH AMERICAN MUSIC! Oh, the incongruity!
2) Incredulity: After several minutes of gathering her bearings, perhaps aided by a stiff drink or two, the person becomes suspicious. Perhaps this "klezmer festival" is a fabrication. Maybe the members of this klezmer ensemble are nothing more than a band of scheming confidence men, bent on the pursuit of spreading falsehood for their nefarious gain. And yet...
3) Pity: ...these Yid Vicious people don't really seem bright enough to conceive, let alone carry out, such a diabolical plan. No, they're just dreaming up absurd stories in order to gain attention and feel important. Poor dears.
Whether or not there is indeed a klezmer festival in Argentina, the members of Yid Vicious plus their entourage have secured airfare to Buenos Aires. We leave in several days. Soon enough, Gentle Reader, the truth will be revealed.
When we tell people that there's a klezmer festival in Argentina and that we'll be attending it, the usual response is a mixture of astonishment, incredulity and, ultimately, pity.
1) Astonishment: The hapless recipient of this information is at first caught off guard by the sheer improbability of it all. Argentina, after all, is in South America, but KLEZMER ISN'T SOUTH AMERICAN MUSIC! Oh, the incongruity!
2) Incredulity: After several minutes of gathering her bearings, perhaps aided by a stiff drink or two, the person becomes suspicious. Perhaps this "klezmer festival" is a fabrication. Maybe the members of this klezmer ensemble are nothing more than a band of scheming confidence men, bent on the pursuit of spreading falsehood for their nefarious gain. And yet...
3) Pity: ...these Yid Vicious people don't really seem bright enough to conceive, let alone carry out, such a diabolical plan. No, they're just dreaming up absurd stories in order to gain attention and feel important. Poor dears.
Whether or not there is indeed a klezmer festival in Argentina, the members of Yid Vicious plus their entourage have secured airfare to Buenos Aires. We leave in several days. Soon enough, Gentle Reader, the truth will be revealed.
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