Photos of Isonza

June 14

At dusk today I wandered off to shoot photos. Here is a sample. It's hard to capture the starkness and beauty of the landscape in a tiny 2 x 3 image, but try to imagine.

This adobe wall reads, "Welcome to Isonza." The wall surrounds a soccer pitch. It probably used to be used for crops or animals.

On the right, the school. On the left, a chapel.

This is a panorama of Isonza. It pretty much consists of the school, the church, four or five houses, and huge sandstone mountains.

Sundown.

On wind, roofs, and entrepreneurship

June 13

Day three in Isonza. When it’s windy here – which is almost always – the people say, “el viento corre,” which translates to “the wind is running.” We were lucky that today the wind was not running, and we took advantage of the calm weather to put a roof on the greenhouse.

The greenhouse building’s walls are made of adobe bricks. The new roof is a crisscross of metal pipes covered by plastic tarp. We put on a metal door and cleaned out the junk inside the structure. It’s really coming together well. Inside the structure, it already feels warm and humid compared to outside. This is an important project because it will allow the school to grow its own food, improving the students’ nutrition. Also, it’s a great way to teach the kids the principles of gardening and farming. Right now, the school can grow almost no plants because of the persistent wind and the cold nights. This building addresses both of these limitations.

In the afternoon John and I split up and taught English classes to the kids. I had the younger group. It was fun, but slow going. At this school, the 28 students are divided into two groups based on age (older and younger). Unfortunately, this division is not very precise. There are plenty of kids in the younger class who are held up by their even younger classmates. You have 9- and 10-year-olds learning in the same classroom as 4-year-olds, which really holds up the older kids. At lunch today I asked the director what is the school’s the number one need, and she quickly replied: teachers. The students need another instructor (or two) to allow for greater specialization and closer student-teacher interaction. Teaching the 45-minute English class today to kids who range I age from 4 to 10, I saw that shortcoming up close.

I’m feeling a little under the weather today – my throat is sore and I slept poorly last night – but I’m sure this will pass quickly. I felt the same symptoms in Buenos Aires a few weeks ago and they were gone within a day or two. I wonder if this time it has to do with the higher altitude.

One thing that excites me is the possibility of turning the school’s advantages into entrepreneurial ventures. Zumilda (the director) and Gustavo also seem to like this idea. To explain it better, the idea is that the school would be able to produce a little extra and then sell it for a profit. This process would bring money back into the school, allowing for infrastructure investments and a gradually improving standard of living and education.

Some examples of how this entrepreneurial spirit could work at Isonza: the school already has a TV and a satellite dish, they just haven’t paid for satellite service yet. But last week a visitor made a donation so the school can do just that (pay for satellite service), and the idea would be that the school would invite locals to come and watch TV on special occasions (such as important soccer games), charging a small entrance fee. In time, the satellite TV service would pay for itself, and the school could put the earnings to other uses.

Another example is farming. Right now we’re working to prepare a chicken coop, and the hope is that the chickens will produce eggs (and meat) for the school. The extra eggs will be taken to town or sold to neighbors. These are the two examples we’ve discussed the most, but there are more. It’s very gratifying to see that the school’s director is taking these ideas seriously and understanding the benefits, and I would feel tremendously satisfied if we could encourage them to start one or more of these projects in the near future. In fact, I’ve even begun outlining a simple business plan that John and I hope to present to them at the end of our stay that will offer clear examples of the benefits of taking an entrepreneurial approach to running a rural school.

Another world

June 12

When John and I arrived at Isonza, the driver left us at the gate. We looked around and saw a bleak, almost alien landscape – mountains guarding a vast and barren valley. Miles and miles of bone-dry brush and rocky mountains. We glanced at each other, and then stepped through the gate of the school where we will spend the next three weeks. It was quiet except for the sound of the howling wind.

As we marched toward the school, our bags slung over our shoulders, the school’s front door opened suddenly and out streamed students and teachers clapping and singing. John and I, beaming, stopped at the foot of the school’s walkway as the thirty students sung us a song of welcome. It was moving. And so begins the third portion of my summer in this country: Project Isonza.

