Reasons to Love Buenos Aires

I'm fully recovered from my initial city-shock now and soaking in the advantages of urban life, but one discomforting aspect of the city that I noticed upon returning here a few weeks ago, and which I still struggle with, is the overwhelming presence of consumerism. I spent days holed up in my friend Andres's apartment, where I was staying, because, it seemed, to go outside meant to spend money. Of course, this isn't necessarily true, but after spending so much time on the farm, where I was only in the vicinity of commercial institutions once a week or less, and then in nomad mode, where purchases meant a heavier backpack, I found myself suddenly stable, and in the midst of seemingly endless opportunities for consumption. Not only that, but I also was reminded of how easily I fall under the spell of the wizards of retail. These days, my purchases are mostly of the edible variety, as I'm still trying to avoid collecting things which I'll need to find space for in my backpack someday soon. I frequently find, upon arriving home, that I have several bags of various food items hanging from my wrists. This discovery is somehow always surprising.

So in an attempt to overcome the temptation to buy, I set off the other day on a long walk, with the explicit intention to purchase nothing. With the Japanese Garden, several blocks to the north, in mind as my destination (I never did make it there), I went in search of those features of this city that define and enhance it.

I didn't have to look too hard. As I made my way north, through the neighborhoods of Almagro, Villa Crespo, and Palermo, I found Buenos Aires charm on nearly every corner. Here are the fruits of my latest afternoon stroll, and a few of the things that, for this girl, make this city special:

1) Free flowers! Okay, so technically this one involves consumption, but since there's no monetary transaction, let's let it slide. I had only walked a few blocks when I came to the "flower district," an intersection lined with flower shops, which I had passed before, and marvelled at, but which this time offered an important new discovery, which I think has changed my life here. Though it was the middle of the day, boxes of discarded flower bouquets and plant arrangement lined the streets and bordered the dumpsters. I'd been tempted by these flower stalls before, but, unable to reconcile a frivolous purchase of fleeting beauty with the nagging knowledge of the realities of the cut flower industry (pesticides, poor working conditions, etc.) in countries not so far away, I'd until now gone flowerless. Free, dumpster-bound flowers, however, posed less of an ethical hurdle, and so I rescued a still-beautiful bouquet of multi-colored daisies, which spent the day with me, riding around in my backpack (and are still, two days later, brightening up my room in yellow jug by the bed). Though surely not a feature unique to Buenos Aires, this floral free-for-all is a huge discovery--I have already started walking out of my way to pass by, and last night put together another bouquet to give to a friend I was meeting.







2) Old stuff: Cobblestone streets, antique subway cars, antique shops, old cars, nineteenth century architecture--history is everywhere in this city. Not just in the cute, touristy, historic neighborhoods like San Telmo, but all over the city. Cobblestones abound, peaking out here and there from under asphalt caps, or just as often, on proud display for blocks and blocks, in curved, fanning patterns or straightforward rows. Grand, ornate buildings with cornices and gargoyles and large wooden-shuttered windows provide a visual feast, and, though I didn't take it on this particular day, when I'm lucky I get to rest on the wooden benches of the 1920s-era cars of the A-line of the Subte (subway). These still-functioning relics make the city's distant past seem not so far off.




3) Street art: Again, all over the place. Vibrant, wacky creatures, political murals, artistic graffiti tags--they're everywhere, making a walk through the city like navigating a huge, labyrinthine art gallery.



4) Used books: Okay, so another questionable inclusion in this supposedly non-commercial list, but they're used, which in my mind is different, and I have somehow successfully resisted purchasing even a single one. There are rows of stalls lining Parque Centenario, where I go running each day, filling up a pocket of Parque Rivadavia, five blocks west of me, and along a median on Avenida Santa Fe, in Palermo, among other places, I'm sure. Though I haven't been buying books, I love browsing, and the very presence of so many yellowed, crinkly pages all over the place is reassuring.



5) Verdulerias: Fruits and vegetables are so much more alive when displayed on street corners in stacks of rainbow-hued crates. These I do purchase from, daily even, but also find it a soul-warming pleasure to walk by and absorb the vibrant energy of so much fresh produce.


6) Balcones y Terrazas: Especially after being a New Yorker for five years, I have a keen appreciation for the urban 'backyard' known as the balcony. While apartment searching a few weeks ago, it was all I could do not to exclaim out loud in excitement upon being shown the terrace, rooftop, or balcony. Only after visiting four or five apartments, all of which had one or more of these, that I realized that what in my city is practically an urban myth, is considered to be a human right here in Buenos Aires.

