Argentina Doesn't Need To Cry For Anybody

I love my family more than anything. They are the most important aspect of my life. The reason I live, the reason I work, the reason I try to stay healthy. It wasn't my plan to choose a career that keeps me away from home a great deal of the time, it just happened to work out that way. To be honest, there never was a plan, but that has worked out quite well for me. I had a knack of being in the right place at the right time, when the right people were present. People always say to me, "Well, you're just lucky." And you know what? They are absolutely right. 

As I write this, I'm on an airplane 32,000 feet over Bolivia, traveling back to Atlanta from Buenos Aires, Argentina. It was a quick trip, only four days and three nights, but then again, most of my trips are short. I always miss my family no matter what the destination, but when it's a place very far away, I miss them even more than normal. When you have a family, and you travel almost every week, is there such a thing as normal? From the outside looking in, the answer would be no, but my family doesn't know my life to be any other way. Daddy leaves town for work. That's just the way it is, and for them, that's normal. Being home for more than two weeks in a row is a chaotic disruption of schedules, but that's another story.

The Buenos Aires trip came together in a day. Had a chance to do a small amount of work, get a place to stay, and a low mileage first class award travel airline ticket. Upon spousal approval, the trip was a go.

The flight down lasted about 11 hours or so, and after the meal and proper medication, it was off to dreamland until about 45 minutes prior to landing. Actually, there was no dreaming, but the occasional sound of a familiar song on my ipod, piping through my headphones, was the only distraction that kept me from enjoying the view from the back of my eyelids.

I was traveling with a co-worker of mine, Bob Cramer, who also happens to be a good friend, and he'd been to Argentina many times in the past, so I knew I'd be shown all the good places to see. Argentina had been in the news a great deal back home, due to the incredible saga of the Governor of South Carolina, who couldn't tell the difference between a hike on the Appalachian Trail, and a torrid, steamy affair with a beautiful woman from Buenos Aires. The only other things I knew about Argentina were that they started a short lived war with the British over the Falkland Islands, which they lost, a crappy Madonna musical called "Evita", had gauchos who roamed the pampas, a relatively good looking female president, gave safe haven to old, exiled German Nazis, and inspired the Fogo de Chao restaurant chain. It would be accurate to assume that my knowledge of Argentina was limited at best.

Upon our early arrival, we were greeted by spectacular springtime weather, but soon found out that our hotel room wouldn't be available for at least six hours. The hotel staff was kind enough to let us keep our bags in the office, and off we went to see new and wonderful sights. Well, new to me anyway.

The first place I was taken to was a cemetery, which reminded me of the cemeteries in New Orleans, but bigger and more elaborate. Above ground crypts with glass doors where you could clearly see the caskets inside. Some had seven or eight caskets inside, and many had tiny little infant caskets, and I couldn't help but wonder what happened to those poor little ones. I walked past row after row of family tombs, and then came across a crowd of people taking pictures of a rather plain looking iron and glass door, with the name "Familia Duarte" at the top. Some people were placing flowers and notes on the door, and a couple of women were weeping. Turned out it was Eva Peron's tomb, perhaps the most famous person who ever came from Argentina. Sadly, she was only 33 when she died of cancer, but maybe worse, she was the woman who inspired that horrible Madonna musical. I jumped right in the middle of the snapshot frenzy, then decided that I'd had enough of dead people.

Right next to the cemetery, a huge flea market was in full swing, selling all types of handmade Argentine leather goods, paintings, jewelry and various other trinkets. Interesting to look at, but no purchases were made. The next stop was Florida Street, which was the huge shopping district of Buenos Aires. I went into a clothing shop, and saw a very nice leather jacket, tried it on, and was tempted to buy it. The nice sales lady was telling me how great I looked in it, and how well it matched my skin color, and I came very close to making the purchase, but then she told me her name was Mabel. For some reason, the name Mabel is very odd to me, and spooks me a bit. I just couldn't go through with the deal. If her name was Bertha, or even Aunt Jemima, I would've bought it immediately. But Mabel? No way.

Finally, at 3pm, the room was ready. Definitely nap time, then venture out to find a good place for dinner. I learned that the custom in Argentina was to eat dinner very late, even as late as midnight, but I was starving by 9pm, so out we went. We passed many establishments that looked good, but settled on a place called the Montana Ranch, where we could eat outside, watch the people passing by, and enjoy a good steak. The people passing by was the best part. The steak was ok, a bit tough, but two bottles of fine red wine always seems to make everything better. A walk after dinner, a couple visits to some local establishments for a few cocktails, and that was the end of the first night. Stumbled around a bit, but made it home safely and hit the rack immediately, unaware of the adventure that awaited me the next day.