I’m writing this at the end of my second day at Escuela Isonza. This is a small rural primary school in the Andean highlands. The students, 28 in total, range in age from four to 14. Almost all of them live here during the week because their homes are too far for a daily commute. Parents, traveling on horseback, bring their children on Monday morning and return on Friday afternoon. There is one full-time teacher and one director, roughly equivalent to what we call a principal in the states, but she also teaches classes. These two adults – the teacher and the director – live at the school during the week. During the day there are a three more people who work here: a handyman slash gardener slash “agronomy teacher”; a cook named Eva; and another lady who comes in the afternoon to help with the cooking and the cleaning. These 28 students and five adults make up Escuela Isonza.

Escuela Isonza means Isonza School in English. Isonza is the name of the town. In truth, the school is called La Escuela No. 827 - General San Martín Miguel de la Mata Güemes and is located in the pueblo (town) of Isonza in the departamento (county) of San Carlos in the provinica (state) of Salta. Oh yeah – and in the country of Argentina. We call the school simply Escuela Isonza, and you can see why.

We spent Monday with Gustavo, the handyman/gardener/agronomy teacher, mostly getting a tour of the school and the different projects we can tackle. The school building is in pretty good shape, but a lot of the systems need work – electricity is limited, hot water is hard to come by, some plumbing (toilets, etc.) is broken We got started on building a roof for the garden. In the afternoon, John and I played fútbol with the boys. It was fun.

Later, the teacher, Nilda, brought out a portable boombox and set it up in the boy’s dormitory. It was hard to get the kids to step up at first, but before long we had the whole school dancing. Everyone was holding hands, dancing in circles and clapping to the music. The dancing was fun and natural, even if some of the kids were a little bashful. I think the best part about it was that it got the kids to feel more comfortable around us. Before that they were quiet and timid, some even running away when we look at them. But the dancing was humanizing, and I know that I’m really going to love getting to know the kids in Isonza.

We started Tuesday helping Gustavo again. We made cement and patched up some holes in the small building that we hope will soon house a garden and possibly a chicken coop. It’s made of authentic adobe, and there is no roof. Because the wind is so strong, crops rarely grow outside. But with the protection of this building’s walls, plants will have a better chance. We also hooked up a hose and spigot so that there is now running water in the greenhouse building.

In the afternoon, John and I went for a run. We started off jogging toward a biggish hill, ambitious in our aim to climb it at a run. Before we even reached the hill, we were both winded – panting like dogs because of the thinner air. The altitude is 2700 meters here (over 8,850 feet). We humbly revised our plans and jogged up a smaller hill, and even with that we had to rest for a few minutes at the top. We continued our run, but we couldn’t go for much more than thirty minutes. Not only was I breathing heavily because of the altitude, my body also felt more tired – as if I had just run for hours as opposed to minutes. Of course I was glad to have run, and maybe if I keep it up I’ll grow accustomed to the conditions and become a stronger runner.

We also made bread today. It was a full-day affair. First we started by mixing two giant sized tubs of dough, then we let it rise, and then we kneaded the dough. Finally it was time to put the dough in the oven. Not any oven, mind you, but an outdoor oven made of adobe. This oven resembles a miniature igloo, expect for the fact that it’s made from mud and sticks. Heating the oven for the bread is a hard and dangerous process. First you start the fire with sticks. (Sidebar: virtually no trees grow here because of the strong winds and desert-like conditions, so scavenging for wood is a day’s chore in itself.) Once the fire is roaring inside, you continue to feed it wood until the oven’s walls are very warm. At that point you open a small side door and, using a broom made of leaves tied to a stick, you sweep out all of the burning sticks as quickly as possible. At this point the oven is clean of the fire, but still very hot. Using an oar-like paddle, you fling discs of bread the size of Frisbees into the oven, count to ten (okay, a little more than ten), and then take them out. We made probably 50+ discs of bread today, enough to last the school for a week.

What I liked most about the process of cooking the bread was the sense of antiquity. You could feel earlier generations cooking the same bread by the same process – nothing has changed, except for the fact that now the ingredients are bought in the town. Besides that, the process is not automated or expedited by technology in any way. Mixing, kneading, cooking – it was hard work. Can’t wait till next week’s bread day.

Into the mountains

June 9

Guess what I did today? I got up before dawn, jumped in a jeep, and drove into the mountains.