Each day I find new things to add to this list. I haven't completely cured my consumption blues, but at least, moving around with an eye out for the subtle beauty Buenos Aires has to offer, I've managed to hold on to a few more pesos.

Ghosts of Buenos Aires

I'm just recently emerging from a funk that I fell into upon returning to Buenos Aires. Last Sunday, after several days of drifting, unsure whether I was staying or leaving, and unable to muster enthusiasm about the many and various wonders of this city, unable to even call forth the excitement and pleasure I had so recently and consistently felt for travel, for adventure, for being abroad, I finally, mercifully, snapped out of it.

I had been staying for a few days with my friend Kenyon, in the charming barrio of San Telmo, and decided last Sunday, after spending way too much time inside watching movies, to get outside and see what there was to see. Right outside her building is a lively weekly craft fair, a dangerous spot to be living. I hadn't meant to seek solace in retail, but before I knew it, I had found a pair of handmade leather sandals that I couldn't resist, even though the temperatures around here continue to drop as winter sets in (I justified the purchase with visions of my upcoming trip to Colombia in August). I made a brief attempt to enter the madness of the Bicentennial events, set up along a closed-off avenue not too far away, but was immediately traumatized by the rushing current of stroller-pushing parents and their flag-toting children, and extracted myself as quickly as I entered.

I headed back to San Telmo, and by that time it had started to rain--the first real rain since I had arrived in Buenos Aires two weeks earlier. People out "paseando" took cover under awnings, umbrellas, and newspapers, and I was grateful to duck into the indoor antique market and wait out the storm digging for treasures and souvenirs. I began asking around for yerba tins, something like this to bring home as a souvenir, but I was soon sidetracked by a stall with two huge crates of old black and white photographs.

Forty-five minutes later, my hands full of other people's precious, faded memories, I was utterly transfixed. Unable to part with any of the gems that I had found, I finally pried myself away, and ended up spending as much on the photos as I had on the sandals. The images are incredible: Grandma crouching next to four little ones--all in bathing suits, sun-bronzed, squinting against the bright beach sun; two smiling women in the backseat of a twenties-era convertible, their male companion, seemingly oblivious to the camera, taking a swig from a bottle.



And my favorite: five well-dressed young folks, in their teens and young twenties, probably siblings, posing for a portrait. Each is looking in a different direction, and smirking in unavoidable delight at a shared private joke. The photo was taken probably seventy years ago, their hairstyles antiquated and their clothing old-fashioned, yet I couldn't help but smirk back, in knowing recognition of such a timeless game.



I found so many that called to me, for reasons both obvious and mysterious. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman who readily agreeing with me about the power and beauty of these simple snapshots, gave me a discount, and despite the fact that I still paid the equivalent of two nights at a hostel, the treasure was well worth it.



When I left the market, night had fallen and the rain was letting up. I found a nearby cafe, and over my beer and salad, sifted through the photos again, a smile lighting on my face as I studied each one. Beaches, vacations, car trips, family portraits--such typical subjects and settings, yet there was something inexplicably special about these images. Somehow, inexplicably, time-traveling to another time, to the Buenos Aires of unknown ghosts, the fog lifted, and life was good again.

Turning Argentine

One of the few drawbacks to my charmed life here is that, as a WWOOFer, my fellow volunteers and companions are uniformly English-speaking foreigners like me. I’ve had great luck and met some wonderful (mostly) girls since I’ve been here, but what’s been missing from the equation is the Argentine element. We spend a lot of time with Cynthia and her family, and speak Spanish during the time we’re together, but for the rest of the time, English dominates. I haven’t minded this too much, as I feel like my Spanish has improved a ton since I arrived in Argentina, and I feel really good about my fluency at this point, but I do feel like I’ve learned more Cynthia-isms than Argentine “modismos” or slang.

Until now. Two weeks ago, Federico arrived. I was the only volunteer here for a few days, and took advantage of the opportunity to get in some solo weaving and bread-making time, and wasn’t expecting anyone new until at least the following Monday. “A boy from Buenos Aires called last night, and he’s coming today at midday,” Cynthia told me Friday morning, as we were feeding the animals and cleaning the barn. She was excited about having an Argentine volunteer for the first time. A few days later, Maria Luz, another “Portena” or Buenos Aires resident, arrived, and my immersion deepened even further. “We’re going to Argentinize you, Sarita,“ Cynthia told me.

