I woke up, made myself breakfast, and decided to head back out. I decided to go to an Argentine military museum. It was very good and very thorough. There had a lot of firearms from Argentina’s battle for independence and even some current ones they were manufacturing. There was also a few Gatling guns. Obviously, I was very interested. What I appreciate about this museum was that it had one wing that focused entirely on the Faulkland War, or as they call the isands, Las Islas Malvinas.
This was an important war for a variety of reasons. The Falkland Islands were a group of islands in the very South Atlantic off the coast of Argentina. They were considered British Dependent territories. In 1982, the dictatorship that was running Argentina at the time decided to deflect from domestic strife by stirring up patriotism. They wanted an easy win and attempted to take these islands as they believed that England would never bother coming to the other side of the world to reclaim them. They were very wrong. The new Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher dispatched the British Navy and after 74 days and roughly killing three Argentinians for every subjet the Crown lost, the Argentinians surrendered control of the islands back to the English.
What I would learn was that many, many more Argentinian soldiers died from maltreatment from their superior officers than in the actual war. Seeing how this was a dictatorship, military service was practically compulsatory. A majority of these men, boys really, did not want to fight for what they saw as a pointless battle to support a failing dictator. Due to their reluctance, there was a lot of hazing and even torture leading to the deaths of many of these soldiers.
After the museum, I headed back to the hostel for a little lunch. As if on cue, there was a protest of veterans of the Falkland War going down the street. From what I could understand from their chanting, apparently, the government was messing with their military pensions. When I returned to the hostel, I was somehow able to open a can of tuna without the aid of a can opener as Oren complained that those were the first things to usually go missing from the hostel. I settled into my room and did some work.
Later in the day, I had a hankering for some pizza as I had been seeing shops all over my neighborhood and knew I needed to try it. Honestly, it was like they imported it directly from Florence. If you recall, that was not a good thing. I got a ham pizza as it looked the most appetizing. It was basically a full slice of ham, on top of a slice of cheese, on top of some tomato sauce. It was very weird but edible.
The next day, I set out to find a computer. The one I had my eye on was sold. So, I headed to the next closest place and bought one for the next closest price. Honestly, it felt like I was buying a new car. The computer, which was still an Asus that would cost about $200 in the States was $525, or in Argentine Pesos $31,500. I had a lot of forms to fill out, including needing a picture of my driver’s license for their records. After about 15 minutes, I was the owner of a new computer. I took the rest of the day to set it up as I needed to do a lot of work these next few days.
I cooked myself some dinner then had a drink with Oren for a bit, telling him about my new good fortune of finding a new computer. I thanked him very much for allowing me to use his for the time being, but I no longer needed it. I then went to bed.
The next day, I did some client work, but had planned to visit ESMA, or the Escuela de Mecanica de la Armada. To understand this place and why I was visiting, one needs to understand the very dark side of the Cold War in the Western Hemisphere. With the spread of Communism around the world, there was a very real threat that Soviet friendly governments (and thus Soviet nuclear weapons) could spring up in America’s backyard, much like it did with Cuba in 1959.
Trying to avoid this again, America started a policy of supporting pro-Western governments in areas of strategic importance in the Southern Cone of South America in dispatching Communist political dissidents. This was known as Operation Condor and was implemented in Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay, and Uruguay. Much like the Gestapo, or the KGB, the secret police of Argentina’s dictator would watch agitators, usually with the aid of informants. If they were deemed a threat, they would be lifted off the street, at work, or at home and taken to ESMA where they were bound, gagged, blindfolded, tortured, and eventually marked for murder. This would be known throughout the entire continent as Guerras Sucias or Dirty Wars.
If one looks around the streets of Buenos Aires, there are little bricks on the sidewalks with the names and dates of people. These bricks were placed in front of homes, schools, or businesses where people were taken in order for their families to commemorate them. A lot of the people whose names I had seen around the city ended up in this place I was now entering.
I hopped on the Subte or Subway and headed to the closest station to ESMA. I was not a big fan of the subway for a variety of reasons. The first is that I am a target in a very small space. The last time I rode the subway in Buenos Aires, I was accosted rather violently by a homeless man that wanted money. But this time, I just kept my head down and made my way to the stop. It was a bit of a walk, but I made sure to note my surroundings so I could find my way back.
I arrived at ESMA and walked into their media room where they shared a lot of the information that I had just done. It was interesting that they chose to keep the compound in exactly the same way it was when the last prisoner was there; peeling paint, musty odors, general decay.
After the presentation, I was allowed to walk unencumbered around the buildings and the grounds. There were two things that really stood out to me.
The first were the “cells” of the prisoners. In the attic of the main building, there were spaces in the floor about the size of a small coffin where the prisoners would be held. They were blindfolded, bound, gagged and left in these uncovered spaces for days while they were being “processed.” However, these “cells” were directly over two floors of sailor dorms and even in one Admiral’s quarters.