Emily, Nandini, John, Toni, and I hired a guide and left the city for a day-long trek to the mountain village of Cachi. The drive took probably close to five hours, but it was the best part. As we climbed a jagging dirt road higher into the Andes, the views were incredible. We spent the whole time looking out the window, marveling at the wonder of God and plate tectonics. The views were astonishing, especially for a student of geology.

Here's a photo summary of the day, with commentary below each photo:

The mountains begin to grow in size as we drive on.

There is little tree cover on the mountains here; the exposed rock forms jagged and dramatic shadows. We noticed that the churches in the mountains are almost all painted a bright white. We don't know the exact reason, but we definitely noticed that this color scheme helps them stand out.

We reach our peak for the day: 10,985 feet.

Once we reach the peak, the road levels out and we descend slightly. We find ourselves in a vast, rolling desert hundreds of miles high. The landscape is dotted with scrub brush and cacti. This is a desert on top of the mountains.

We drive on through the desert and come into Cactus National Park. There is a forest of huge cacti that stretches across the landscape in every direction.

We round a bend, leave the national park, and see snow-covered Andean peaks. We're nearing the village of Cachi, our destination.

Look at that astonishing plunging fold formation!

A close-up of the plunging folds.

At last, in Cachi! Two hours to stretch our legs, eat some goat, and hop back in the car for the ride back.

The church in Cachi. The roof is made of dried cactus.

To Salta!

June 6 to June 10

I left Buenos Aires on Wednesday at 4:30 a.m. for a flight to Salta, a province in the northwest portion of the country. We’re in the city of Salta, capital of the province of the same name. This is where we will spend the next half of our summer in Argentina.

We’re starting our time in Salta with a homestay. John and I are living with Eduardo Moya. He’s a really nice guy – a gymnastics and swim coach who works really hard and is sarcastic in Spanish.

I like Salta a lot. It’s a bustling city of over half a million, but it still feels walkable and manageable compared to Buenos Aires. It has beautiful architecture and landscapes. It’s surrounded by the foothills of the Andes Mountains.

Here are some photos of the city.

Today I went to Uruguay

June 3

Today I went to Uruguay. I got up early, hopped on an 8:30 high-speed ferry from Buenos Aires, and arrived in the tiny village of Colonia del Sacramento before 10:00 am. Colonia is an ancient colonial outpost, and has changed hands between the Portuguese and Spanish countless times over the centuries.

I really enjoyed my day in Colonia. It was a beautiful walled-in village surrounded by water on three sides. It used to be a military outpost. To visit is to step into the past. The tree-lined streets are paved with cobblestones. The houses are painted in bright colors. Half of the cars are B.N. vintage (Before Nick). It is supposedly a huge tourist trap for Buenos Aires residents fleeing the city during the summer, but since it’s cool here now, Colonia was quiet today. When I arrived this morning, the place was mostly deserted and locals where sweeping away the leaves that had fallen on the sidewalks in front of their homes. I met two nice girls from Canada, and it seemed that I ran into a ton of Germans, too. One minor disappointment: the ice cream was mediocre. The local kids had motorized bikes and were buzzing around all day. They were friendly and gave a thumbs-up. I enjoyed Colonia. It seemed like a tranquil blend of old-world Europe and Latin America.

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Another week in brief

Week of May 28 to June 2

What did I do this week? Among other things:

Visited the Eva Perón museum in Palermo:

Explored the Recoleta Cemetery, where Eva Perón is buried. A cemetery packed full with mausoleums. Weird, but very interesting:

Buenos Aires 6^th Annual Jazz Festival. It was cool – both in temperature and quality:

Got a hair cut.

Roundtable discussion with Esteban Bullrich, a member of Congress in Argentina. He is probably in his late thirties or early forties. A former businessman, after the Argentine collapse of 2001 Esteban decided he wanted to serve his country and ran for office. He is a very intelligent, ethical, upstanding person who deeply wants to see his country do better. He was understated and serious. I was impressed. Later, toured the Congress building.

Tango classes.

