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From my window in Santiago de Chile
A month in Córdoba has sped by, but it feels more like I was living in a very long, engrossing book, only to find that someone has torn out all the pages past page 30. Already, a 35-minute flight has dropped me off in another country, into a different set of cultural norms, history, and way of speaking Spanish (no more voseo, just when I've gotten used to this conjugation).
I thought I would have time to plan for my time in Chile before leaving Argentina, but the last five days have been a blur, filled with exams, day trips, a festival, two nights of dancing (consecutive, because my friends and I were slightly crazy), and lots of buses.
From the past five days, here were a few highlights:
1) On Sunday, I played my flute in an artisanal fair! I had originally decided to play on a pedestrian street closer downtown, but my friend and our host moms were already heading to this fair, Paseo de los Artes in Güermes, so I found a space in between two booths and began to play. I wanted the majority of the music I played to be from Argentina, but all that I'd been able to memorize were excerpts of "Poemas del pastor coya" by Angel Lasala, the Andean theme I mentioned in the last entry, and excerpts from Piazzolla's "Histoire del Tango." I wish I'd learned more Argentine music! I also played music by Bach and Bizet.
Grateful to Teresa for taking a quick video of me.
Leading up to the performance, I kept wondering if I should go through with it. I've spent the past month recording the live music that I find on the streets, so perhaps it'd be better to end my time by continuing to listen, instead of adding my sound to this landscape. My motives were also mixed: I'd been on the fence until last Wednesday, when I asked a banjo player in my study abroad program if he'd like to trade songs on the street with me. He agreed, so I felt emboldened to start polishing my memory of various pieces.
However, the day before, in the middle of a day trip to Alta Gracia with finals two days away, he backed out. I wasn't surprised, we were all exhausted, but there was a part of me that wanted to go through with it just to prove that my decision hadn't depended on him. Another motive was to cross this item off the bucket list I wrote here before leaving, another was because I love performing and sharing my sound with people, another was because street performing is more common here than in the US, and another motive rose up only hours before.
2) Hours before, I went to a festival on the street outside the Casa del Pueblo en Villa Urquiza, where I chose to do my service learning (which didn't unfold as expected, but that is for another entry). It was August 5th, el DÃa del Niño, so the street was full of families, music, food, games, and dancing — but mostly it was full of kids. Kids getting dirty (I saw a baby pour milk all over himself, the street, and another baby's stroller while his mom wasn't looking), kids screaming, laughing, and getting into all kinds of trouble. I'm not a natural in this sort of environment, but it made me glad that in Argentina, there's a day to recognize that kids need to be allowed to be kids; that this festival was able to transform one street of Villa Urquiza, a poor neighborhood that people tell me is dangerous, into a sunny place without cares.
Though I found myself wondering, how many of the kids get to leave this neighborhood? How many grow up wanting to?
Shortly after arriving, I greeted the woman who runs the place and then regressed to the background to observe, acutely aware that I did not belong to this community. Suddenly two little girls ran up and gave me a hug. I was delighted and confused — did they think they knew me? Later on, they found me again and asked me if I could help them take down one of the balloon animals dangling from a string across the street.
During the festival, it occurred to me that if I received any money while playing in the streets that afternoon, I could give it to la Casa del Pueblo. This got me thinking too much about motives, and about what difference it would make if my principal purpose was to earn money for la Casa, or if my donation was simply the result of the motives listed above.
As it turned out, I did receive some money (thanks to the owner of the booth to my right! While I was playing, he put out a pretty red bag, held down by a rock from a pile behind us, in front of me. Afterwards, he told me to keep both the rock and the bag, for they would bring me luck). With inflation, it amounted to about 2 USD — lots of coins and bills of 5 pesos. I like to think I would have received more money if I'd been there for longer than 25 minutes. Either way, I realized I wouldn't have time to give the money to la Casa the next day before my flight — and it was such a small amount.
So I ended up using it to help pay for bus fees and a small dinner at the airport. I would have run out of pesos otherwise, so in some ways, I'm glad I kept it.
I have plenty left to write about, but in the time that I've been writing, the clouds have drifted away and it's a sunny, beautiful morning in Santiago. How can I stay inside?
During my flight last night, it was too dark to see the Andes, though I would have loved to see them from above after seeing them in Mendoza. It turns out that the place where I'm staying has a view of the mountains, and they are so close it takes my breath away — as if the city climbs right into them. So I will find another day to write about the rest of my time in Argentina, but in the meantime, I have five days in Chile!