The other aspect of the compound that stood out to me was a large room on the first floor in the back of the main building. Walking in, even though it was a warm spring day, I felt deathly cold. This had happened to me once before. I was visiting Auschwitz and I was looking at a guidebook as I walked into a room, thinking I was going into the commandant’s office. Before my eyes rose from the book, I began shivering. I looked up and I was in the middle of a gas chamber, alone. That was the exact same feeling I got before I started reading on the wall that this was the “transport room.”
What the “transport room” was was after prisoners were done being tortured and all the useful information had been rung out of them, there were taken to this room where they were injected with the powerful anesthetic Sodium Pentothal. After they were unconscious, they were wrapped in canvas cloths, then stacked on trucks. They were then loaded on planes. The planes flew out to sea. When they were far enough out, the canvas-wrapped bodies were dumped out the back. Either they died on impact when they hit the water hundreds of feet below or they drowned. If somehow a body washed up on shore, there was plausible deniability for not only their disappearance but their deaths as well.
After, this part of ESMA, they had another building talking about Islas Malvinas, such as their discovery and the different flora and fauna that live there. It was a very nice change of subject considering what I just saw. I then started heading back to my hostel.
As I had been doing everywhere I traveled on this adventure, I opened up a dating app to see if there was anyone interested in meeting and showing someone around the city. I had matched with a lot of people, but more and more of them demanded I take them to dinner and dancing. I do not know if it was a cultural thing, but I felt more comfortable actually meeting someone and deciding what to do instead of being commanded.
I headed back to San Telmo to have a steak dinner at Don Ernesto, then headed over to a bar called Berlina Bunker which looked interesting. And it was. It was a local craft brewery that used ingredients sourced from Argentina. They had many different kinds of beer on tap and the ones I had were delicious. Another cool thing about it is they had a skateboarding halfpipe at the far end of the bar. Wanting to get more information, I saw two young women sitting alone and asked them what they could tell me about the Malvinas. They were too young to know firsthand about it, but they had uncles that served and they said that they hated it. I thanked them for their candor.
I headed back out and heard some music, so I walked towards it, and apparently, the engineering school of the University of Buenos Aires was having a battle of the bands. I walked over, bought a beer, and sat on the stairs in front of a neo-classically designed building listening. They were pretty good.
I walked to Puerto Madero and saw another bar that looked interesting, with a very excellent name, Temple Bar. It was another craft brewery and they served popcorn. I got my beer then took a seat outside. While it was busy, I noticed an older guy sitting all alone, so I went over and introduced myself. His name was Eduardo. Eduardo’s wife, apparently, recently had had enough of being married to him. He had been divorced for about a month. He was dressed modestly, so wanting to change the subject, I asked him what he did for work. Apparently, he was the mini-hotel soap magnate of Argentina and owned an apartment in Puerto Madero. We kept talking and I told him about me, my work, and my trip. The conversation took a weird turn in that he started showing me pictures of his new 19-year-old Venezuelan girlfriend, each getting progressively more risqué. He then said that she was his, but he had an 18-year-old Peruvian side chick that I could rent from him. He then showed me her pictures. Let’s just say that I know what her cervix looks like. I respectfully declined his offer and did an “oh look at the time.” I departed and headed back to the hostel.
When I was walking up the stairs, one of my former roommates, a chef from Uruguay asked me if they found the guy that took my computer. I said they didn’t and that the police laughed at me even with all the evidence I had. He told me he felt really sorry and that the world would be a better place if people weren’t such dicks. I agreed. He said that he wanted to do a cookout for the hostel and if I was interested. I said sure and asked him for the buy-in. He said that it would be 500 pesos. For a full dinner of cooked meats from a chef, $8.33 dollars seemed like a great deal. I told him to put me down and I would give him the cash the next day.
I headed up to the front desk and saw Oren and Brenda. They then asked if I would like some pizza and a beer. Of course, I would not say no. I hung out with them for a little while, watching music videos in the lounge area with them until it was time to go to bed. It was quite the day.
The next day was a bit of an Admin Day. I had a few clients with a few projects which took most of the day. I then headed to the local market to get some more food for the week, then paid my chef friend for the cookout. I spent the rest of the day watching a great film called Veronica Guerin starring Cate Blanchett.
The film was based on a true story about a reporter that started looking at the underbelly of Irish crime. She was first roughed up by Irish drug dealers and her family was threatened, but since she persisted, they killed her. It was a very harrowing film and one woman’s pursuit of truth.
I then headed to the cookout with a bottle of wine that I purchased. It was fantastic. There were steaks and chorizo sausages for everyone. I chatted with a lady from Uruguay as well as a young lady for Ukraine that was working in Montevideo that come to Buenos Aires for the weekend. There was a kind of weird dude that was a cop from Rosario, Argentina, and a Venezuelan gentleman also. After the cookout, and being pretty liquored up, I chatted with Brenda at the front desk for a while. She spoke English incredibly well. I soon decided to call it a night.