Visit to a hotel that was closed down by its original owners, and then taken over by a workers collective. It is presently operated by this collective, with decision-making power vested in an assembly of the hotel’s 200ish employees. Interesting arrangement. We met with one of the managers of the hotel in a conference room adorned with posters of Hugo Chavez and Castro. I certainly don’t agree with their politics, and in theory I don’t think the hotel will last – a point I have made repeatedly to my friends. But every day that Hotel Bauen stays open, these workers are proving me wrong. Check back in ten years and we’ll see.

Cooked lasagna for my host family.

Went to a milonga – a venue where people go to dance tango.

Marched with the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. This is an interesting and tough topic that I’ve been wrestling with; look for a follow-up post on this blog soon.

Dicussion with Alan Clutterbuck of Red de Acción Política. More later.

Saw Spiderman 3. Piratas del Caribe was sold out.

Explored Puerto Madero. This barrio used to be the gritty docklands, but now it’s one of the chicest and most expensive zones of the city. The middle photo is of the Fragata Sarmiento (Sarmiento Frigate), built in 1897. The last photo is of Puente de la Mujer, a walking bridge designed by famous Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava.

Visited MALBA, a museum of contemporary Latin American art, and then wandered through Palermo Chico. That giant sculpture in the first photo below is a piece of art. It’s a metal flower that closes at night and reopens to the sun every morning.

Saw a play called Fulgor Argentina.

And ate a lot of ice cream.

My day: Waiting to eat meat, eating meat, digesting meat

May 25

Today is el 25 de Mayo, a national holiday commemorating the start of the revolution for independence from Spain in the 1800s. And since it’s a holiday, that means no classes and no requirements!

But we got an early start anyway, leaving the house with Facu and his cousin Tatiana at 8:30. We took a bus to meet Facu’s father (his parents are divorced). With Guillermo, we hopped on another bus. Nearly an hour after we started, we arrived on the other side of the city and went food shopping. We bought pounds of food – most of it meat. After meeting up with Facu’s father’s second ex-wife Laura and her three-year-old daughter Natalia and their nanny Marta (my head was spinning, too), we all piled into a VW Golf and went to the club.

The club is basically a private park in a corner of the city. It’s very sporty – several artificial turf fields, swimming pool, tennis courts, floor hockey rink, etc, etc. But we were there to eat.

Un asado is an Argentine roast. Basically you get lots of meat from all sorts of different parts of a cow (ribs, shank, brisket, steak, tail, innards, etc.) and then slow cook it over an outdoor fire. It’s delicious and very filling.

Last night when I was invited the join this side of Facu’s family for the asado I was skeptical that we would need a whole day just to eat one meal. But they were right. It took about an hour and a half to get to the club, at least three hours to settle in and cook the meat, an hour plus to eat it, and then several more to relax and digest. Plus the hour-plus trip back home.

But it was a fun day. Very Argentine. I spent most of the time with Facu and his 18-year-old cousin Tatiana. They’re both great people. They don’t get mad even though I pester them endlessly for Spanish translations. We spent a lot of time wandering around the club, watching field hockey games, soccer matches, and floor hockey with roller skates (which was, as they say here, “¡Super-intenso!”). Facu, Tati, and me:




At the club, we met up and spent the day with a bunch of the family’s friends. Our party was probably six or seven families – the kids were mostly toddlers; Facu, Tati, and I were the only ones our age.

Today was also great for my Spanish. I could feel myself getting better spending time with Facu and the fam – more so than when I spend a day doing activities with my compañeros from the U.S. (even though we speak Spanish to one another). I’m very persistent with learning new vocab, asking “comó se llama” (what is that called…) constantly.

At the end of the day, a bunch of the fathers gathered up for some soccer (fútbol!). Facu and I joined. These are pre-middle-aged fathers, and it was intense. The ball was bouncing off heads, chests, and knees left and right. These are professionals by day, soccer super-star wannabes by weekend (we’re talking soccer sneaks, soccer socks, soccer shorts, soccer jerseys … the whole deal). It was a load of fun. Turns out I wasn’t half bad at soccer, and we all had a great time. But they definitely used my Americanness against me. I would be coming up on an opponent with the ball and he would suddenly point behind me and say “look! look!” in stilted English. Things like that. The teasing was all in good fun. So long as you win. We won.