For the first time since I’d been here, I was the only gringa around. Daily life has changed in subtle ways, and I’ve realized how comfortable I was within my little cocoon of extranjeras. Instead of the communal, ubiquitous pot of oatmeal for breakfast each morning, I make my own portion with my black tea and milk, while Fede and Maria Luz eat their bread and pass mate (mah-tay). The never-ending list of possible empanada fillings that had been a constant topic of conversation among my fellow gringas since I arrived back in November petered out,. And for the first time in months, I felt like my Spanish got worse.

Spending time with two Argentine young people, I realized, is different than spending time with Cynthia. Cynthia is used to speaking to non-native speakers with various levels of Spanish proficiency; she speaks slowly, and with a minimum of slang. Maria Luz and Fede do not. I’ve found myself asking, “Que significa?” or “Que quiere decir…?” not once a day, as I had been previously, but nearly in every conversation. It’s been challenging, being thrust into this state of immersion. I’m more tentative in my speech, often following a sentence with a self-conscious, “Would you say it like that?” It’s made me feel much farther from the fluency I’ve been working towards, and at times, it’s brought up a frustration I recall clearly from my semester abroad in Chile, but which I thought I’d passed at this point.

Taking a step back, I know that all of these feelings of inadequacy are signs of growth. My Spanish has not gotten worse, it’s just that, for the first time since my first weeks in Argentina, I’m learning a lot each day. In addition, it’s made me realize just how foreign I am, and just how tight was the cocoon I had been living in, in the formerly American-dominated Casita. Fede and Maria Luz have brought me down to earth from my food-obsessed La-la Land. Fede’s vege-anarchist philosophizing includes plans to travel for three to five years, working his way around organic farms in exchange for food and lodging, and learning first-hand, while also studying from the impressive library of books he’s carting around. His hope is to eventually teach campesinos how to produce their food sustainably and self-sufficiently. Meanwhile, he entertains the rest of us with inventive and no-holds-barred culinary creations, heavily based in rice, polenta, lentils, and whatever happens to be in the Casita (hot chocolate polenta?) and random vulgar exclamations using the few English words he knows. Maria Luz, on the other hand, is using the last weeks of summer vacation from her university studies in Biochemistry to be here and learn about gardening and cheese making. Having gone to a bilingual school her whole life, her English is impeccable, but she does her best not to use it, for our sake (a week ago, an American friend I met in Buenos Aires in November arrived, so the balance has shifted a bit).

Walking back to the Casita from Cynthia’s the other evening, I could smell something delicious in the works as I approached. I walked in to find Fede frying up ‘tortas fritas,’ a typical Argentine snack, and Maria Luz preparing to make a tarta de verduras for dinner. I had a mate in my hand even before I could sit down. Six months into my life here, I'm finally starting to become un poco Argentine.

Learning Goals

Last year, as this trip was taking shape, I realized that the central theme--the most important thread that was woven through all the ideas I had--was learning. Above all, I set out to learn about myself; having passed this far into my adult life, I had become acutely aware that I haven’t devoted nearly enough time to that exceptionally important undertaking.

Beyond that, I was, and am, as you know by now, very keen on learning, in essence, “how to do all the things that people have been doing for centuries,” but which most people don’t do for themselves anymore: producing their own food, building their homes, etc. And as the months have passed, I’ve been learning a ton about myself, without even trying, and I’ve found more and more things that I want to learn how to do.

At Rincon del Sur, the opportunities for learning are unavoidable. Since establishing herself and her family here ten or eleven years ago, Cynthia has dedicated each year of her life to studying some subject, with a mentor or in a formal course, that enhances or makes possible her homemade life. The first year, she wisely chose to apprentice with a veterinarian, learning all she needed to know about raising cows and sheep and poultry, etc Since then, she has done year-long studies in cheese making, bread and pastry, beer and liquor, apiculture (beekeeping), gardening and landscape architecture, and weaving, among others. Each day our activities are varied, and often they include one of these subjects, and if any of us express interest in something she knows, she readily offers to teach us.

Which brings me to the situation I find myself in now. Having come back to this lovely little farm in northern Patagonia, with a hostess and teacher whose goal it is to teach what she knows to those who want to learn, I’m feeling overwhelmed by the possibilities, and trying to carve out more of a focused period of study while I’m here. It’s been wonderful to learn a little bit about a lot of things while I’ve been here, but when planning my return to the farm, I knew that I wanted to have a bit more of a focus, either undertaking a project of my own and seeing it through, or dedicating myself to studying one or two things, beyond just a one afternoon introduction.