A short time in the morning was spent doing business, then my partner Bob suggested that I go to an antique market. He assured me it was an interesting place to go, and it was only a 12 peso taxi ride to get there. He'd been there before, was feeling a bit tired, so I hit the street solo. I walked for at least 20 blocks, taking in all the sights and sounds, and it was a glorious day. I finally hailed a cab and told him to take me to the mercado central. That wasn't what I was supposed to tell him, and when I noticed we were heading out of town, and the meter was at 60 pesos, I knew I messed up.

I was taken to the central market, a huge outdoor market where you could buy almost anything. Clothes, shoes, meat, produce, pets, toys, it didn't matter. If you needed it, you could get it there. The one thing I noticed right away, was that the people at this market were very different from the people in the city. More Indian looking than anything, and unlike in the city, there weren't many people that looked like me. Despite that, I decided to make the best of it, and walked around for a couple of hours. These people were obviously poor, and looking for the best bargains they could get. Mostly families, and large ones at that, and there were children running around everywhere. I thought I'd have some fun, so I bought a huge bag of candy and walked around tossing it out to the children. Before I knew it, there seemed to be hundreds of kids following me, some of them aggressively tugging at my arm, making sure I gave them something. When I ran out of the candy, they still followed me like I was holding back something, but eventually lost interest, some of them scowling at me.

Next up, the chicken cages. Just had to do something for the adults, so I gave the chicken man a $20 U.S. bill, and he started stacking up cages of chickens, each with four chickens inside. I pulled them out one by one, and gave them away randomly, saying things like "The Indianapolis Colts will win the super bowl", and "Pearl Jam is from Seattle." I can't remember what else I said, but it was whatever happened to come out, some of it in spanish. There were many cheers from the crowd, and I felt like a rock star, but once the chickens were gone, a friendly english speaking policeman suggested that if I didn't leave soon, I might not escape with the clothes on my back. It wasn't the adults who would rob me or anything, but it was the children who would literally tear at my clothing to make sure there wasn't anything left. So, I took his advice, walked away from the market, and started looking for a taxi.

There was a problem with finding a taxi. Every taxi I saw was off duty and had entire families in them. I asked one person where I could hire a taxi, and he said I had to walk a couple miles to a gas station and I might find one there. That's what I thought he said anyway. My spanish isn't very good, in fact, it's down right awful. I did find the gas station, and there was a bus stop, but no bus going to Buenos Aires. Three hours later, I saw a barely running hunk of junk that looked like a taxi, flagged him down, and offered him 100 pesos to take me to town. Thankfully, he was more than happy to do it, and even pointed out sights of interest along the way. It was nearly dark when I arrived back at the hotel, but looking back, it was a very wonderful day.

The last day was full of good food, good sights, and more beautiful weather. It was one of the best days of the year for me, and I'm happy to add Buenos Aires to the list of large cities I've visited. I've been to most of the biggest and best cities in the world. New York, Tokyo, London, Rome, Paris and others, and in some ways they all seem the same. Don't get me wrong, they all have their own uniqueness about them. Their own architecture, their own food, their own museums, and of course, their own people. But there was something different about Buenos Aires. The first thing that comes to mind, is that it's one of the few places left in the world where American money is still worth something. It's like Europe in South America, but with kinder people. The European influence is undeniable, and yet there is something that sets it apart, something that gives Buenos Aires it's own identity. I think I'll need to go back and do more research to figure it out.

While I'm no expert on the social-economic make up of Argentina, there seems to be no middle class. You're either rich, or your poor. It's hard to tell in only four days, but I experienced the rich and the poor, and both were very nice to me, and everyone seemed happy. Believe it or not, there were more smiles in the market outside of town than in the city, but those people probably don't know any other way to live their lives. Hopefully, they are happy.

When I saw the women weeping at Eva Peron's tomb, I realized how much influence and emotion Evita still invokes, and she's been dead for 57 years. The song, "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" came into my mind, and obviously, these women weren't hearing the same song I was. Or maybe they did hear it, and were crying because Madonna played the role of Evita. Who knows what Eva Peron would think of her country today, but in my opinion, Argentina doesn't need to cry for anybody, because from what I've seen, rich or poor, at least everyone seems to be happy, and isn't happiness what everybody wants?