The day was also interesting for me as a comparison of Argentine and American culture. I just can’t imagine many American families spending literally the entire day with no ostensible goal besides eating meat and socializing. That thought kept occurring to me throughout the day, and I mentioned it to Facu and Tati. If this were a party in an American backyard, the guests would never arrive and wait three hours for the food to cook. Today was an unhurried day with good company. There was no goal behind the gathering today, no reason to be there besides to enjoy the asado and each other.

A week, in brief

May 21 to 24

What did Nico do this week? (They call me Nico here, it’s a little easier on the Argentine tongue than Nick).

Spanish classes with Ariel and Diego.

I explored a barrio of the city with my friends Toni and John. Abasto is the birthplace of tango. The father of tango, Carlos Gardel, has his smiling face painted on edifices all over this district:

Lectures on Argentine social movements and Argentine music traditions.

Tango classes with Sofia and Guille. Laura y yo tearing up the dance floor:

Visit to a giant food bank, where we spent the morning volunteering and were rewarded with a delicious meal.

Fun and delicious meals in Argentine restaurants with my compañeros. What a great group.

Visited Comedor Caritas, a dining hall for poor kids that is supported by the church. We served the food and played with the kids. The ladies who spend every day cooking and serving the food do a great service. They also kept after me, saying I look like some British prince. You know, blond-haired blue-eyed males… we all look the same. Photo of Comedor Caritas:

Weekend with the fam

May 19 y 20

Weekend with Marta and Facu. Facu spent the night with his father (his parents are divorced) last night, and Marta had to leave early this morning for week (she’s a part-time real estate agent). So when I woke up Saturday morning, I had the house to myself. I unpacked my bags, settled into my room, had some breakfast, and cleaned up.

Around noon Facu got back and we went to walk around the neighborhood. He gave me a great tour and we grabbed hotdogs on the way back to the apartment. Besides that it was a lazy day. I spent a lot of time reading and working to catch up on this journal. I’m reading “What a Party!” by Terry McAuliffe, the former chair of the DNC. It’s a fun book, full of hard-to-believe anecdotes from a man who’s spent his life hobnobbing with the biggest names in politics.

In the late afternoon, Marta returned home from work. She made a tasty dinner of beef and tomato salad. We all chatted a while afterward.

On Sunday, I woke up pretty early and went for a run in the park. When I got back, Marta was making pancakes. We had talked yesterday about the differences in food in the U.S. and Argentina. In Argentina, breakfast is not an important meal – Argentines eat very little in the morning, and often skip breakfast all together. I made a big deal about how in the U.S. (or at least in the Anderson house), we have a big breakfast on the weekends of eggs or pancakes or something like that.

To treat me, Marta had figured out a patchwork pancake recipe this morning. I ran to the corner store to pick up bananas. And the night before I had given her and Facu a little bottle of maple syrup as a gift from back home. The pancakes turned out pretty well and we enjoyed them this morning. Marta didn’t eat them, but I think she felt really good about doing a little something for me to make me feel at home. Afterward, I cleaned up the kitchen from the past few days. Everyone started pitching in. Washing and drying dishes, sweeping the floor, folding laundry, that sort of thing. It was a nice little circle of family teamwork, and everyone was feeling really good. Call me crazy, but I really think that doing chores is both important and therapeutic – it gets everyone feeling like they have a stake in the household, and like they’re giving back to everyone around them. When everyone pitches in on their own accord, it’s like a little circle of good feelings.

This afternoon, I read some from my book and wandered around the neighborhood. I found a locutorio (internet café and telephone plaza), where I called home for the first time. It was great to check in with everyone, it sounds like they’ve had a busy but really exciting past week with events going on. Afterward, I continued my tour. I walked past a nice looking restaurant with outdoor tables. Hungry, I decided to check it out. I had a nice late lunch of empanadas de carne y jamon and a liquado de bananas. The service was as slow as an Argentine snail, but I enjoyed myself watching the foot traffic. The restaurant was right on the busy corner of the park. I don’t go out to eat solo very often, so this was a good experience. I took my time and enjoyed the smells and sights of Argentina, and imagined what it would be like to live in capitals all over the Latin world.

So that wraps up my first weekend at 1265 Santander. (Santander is the name of the street.) I like Marta a lot (we had some good discussions, and she speaks slowly and clearly). Facu’s nice and has a good job making me feel welcome. This afternoon, two of his friends came over. They were very nice and I spent time watching a movie with them. My room (and bed) is very comfortable. And it’s like they knew me before I even arrived – the room has a nice big desk! What more could I ask for?