Little by little, my farm school study is taking shape. Inspired by my friend Darcy’s goal-setting activities, I’ve started making lists of the things I want to do, trying to prioritize and define each study by determining a desired number of sessions or lessons in each before I leave. So far, this is what I’m working on:

1) Breadmaking, 7 sessions: I’ve fallen in love with making bread. There’s something incredibly satisfying about kneading dough that has made me seriously consider enrolling in a professional baking school when I get back to the real world. We are blessed to have homemade bread every day, and each time it comes out of the oven, it’s a little miracle to me. I don’t even eat that much of it, but I could knead dough all day long. Normally, there are four of us partaking in the making process, but yesterday I was able to finagle a solo session, start to finish, and it was heaven. I’m hoping to make that a regular happening.

2) Driving lessons, 5 sessions: While not explicitly a farm activity, learning to drive stick is something I’ve wanted to learn for years, but which was put off due to lack of necessity, especially while living in New York City and essentially not needing to drive for five years. Down here, a car with an automatic gear shift virtually doesn’t exist--Nacho told me that only handicapped people drive them. I feel kind of handicapped, myself, being 27 years old and not knowing how, so Nacho has started giving me lessons. So far, I’ve had two, and it’s going pretty well, considering I have a deserted dirt road to practice on. I’ve set out a goal of five sessions before I leave. More would be great, as I know I’ll need more practice to really feel comfortable with it, but I don‘t want to take advantage of Nacho‘s generosity.

3) Weaving, 5 sessions: Cynthia has this beautiful table loom, on which she makes elaborate table runners, belts, pouches, and wall hangings, seemingly in no time. She’s begun teaching us how to use it, and it’s become another favorite of mine. I’ve rediscovered my love for yarn crafts, in general, and relearned how to crochet the other day, after many fits and starts, and a bit of research, and am trying to get the hang of spinning the wool we’ve spent our rainy afternoons cleaning. Again, weaving sessions are group sessions at this point, but I bought some yarn this weekend to start a project of my own, so I can get some more solo loom time.

In addition to these things, Cynthia wants to set up some hydroponic growing channels, and has enlisted me, with my one summer’s experience in hydroponic growing, to help her do it. We’ve done some research together, and I’m really excited about seeing this project through. Even if I’m gone by the time the lettuce is ready for harvest, I know I’ll get to see the pictures.

One of the difficulties in pursuing these activities here is that there are three or four of us, always, and most often we’re all interested in doing and learning everything. Cynthia already spends six hours a day with us, so I don’t like to take up her time or space during our midday break or in the evenings, although she is always very gracious about letting us stay longer to finish a baking or weaving project, or to use her wireless internet. She’s always very supportive of our own personal goals and interests, though, so I’m sure she’d be willing to work something out.

I’m trying to stay present and put my energy towards these efforts, as much as possible, but at the same time, I’m trying to figure out what’s up next for my adventures, with a tentative departure date from this farm set for mid-March. It’s looking like I’ll head to another farm, either in Argentina, or perhaps Brazil. I’ll be in touch about how that takes shape, and will put up some photos of my projects soon, too.

PS The photo at the top is just-baked "pan de leche" we made the other day in Cynthia's kitchen. Brioche-y goodness with pastry cream on top.

"Going Veg" in Argentina

One night over dinner at the Hare Krishna farm, I was talking with one of the nuns, Jai Radhi, a mature and fun-loving 17 year-old, about vegetarianism. I think the conversation began when I asked how they make the delicious, fluffy cake we had eaten the night before for a birthday celebration, without eggs. Hare Krishna don´t eat eggs, according to Jai Radhi, because its part of the menstrual cycle of the animal. Somehow this evolved into a recounting of my experience helping to kill thirty chickens last summer at a friend´s farm in Vermont. By the time I noticed the look of horror on her face, and on the faces of the two or three other devotees in the dining room, listening in, it was too late. "Sarah, you´re a criminal!" she exclaimed, not at all swayed by my argument of, "No, but it's better to come to terms with the killing of the animal than to buy a styrofoam package in the supermarket," etc. The nuns eventually forgave me (I think), but for the remainder of my stay, Jai Radhi greeted me (in English) with "Sara, Go Veg!" which always made me laugh.

I had no intention of "going veg" back then. I was willing to forgo meat during my stay at Eco Yoga Park, but this is Argentina, after all. People eat more meat here than in any country in the world. Nearly every Argentine male I've met has said he eats meat every day (and here, "carne" or meat, means beef), and often, twice a day. I'd be crazy to become a vegetarian in Argentina...right?

