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?
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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.
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