I did not do much the next day due to the cookout hangover. I did do some more client work, though. I basically went back and forth from the fridge to my room all day. After a few other things, I decided to call it a night.
The next day, I had several productivity goals. The first was to head to the San Telmo market. The second was to head to the ferry port in Puerto Madero to find out where I needed to go for a planned jaunt to Montevideo. The final one was to find a tailor to mend some things.
It started raining as soon as I left the hostel. While I was walking in the rain in Puerto Madero heading to the ferry terminal, I started thinking about my future. I had two months left of my journey and would soon be home. What did I learn, how would I change, how had I changed so far. This introspection happened a lot on this trip.
I succeeded in two of my goals as I was unable to find a tailor. I then headed back to the hostel and took a nap. After, due to my current geographic constraints, I did some social engineering to allow some of my client’s items to be posted online as VPNs were not specifically allowed for this service.
I was able to get the police paperwork from Oren and as a Hail Mary, filled out a claim with my insurance company. Much to my surprise, since it was a rental, it was covered. They were going to pay me for everything that was stolen. To celebrate, I headed to the Panamericano Hotel near the Obelisk to have a glass of Malbec.
The next morning was the first of October. I got up, and had some breakfast along with some maté. I did some work, read, then headed out to find a hoodie as it was still cold and I did not like walking around with just a think jacket. Even though I was very close to a lot of pedestrian shopping centers, none of them had what I was looking for. I decided my best bet was to go to the closest thing to a mall they had. Unfortunately, they did not have anything either. To console myself, I had a mileñesa for lunch. A mileñesa is a fried cutlet of meat that is pounded almost paper-thin. This one was delicious.
I went back to the hostel, finished filling out my insurance paperwork and some other things, then was primed to head to San Telmo for dinner. However, I ran into Sofi and a recent arrival Tony from Honduras. They invited me to join them for pizza. This would be Sofi’s final dinner in Buenos Aires as she was heading to Cordoba. I took them to the pizza place I visited before. We ordered, sat down, and started talking over beers.
As we were chatting, Sofi asked me my travel story. When people have asked, I always questioned whether they want the long version or the short version. Sofi opted for the short version as she had to still pack, so I told her. She ate, and then said goodbye. Tony and I stayed and chatted over a few more beers.
I went back to the hostel to have some dinner where I talked Alejandra, the young lady from Uruguay from the cookout. After dinner, I saw Sofi struggling with her bags, so I helped her get them to the street where she would be taking a cab to the bus station. I waited with her and she asked for the longer story. So I told her. Before she left, she gave me a big hug and was on her way.
I saw Tony and he asked if I would like to join him for a weekly language exchange at a local bar. I loved the idea and said of course. We walked to a different Temple Bar. Now, the rules were you needed to register with a person up front that would then give you the flags of the languages you spoke. Which you then put on your shirt, apparently in order of your proficiency. I got the American flag, the flag of Argentina, and at the very bottom the flag of Russia.
We were off to the races. We got some beers and started talking as the bar began to fill up. It was a brilliant idea as
1) It is a great ice breaker
2) People seemed to be genuinely interested if someone approached them
3) It is always easier to speak a language in your non-native tongue when you are a little tipsy.
I immediately fell in with a Russian young lady from Vladivostok. After talking to her a little bit, Tony and a group of people invited us to play Jenga. Each block had a little flag painted on it so we decided that every time a piece was successfully placed, the person that placed the block would need to say a word from the local language of the flag on the block. It was fun.
I then walked back to the bar where I was intercepted by a young lady named Luciana that spoke to me in Spanish, so we chatted a bit. We then switched to English so she could practice. We must have been pretty loud because more Spanish speakers came over and asked if they could join us. Then, this really annoying Mexican guy started correcting what I was saying in English. For example, “You are not from America, you are from the United States,” and “You should not be calling yourself Gregorio if it is not your proper name. Those don’t translate.” I knew what he was doing, trying to assert his dominance while trying to lower my status. I joked with the ladies, pointing at him with my thumb saying, “What’s with this guy.” They all laughed at him. I then kept the conversation going, slowly closing him out of the circle by angling my body towards the woman on his right. He got the message and walked away dejected.
After a little bit, I started talking to Luciana and a gentleman from Venezuela when Luciana asked me how I learned to speak Spanish so well. I told her it was a secret and that she should come with me. She said OK and we excused ourselves from the Venezuelan and made our way to a lounge area. We sat down, and I told her my secret was hard work after a big build-up. She laughed. We talked a bit more, about what living in Buenos Aires was like and her job at PriceWaterhouseCooper.
It was getting late, so I made my standard chivalrous offering of walking her home. She said I could walk her as far as the Obelisk and that a woman could never be too careful with a charming, handsome American. Besides, she told me she had an early day at work. We exchanged Instagrams, hugged, and were both on our way.
I had a few drinks with Oren when I returned home while telling him about my night, then headed to bed.
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