Well I've been here three and half months now. I don't eat steak every day; in fact, on the farm, we don't eat any meat, but a steak dinner at A Punto, a great steakhouse (or "meat restaurant," as I call it) is a favorite Saturday night ritual. Let's just say I've eaten my share of great steak since I've been here, not to mention chorizo, salchicha, morcilla (blood sausage), conejo (rabbit), cordero (lamb), and ham.

At the same time, however, I've been listening to the audio version of book that's made it more and more difficult for me to square my carnivorous ways with the reality of meat production. It's called The End of Food and it's about the industrial food system, both in the United States and abroad, and its various and major negative impacts on everything from human health, the environment, and the economies of developing nations.

There are a number of compelling facts in the book that have made me rethink my meat-eating ways. I'd say I'd spare you the details, but I'm pretty convinced that these things are important to know, whether you eat meat or night. One of them is the fact that a single hamburger patty contains meat from an average of fifty different cows, and can have meat from as many as 1,000 cows. This was given as part of the chapter about food-borne illness, and the near-impossibility of tracing the source of an outbreak of e. coli, and it made my stomach turn.

The second fact that I learned, which I'm sure I've heard before, but which really hit home this time, is that beef is incredibly inefficient to produce. It takes 20 lbs. of grain to produce one lb. of beef, versus around 5-7 lb. grain for the same amount of pork and even less for chicken. Like I said, I know I've learned about this before, and even tried out being a vegetarian for a year in college. But, as Jonathan Safran Foer explained more eloquently than I can in this article in the Times Magazine a few months ago, it's easy to "forget" what you don't really want to know, and so I did.

So I've decided to go partially veg, for now. I'm going to stop eating beef, even though I'm in Argentina, the land of beef. I know it sounds crazy, and, some may say, impossible. But I think it can be done; in fact, I've even met some full-on (albeit foreign) vegetarians here, and have eaten in some lovely vegetarian restaurants. Like I said earlier, I've had my share of delicious steaks since I've been here. I've done it, but I don't need to keep doing it. For now, I'll keep eating pork and chicken, placating my conscience with that fact about them being much more efficient, and selectively forgetting all of the reasons why maybe I shouldn't be eating them, either. Maybe when I get back to the States, I'll take Jai Radhi's advice and fully "go veg."

I guess this thing won't write itself...

Man, a neglected blog is the worst! The longer it goes unwritten, the harder it is to write. I've started composing blog posts three or four times, but clearly, haven't been able to finish one. Until now! Armed with a brand-new tiny little laptop that my parents brought down as a Christmas parents (Thanks Mom and Dad!!), I'm determined to get on the ball with this blog thing.

So, much has happened since the last installment. In a nutshell, we had Christmas at the farm, which was interesting and different, and fun. Christmas is celebrated here on the night of December 24th, with a big dinner, which is often made up of cold dishes, since its the middle of the summer. I won't describe all of them in detail, but let's just say that there was a lot of canned tuna, mayonnaise, and stuffed, rolled, and boiled foods involved. Here's a picture of the dinner:

I contributed a "special" dish my family eats on Christmas and Thanksgiving—a molded tomato soup-cream cheese-mayonnaise “salad” with radishes, celery, and green onions. While my siblings and I grew up loving this wobbly, salmon-colored appetizer, extended family and friends with whom we’ve shared our holiday meals usually take a polite sliver and fumble over inquiries about the contents and origin of the dish. I was psyched to attempt it using homemade cream cheese, mayonnaise, and vegetables from the garden, and to see what the family and other volunteers thought of it. Plus, given the 1960s theme of the meal, and Argentines' obvious fondness for mayonnaise and gelatin, my odd little addition had never been so "at home."

We sat down to eat around 10:00, and were still at the table when midnight struck. We toasted with pineapple-flavored sparkling wine, and then exchanged gifts. Cynthia had made each of us chicas (volunteers) a personal "Pan Dulce," the Argentine, much-better version of a fruitcake. It's like an Italian "panetone," and Cynthia's is really good. Jenny, Kat, and I (the December volunteers), had made a book for Cynthia, Nacho, Fede, and Sol, filled with recipes, photos, pictures, and poems. It came out really well, and it was great to see their reactions to it.

So that was Christmas! On the day of the 25th, we went down and did the animal chores in the morning, so Cynthia could sleep in, and I spent the rest of the rainy, chilly day in front of the wood stove, reading and journaling. It was cozy and quiet. Which was perfect, because the next few days were anything but!

(dot dot dot)

When I´m not eating...

I realized that I´ve left out an important part of my life on the farm: working. While it´s true that "work" is sometimes a loosely-defined term, with afternoons spent in the kitchen making homemade veggie burgers or gooseberry-rhubarb jam, we do spend a good portion of our time doing activities that more closely resemble what one thinks of as "farm work."

