September 2010

To hell and back

September 29, 2010

Call it divine intervention.

As soon as I heard about Palacio Barolo, my inner literary nerd rejoiced. An enormous building designed to pay homage to Dante Alighieri and “The Divine Comedy”? Yes, please!

Since the building is now filled with staid offices and busy professionals, I figured it would be difficult to tour. Or, at least, located far across town.

Turns out Dante was pulling for me, because I could actually see the building from my hostel. All I had to do was walk across the street, fork over 30 pesos and sign up for one of the afternoon tours.

With Europe in chaos at the beginning of the 20th century, the structure was originally conceived as a place to house Dante’s remains and keep them safe.

The Italians, however, didn’t go for that plan. Dante is the father of the Italian language, known as “The Supreme Poet” throughout the country, and Italy wasn’t about to ship his ashes to Buenos Aires. So they hung on to their beloved poet — which means the building built for Dante is actually Dante-less.

Even so, the monument is a masterful work of architecture and design. When the building was finished in 1923, it was the highest in all of South America.

The building’s 100-meter height represents the 100 cantos of the poem.

The ground floor ushers visitors into hell. When the sun catches the nine arches — one to symbolize each circle of hell — they glow with fiery reds and yellows. Sinister gargoyles form a ring around the room.

The next 14 floors form purgatorio, where tormented souls wait to escape the sorrow and misery of sin for a state of grace. (Aside: There are many law offices on this level.)

Each floor has 11 or 22 offices to mimic the poem’s cantos, which have 11 or 22 stanzas.

And finally, climbing from floor 15 to 22, you can reach heaven.

The view is divine. Of course.

Writing on the wall

September 27, 2010

Street art always reminds me of all the nights I spent scaling bridges, tagging buildings and scribing on walls with my crew.

No, that’s not true.

Though I’ve never been a graffiti artist, I definitely appreciate art — both lawful and unlawful — and applaud lovely bursts of self-expression. That’s why I was so intrigued by the Graffiti Mundo tours of Buenos Aires, which promote street art in the city.

Unfortunately, running out of both time and money, I didn’t get a chance to actually take one of the tours. So I set out to find some graffiti on my own.

On a side street in San Telmo, I stopped to snap this:

As I walked away, a young guy with spiky hair and a black leather vest yelled, “Chica!” I gave him a little nod and continued walking. “Chica!” he hollered again. I ignored him. Finally, he ran up behind me — “CHICA!” — and blurted out something in rapid gunfire Spanish.

I apologized and said I didn’t speak Spanish.

“You like the graffiti?” he said.

He introduced himself as an artist and said that neighborhood contained some fantastic examples of Buenos Aires street art. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

Trusting him, I went. And I’m so glad I did.

We wandered San Telmo for a couple hours, soaking in the vivid colors and designs.

The streets felt like those Russian nesting dolls, unfolding with one surprise after another.

I think graffiti art offers unique insight into a city — a visiually compelling way to understand its energy, politics and overall vibe.

Having a personal tour with an artist only made the day more beautiful.

80 days later

September 25, 2010

It’s been 80 days since I ventured away from home and set off on the road.

In that time, Phileas Fogg made it all the way around the world, while I’ve only been through one continent. But, oh my, what a trip this has already been!

In that short period of time I’ve:

Been cleansed by a shaman.

Learned to shoot a blowgun with an Amazonian tribe.

Got cuddled by dozens of monkeys — and bitten by one.

Slept (poorly) on 9 overnight buses.

Hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu with my husband.

Seen mummies, dinosaur footprints and the world’s largest salt flats.

Stayed out all night in Buenos Aires.

Had a Bolivian woman urinate on my backpack.

Seen pink dolphins.

Drank pisco in Pisco.

Flown over the Nazca lines.

Attended my first football game.

Spent the night with a family on Lake Titicaca.

Answered the eternal question — can bikini bottoms double as underwear?

Nearly purchased a rum distillery.

I’ve learned a lot about myself while traveling, but mostly I’ve learned a lot about the world. I still marvel over the fact that every day brings me to streets I’ve never seen before, surrounded by people I’ve never met, in places I never knew existed.

Before I began this trip I wondered how travel would change me, and now I wonder how it won’t.

Here’s to the next 80 days!