This evening I went out with Facu and his friend Agostina. We took a colectivo 26 (bus 26) to a big shopping mall in Buenos Aires. We shopped around and I bought a cell phone (call me at 00-54-15-6869-5473). Then we wandered around the barrio a bit, dropped Agostina off at her apartment, and Facu and I hit up McDonald’s for some dinner. McD’s is one of the few American chains I’ve run into around here, and it seems a bit more upscale than back home. It’s still a bargain, but since it’s American it’s got a certain air of sophistication. And plus the beef is from Argentina, which makes it worthwhile.

Long colectivo ride back to Santander. So wraps up the weekend.

Here’s a photo of my room and then of the Aguilar kitchen:

And the Buenos Aires adventure begins!

May 18

Wake up, pack up, eat up, leave. Bus to Buenos Aires. Finish reading “The Thumpin’”

Arrive at The Language Experience (TLE) office in downtown Buenos Aires. Hustled off the bus. Longish orientation session by Adriana about the homestays. Lunchtime. Steak sandwiches and empanadas. Martín arrives. We head off with him and Valentina for a tour of the city. We take the subway. There was a crippling subway strike the day before, so today the subways are free for everyone to apologize. We visit Plaza de San Martín, the liberator of Chile, Bolivia, Peru, and Argentina.

Lots of construction everywhere because the city elections are approaching:

Cool trees in the park around Plaza de San Martín:


Big protest march through the city. At this point, we’re not sure what the protest is about. Photo below. Note Che Guevarra likeness on lower right of the sign. He’s a hero to the Argentine left.


Then to the Plaza de Mayo, which is bordered by the national cathedral, La Casa Rosada (a rose-colored house that is the seat of the executive branch) and the mayor’s building.

There is a major protest here. Fireworks going off like gunshots. Deep, impassioned speaker’s voice is broadcast through loudspeakers, reverberating around the plaza.

The police have erected a temporary fence around the Casa Rosada, and stand ready in riot gear just in case:


The protest is against child hunger in Argentina. There was a long march to B.A. from the provinces that capped with this protest. (Read the BBC article here). This banner reads, “Hunger is a crime:”


It is a crime. My project in Isonza helps fight malnourishment in Argentina’s rural children. That is a crucial component of the project, and it’s important to me. There are protests in Plaza de Mayo almost daily. Protesting seems to be a national sport. God bless the freedom to assemble and petition your government. But there’s more work to be done than just protesting. For me, some of these protests are frustrating. A protest is not the solution to child hunger. Imagine the good that could come if every one of the thousands of people here were to go to work on this issue in a more productive manner rather than just waving signs and making noise.

Onward with the tour. Buenos Aires has beautiful, and diverse, architecture:



We take a bus to Boca. It’s a neighborhood with brightly-painted houses and lots of gift shops. Reminds some in the group of Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Tango dancers in seedy costumes dance for music and pose for pictures with passersby.


The iconic iron bridge over Boca:



Back to TLE offices. We’re about to meet up with our host families. We’re going to live with these families for three weeks. The host mothers are in the back room of the TLE office for an orientation with the staff; we’re in the front lobby mulling about in hushed tones. Seems some kids are nervous about the homestay. The program officers really built up the homestay over the past few days. I’m not anxious.

All of the sudden, noise. The mothers are piling out of the back room. “Nicolas!” someone yells. My host mother is the first one out of the room. A kiss on the cheek and a big hug. We greet each other in stilted Spanish. Soon she’s grabbed my bags and we’re the first group out of the office, marching down the street to her car. I’m surprised by how long the car ride takes. The Aguilar house is in Parque Chacabuco, a neighborhood far from the center of B.A. But it’s easily accessible by subway. It’s near the end of the the Plaza de los Virreyes line. That’s how I’ll get back and forth to my activities downtown.

The family consists of Marta, the mother, and Facu, her 15-year-old son. The house is comfortable but humble. On my first night there we ordered out for empanadas and spent time talking and getting to know one another. They seem very nice and I’m pleased with this selection. It should be a good three weeks with la familia Aguilar.