Each morning, we meet Cynthia down at the house and go to the barn to feed the animals and clean their stalls. The work isn´t hard, especially with four or five of us doing it, and it is really satisfying in its routine and rhythm. When the calf is tied up outside, the bunnies are fed and watered, the stalls are shoveled out, the pig has its bucket of wheat germ slop, and the poultry are busily pecking at their corn and vegetable peel breakfasts, we let the cows in, and my favorite part of the day begins: milking. I´m at the point where I can do this on my own, though there are always at least two of us doing it together. the milking machine is very simple, and the whole process takes only about 15 minutes, but watching the milk move through the clear plastic tube into the milk can (which actually looks like what a milk can has looked like for probably more than a century!), pouring it into a bucket, and then using that same milk later in the day for cooking, or cheese making, is just a magical thing.

For the past couple of weeks, we´ve been working on an expansion of Cynthia´s larger fruit and vegetable garden. I remember when she first mentioned the project and showed us the spot, it seemed like a huge undertaking. We started by clearing a plot next to the current garden (which is about 24 ft by 34 feet, roughly). This was hard work and took a few days of pulling out thorny michay plants, and digging up extensive and stubborn roots. Next, we dug three new holes for fence posts and carried heavy trunk posts from up by the house and planting them in the holes, along with large holes and earth. Then we had to undo the chainlink fence and wires that held it taut, extend it around the new posts, attach it to a new portion of chainlink fence, stretch it, and attach it to the old fence again. After that, we started carting wheelbarrow loads of compost, making new beds, and planting potatoes, broccoli, lettuce, and chard. Finally, the new garden is pretty much complete, and it´s so satisfying to see what we´ve done! I´ve adopted Cynthia´s habit of exclaiming, "Hermoso!" (Beautiful!) every time I pass, often out loud. Unfortunately, I don´t have any pictures of it uploaded yet, but I¨ll put them up when i get them.

Cynthia´s goal in hosting WWOOF volunteers is more to teach all that she knows about self-sufficiency, which is amazing, because it´s much more like an apprenticeship than just a volunteer job, and not a day passes without learning something useful about gardening, animal care, or most fun, cooking and baking. We are just as often leaning over Cynthia´s kitchen counter as out in the garden, and so far we´ve learned how to make: two types of cheese, jam, dulce de leche, bread, veggie burgers, empanadas, canellonis, flower champagne, granola bars, yoghurt, and butter. These sessions are my favorite, and have made me realize how easy it is to make some of the things that I would only ever think to buy in the grocery store.

Below is a picture of the greenhouse at the elementary school that Sol, Cynthia´s 10-year old daughter, attends. Cynthia built this greenhouse with the help of some other parents, all but one of whom have since dropped off the project, unfortunately. The saga of the school garden project has a lot of disappointment and frustrations, but Cynthia´s resolve to provide fresh vegetables for the 200 K-7 students at the school has carried the project forward. We work there every Wednesday morning, and it´s been really amazing to watch it transform from it´s state at the beginning, when it only contained last year´s bolting chard plants, to its current status, filled with robust and happy tomato, corn, lettuce, and squash plants.

And finally, the baby pio-pio´s.

On eating, and carving out my own space

It´s the start of my fourth week here at Rincon del Sur. Anna, who was here when I arrived, left on Friday, and today two new girls arrived, and I moved into a tent. The weather has been chilly and rainy lately, but I´ve been looking forward to the move. Our days are full, and there´s a lot of togetherness. With the rain, it´s hard to go for walks, and quiet, solitary moments are scarce. The tent will be a sanctuary, and now, with five of us, I need it more than ever.

Last Monday we decided we wanted to have Thanksgiving, and when we told Cynthia, she was more than happy to help us out. We spent all day Thursday in her kitchen, and ate a huge Thanksgiving feast around 9:00 that night. We stuffed ourselves, and got to eat leftovers the next day for lunch, too, just like home. Here was our menu:

turkey and stuffing
raspberry sauce (it came out really well, and was delicious with the turkey)
grilled eggplant and squash
cornbread
potato and parsnip puree
apple crisp
butternut squash pie
homemade honey vanilla ice cream (everything but the vanilla was from the farm)

It was all amazing, but the feast was also kind of a turning point for us in our food-focused lives here. The next night, once we had finally digested, Aily, Lucy and I decided it was time for a bit of a scale-back. We went on a long, gorgeous hike on Saturday and Sunday, and are trying to take it a bit easier on all the fresh dairy and rich meals (so we used milk in our quiche tonight, instead of cream :).