The diva treatment

September 21, 2010

The best thing about Buenos Aires is how you never have to make any plans. Just walk outside and see where the day will take you.

And so it was yesterday with my visit to Teatro Colon, considered to be one of the top five opera houses in the world — and totally not my intended destination for a Monday afternoon.

But I was in the neighborhood, and I heard that the theater has incredible tours, so I popped into the front office to inquire.

ME: Hello. Do you have tours?

FRONT DESK GUY: No tours. We’re closed.

ME: Oh. Are you open tomorrow.

FDG: No tour tomorrow. Closed.

ME: Do you ever give tours?

FDG: No.

Until that moment when I was turned away, I didn’t realize just how much I wanted to see the inside of the place — and now it seemed like I was fresh out of luck. Beyond buying an expensive ticket to a fancy opera, the tour was my only way to get inside the stunning 1908 building.

On a whim I walked down the alley on the side of the building where I saw a security guard.

ME: Hey, are there any tours of this building?

SECURITY GUY: No tour, but go inside. They speak English.

He nudged me toward an open door. I figured at the very least I’d get to see the lobby, so I played along and walked inside.

There was a woman at a box office desk.

ME: Hola! Do you have any tours?

LADY: No. No tours. Not until spring, when we have more visitors.

ME: Oh. That’s a shame. I really wanted to see the place.

LADY: Sorry. Oh, but I could give you free tickets to this afternoon’s show. Do you want that?

ME: Absolutely!

And that’s how I found myself at the Concierto de Primavera inside a massive and gorgeous theater. For free.

The show wasn’t a full opera, so no buxom ladies in Viking helmets, sadly.

What I did get was a masterful orchestra playing selections from a variety of operas, accompanied by incredible soloists. Baritone Fabian Veloz sang a piece from La Traviata that was a gift to my ears. An oboe, playing the melancholy “Oblivion” by Astor Piazzolla, made me weep. And during the big Brahms finale, I leapt to my feet and clapped until my hands were red and raw.

For two flawless hours, I was inside one of those perfect travel moments — where it feels like the whole world is working in your favor and every dream can come true.

Be a baller

September 20, 2010

Whether you call it football or soccer, one thing is certain — attending a game in South America is a must.

For me, there was no better place than Buenos Aires, where I could root for one of the nation’s most beloved teams, Boca.

Though my knowledge of the game is limited — um, I saw “Bend It Like Beckham” once — I find it really easy to get caught up in the energy and excitement of a crowd. The home team was winning, the stands crackled with electricity and I sang and cheered until my throat went dry.

Interested in checking out a match for yourself? Here are my top tips for how to score some major points.

Go with a group, especially if it’s your first time. The stadium is crowded, the situation is overwhelming and the fans are nuts. And we’re not talking about the kind of nuts where they paint their tummies and wear cheese wedges on their heads. These fans will set you on fire.

Scream your fool head off, even if you don’t know the words to the chants.

Stay tucked well underneath the balcony where the visiting supporters sit. The fans tend to get rowdy and throw things at the fans below. That includes waste … human waste.

Stay in your seat until the police say you can leave. Once the game is over, visiting supoprters have 30 minutes to leave the stadium. When they have cleared out, home team fans can go.

Roll up your pant legs before leaving. For some weird reason, fans of the losing team all get the urge to piss at the same time on the stairs of the stadium, leaving the winning team’s fans to wade through muck and puddles.

Chat with the cute guy next to you by mumbling something like, “Moreno is really taking advantage of that defensive lapse and controlling the tempo of the game.” Should that fail, simply yell “OLE!”

DON’T

Buy a soda. It’s guaranteed to be flat and expensive.

Take anything valuable with you. There are pickpockets everywhere.

Root for another team while sitting in the home team section. This is a matter of life or death. Seriously.

Lose track of your group and spend an hour waiting for them on a very dangerous and dark street corner in a country where you don’t speak the language, all while wearing the rival team’s colors. (Not saying this is what happened to me. Just a random suggestion.)

GOOD TO KNOW

No alcohol is sold inside the stadium. So if you want to be a belligerent drunk, get spirited before the match.

Sometimes fans set off a bunch of flares inside the stadium, creating a lot of smoke and chaos. This appears to be acceptable behavior.

Most of all, have a fantastic time!

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