Beyond just attempting to leave this place fitting into the clothes I brought with me, living with a family that makes the majority of its own food has changed the way I think about the food I eat. I know Cynthia enjoyed our Thanksgiving dinner, and happily donated whatever ingredients we needed from what she had. But as she dug in her freezer to find yet another stick of homemade butter for one of our many dishes, I couldn´t help but wonder what she really thought of our feast. Of course, it-s a holiday, and I´m sure a similar spread is prepared around here for Christmas. But I also know that in general, Cynthia and her family eat what they have--when there´s less milk because one of the cows is pregnant, they don´t drink as much milk, butter becomes a luxury, and cheese is a special treat. They eat fresh fruits and vegetables when they´re ready for harvest in the gardens, and preserved or frozen for the rest of the year, until they run out. Living like that makes you appreciate the work it takes to produce the food you eat, and makes you savor the meals you cook even more. And that´s a good thing.

Farm School and Good Eats in Patagonia

Where to begin?? My apologies for the looong hiatus. I´ve been at Chacra Rincon del Sur, a gorgeous little family farm outside of El Bolson, in northern Patagonia, for almost two weeks (holy moly, it´s been two weeks!?!?). I´m living in a small, basic cabin with three other American girls (two of whom are from brooklyn, go figure). We live up the hill about 1/4 mile from the Aguilar family home. Cynthia Aguilar, the matriarch, is our "boss" and teacher. She´s like a farmier, friendlier, Argentine Martha Stewart, and she´s amazing. We work from 10-1 and then 4-7 each day, on her family farm and one morning a week at the local elementary school, where she runs a garden to provide vegetables for the kids´meals there.

Their farm is basically a family homestead. Cynthia and her husband, Ignacio, live there with Cynthia´s 15 year-old son, Fede(rico) and their 10 year-old daughter, Sol. They don´t sell anything commercially, though with a cash-strapped, rural population, bartering is very common, and they often trade their products and produce with neighbors. They have, i think, 24 hectares, which is about 80 acres of land, most of which is forested. They grow all their own produce in two gardens and a small greenhouse, and have sheep for wool and lambs´meat, two milking cows, a handful of laying hens, a handful of ducks, two geese (all for eggs), a pig, and four rabbits.

We start our days feeding animals, cleaning the stalls, and milking the cow. Then we help in the garden, weeding or transplanting seedlings, or help collect and burn wood (to prevent rats´nests in wood piles), or help with other small projects around the farm. When the weather is bad, and sometimes, even when it´s not, we get lessons in cheese-making, or butter-making, or bread-making, or empanada-making, or beer-making. This is my favorite part. Although we, as volunteers, do help out, Cynthia´s main goal is to teach what she knows to the volunteers that come to the farm. She is incredibly hospitable and affectionate, greeting us each day with a big hug, and treating us all like family from Day 1.

As far as cooking and eating well, I´ve struck gold at this place . In addition to our "classes" with Cynthia, my fellow volunteers are all great cooks and food lovers. With the exception of grains, beans, and spices, nearly all of our food comes from the farm and is included in our $5 a day charge. Ana, an American who is traveling with her boyfriend on a research trip for the goat farm-cheesemaking-brewpub they hope to open one day, is an excellent cook, and has been a great cooking teacher as well. Aily and Lucy, two Bard grads from Brooklyn, also love food, and are great cooks as well. I´m an excellent sous chef, culinary student, and appreciator of the delicious meals they create :).

We have somewhat limited resources, what with this being the beginning of the garden season (only chard, lettuce, onions, radishes and parsnips are fresh), but it´s amazing what "we´ve" come up with so far. Here´s a list (in no particular order) of some of our recent meals:

Spanish garlic soup, squash polenta gnocchi with morel cream sauce, squash apple soup, bulghar-lentil-chard pilaf, rice-chard pilaf (pictured below), lentil-potato-parsnip soup, rhubarb-cherry-apple crisp (I made that one!), Spanish flan, rice pudding, French toast (I made that, too!), potato pancakes. Every day, it´s something new, and with all the delicious, fresh dairy and eggs, I´m definitely going to be rolling off this farm when I leave here.

I will post more, soon, and new pictures are up in my Picasa album. Sorry there´s no captions yet. Until then, Chau, and Buen provecho!

Staying in the now.

My current schedule allows a lot of time for thinking. Which is good, of course, but as I tend, like many, to think too much, I´d like to spend some of that time not thinking. One thing I´ve found myself thinking about is the time that lies ahead of me, and how I might possibly spend it. Will I find a farm I like and stay there for a few months? Will I decide to travel around the country after another month, and hop from Bariloche in Patagonia to Mendoza or Salta in the Northwest? Should I look into plane tickets to travel to other countries in South America?

Last night, Gustavo, one of the non-H.K. (Hare Krishna) residents of the finca, showed Dagmar and I a video of a speech given by Eckhart Tolle in Barcelona. The speech was in Spanish, but he spoke slowly and clearly, as he is a non-native speaker as well. I haven´t read his books, The Power of Now and A New World Now (I think), but they´ve been very popular in the US and elsewhere (both Dagmar and Gustavo had read one or both). His philosophy incorporates aspects of different religions, but much of his speech focused on living in the present, a la Buddhist philosophy. He makes it sound very simple: the past and the future don´t really exist except for in our memories and our thoughts. The only life we have is right now, this moment, so we should not obsess so much over what´s to come, and rather live each moment as it comes.

I´ve come to town today to see if I´ve gotten responses from the farms I emailed the other day. I think I know now where I´ll be headed in a couple of weeks, but I´m going to try my best not to think too much about it, and to focus instead on getting the most out of every day at Eco Yoga Park. Wish me luck.

Krishna Krishna Hare Hare

So I´m on my fourth full day at "Eco Yoga Park," basically a Hare Krishna commune that takes volunteers and tourists to work on its farm and enjoy yoga and meditation. Where to begin? I arrived during the late afternoon on Thursday, just before yoga class, which was very relaxed. I was pleasantly surprised that it was not too difficult to follow in Spanish. Interestingly, though, the teachers here say everything in the first person, as in: "I inhale deeply, I exhale deeply...I put my left foot forward and bend my knee..." Also, they don't use pose names in Sanskrit or English.

There were eight of us volunteers here the day I arrived, but four left the next day, and another left the day after. Now there are three: Dagmar (female--pronounced 'Dalma') a 26 year-old Psychology student from Denmark, and Ben, a 20-year-old Bio-chem(?) student from New Jersey.

In the mornings, we have breakfast at 7:30, work from 8:30-1:00 (Dagmar and I in the garden, Ben with two men building a straw-bale cabin), lunch at 1:30, Yoga at 4:30, Snack afterwards, Dinner at 8:30. In between, our time is our own. We spend it reading, journal writing, and sharing observations and gossip we've picked up about the state of affairs at our host farm.

There are various Hare Krishna male and female monks, as well as lay people with varying degrees of devotion to Hare Krishna, who live at the farm, which they call "Nueva Vrindavan." They have services 5 times a day, which are not mandatory and which are signalled by blowing a conch shell several times. The female monks are young--women in their early twenties. The men are older, but most are fairly young as well. They spend their days cooking, praying, and taking turns at being our yoga teacher. We're not quite sure how they support themselves.

I had thought this stay would be an opportunity to cleanse myself--there's no alcohol or drugs allowed, and the Hare Krishna don't eat meat or eggs of any kind. Overall the food has been very good'-lots of vegetables and very colorful plates with salads, squash, beets, and fruit dishes. However, they seem to be quite fond of both sugar and salt, and portions are generous at all four of our meals--I may be lucky if I don't gain weight while I'm here!

My plan was to stay here for 3 or 4 weeks and then move on to a less spiritually-focussed organic farm, but I may make my departure earlier, and leave after two or two and a half weeks. Other volunteers have said that securing spots at WWOOF farms has been trickier than expected--this early in the season it's difficult for many small farms to take on extra bodies when they don't yet have a harvest. So, I've emailed all of the farms on the WWOOF list, and will hopefully be invited to at least one of them! If not, I may be chanting (yes, they really do chant "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare.." over and over again, all the time) for a few more weeks. Don't worry, though, I'm pretty sure I won't be returning to the states wearing robes and smelling of incense.

PS I had hoped to upload a couple of videos, but it was taking forever. In the meantime, here are some photos for your viewing pleasure (sorry they´re not embedded!)

http://picasaweb.google.com/sarahfbarnes/Argentina?feat=email#5392186269057936898

Hello there.

I'm leaving for Argentina in six days. Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday. It's been so far away forever, and all of a sudden, it's almost here. I feel like there should still be so much to do, but actually, I think I'm in pretty good shape...until Monday, of course, when I think of fifteen things I need to do at the last minute. Story of my life. Everything I'm taking and more is sprawled out on and around the bed behind me. I'm determined to surprise myself and actually end up with extra space in my backpack. Wish me luck.