Gaucho Gardening

The little seedlings ready for planting

Apparently spring has begun, at least that's what the weather folks say. Though after going from a week of freezing temperatures to a week of 80 degrees, it seems more like we skipped spring and jumped right into summer. That being said, I don't think I have much to fear from any late frosts this year so I have no qualms about planting in early May.

Moving the cow patties!

The soil for the garden arrived last friday and I started planting that very day. It is customary in Vermont to buy the soil from a local farmer who delivers it right into the garden from the bed of his pickup truck. The farmer arrived with his truck bed full of the darkest, richest-looking soil and deposited it in the middle of the garden. After I had leveled out the soil I planted the early spring vegetables: mesclun, carrots, and peas. Later, over the weekend when I could find a little extra time, I was able to plant parsley, swiss chard, and radishes and am beginning preparation for tomatoes, peppers, and the other vegetables.

Mapping out the garden

Gardening is tough work. But hopefully it will pay off with fresh, homegrown veggies.

Perhaps some fresh chimichurri will be in order with my parsley and cilantro plants!

There is a bit of exercise involved in gardening--digging, planting, general full body movement. There is patience involved--tending to the plants and the daily tasks of maintaining a healthy garden--and there is a hint of love.

A little care now will give plenty to enjoy throughout the summer.

Cheers,

Kyle

Vermont Spring

Hi folks,

Having left Buenos Aires a month ago I am quite surprised with how quickly I've settled into the Vermont culture once more. Dinners at 6PM, driving everywhere, silence. Some days I see more turkeys than I do people, but this is what I grew up with so I suppose I'm just a little hardwired for this environment.

Getting the newspaper cups ready!

It is springtime in Vermont, and that means garden season. Though planting doesn't begin until May, I've been hard at work with my brother Aiden getting the garden boundaries laid and putting the wood barriers up.


I've made starter cups out of newspaper. I prefer newspaper cups because, when the plants are ready, you can easily unwrap the cup from around the plant and stick it right in the soil in May. I've started mesclin (lettuce), as it is an early spring crop with a long germination and harvesting time (a little more than two months).


Gardening is a meditative activity. When you first start out the task can seem overwhelming, your mind tells you that the task you're looking to do is too big, there's too much commitment involved, that it's easier to buy the veggies from the supermarket. But soon, if you're dedicated at it, you get to a state of focus, of concentrated energy. The mind calms, until SPLAT! You get hit with a shot of mud. That's my brother Aiden. He doesn't see gardening as meditative. He enjoys the process, the little activities that require hands-on work. He loves the textures and the sensory stuff, the way the earth feels in your hands as you remove it, or turning the soil and getting it ready for planting.

Hammering!

As I work hard, finding inner calm at hammering in the wood barriers around the garden border, he flings mud at me that he's mixed together into a soupy broth in the wheelbarrow. We're an odd gardening duo, and a terribly inefficient one at that, but we get the job done eventually.

Whether you are at work, exercising, gardening, or doing any number of countless hobbies, it's good to remember that the same activity can be accomplished in a myriad number of ways. We all hold opinions about how others perform activities. I think the way my brother gardens is terribly inefficient, but he's also nine years old so I can't hold him to it. I can't force him, or anyone else for that matter, to see my way as the best and truest way of accomplishing the task.

Aiden finds my way of gardening to be boring. We hold to our own ways of doing things, I tell him he can do things more efficiently, but he just shrugs and carries on. I demonstrate to him the effectiveness of my method, but for his own nine-year-old reasons he continues in his own independent way. I can't force him to change his point of view, all I can do is show him that multiple viewpoints exist, and that perhaps another viewpoint is faster, cleaner, more efficient. In the end though he must decide for himself the way he wants to proceed with our shared project, and I must work also to keep our gardening relationship functioning, so come mid-May, little green shoots can start to jump out of the soil.

Cheers,

Kyle

An unlikely team

Farewell Argentina

The time has come for a big change. The chilly Patagonian winds are bearing up from the south and the sunny faces of summer have given way to fall. The sun arcs lower now and the skyline has begun its annual burning of bright autumn colors above the palos borrachos, drunken trees, with their swollen trunks and wide branching limbs now covered with pink and white blossoms, signaling winter. The smell of asado is strong, the taste of mate bitter. The wind bites cold and I must leave Buenos Aires, my home for over two years.

Photo of the Obelisco by Aldo Sessa

For my farewell I would like to write on my memories, what I carry with me now, the lessons I have learned and the impressions I have kept close. 

I love mate in the morning. The mate I drink is strong: Nobleza Gaucha. One sip fills you with the power to get through all the morning's activities. It is the healthiest energy drink, the strongest, and the only one I will ever touch. 

There are many peculiarities and incongruities. Eating dinner at 10:30 at night is normal as well as arriving an hour late to a party. Last night I ate dinner at midnight. Long live the friendly camaraderie in this city that doesn't sleep.  

Political parties bus people by the thousands into the city center for rallies or demonstrations. Strength in numbers perhaps. My street, 9 de Julio, is often the center of such events. The marchers wave flags and banners in support of the communist left, photos of Che Guevara, Chavez and other firebrand anti-yanquis and anti-colonial mantras. It is such a grand show of popular support, yet government orchestrated and funded. What happened to the silent majority? I wonder how much of this is driven by popular will or by the lining of people's pockets.

I will miss you El Cuartito. The fuggazetta rellena will live long in my memory. It's a thick pizza, filled with cheese and topped with a layer of onion. I have never tasted a pizza quite like it before. It is distinctly Porteño, and one of the ultimate comfort foods.

I cannot forget the asado. Of course I must mention that. I say one has not tried meat until they have tried Argentine asado. We can do good barbecue in the states, but the sheer size of the cuts of meat, the variety--costillas, lomo, cuadril, vacio, chorizo, morcilla, chinchulines, molleja--I've never seen a barbecue with all of those in the states. In Argentina, to have all types of meat at an asado, is a commonplace affair. There is a tradition of cooking meat slow, a patient, day-long affair in which people enjoy each other's company. I have found the asado to be more exciting than the traditional American barbecue. It is slower and has greater variety. People mingle and socialize, and the anticipation grows as the meat cooks. Just when you think you can't wait any longer the first course finishes and you devour a delicious chorizo or morcilla sausage, before mingling some more. Time allows for the experience to develop, to become richer and more mature. Asado satisfies both the gut and the soul.

Jardin Botanico

I will miss the autumn and the spring, and the way the cool winds blow and toss the leaves which dance and spin above the pavement in San Telmo, Recoleta, Palermo, or quiet Colegiales. Buenos Aires has the perfect climate in the autumn and spring.

I will miss the many wonderful relationships I have developed. Buenos Aires feels like a second home, and I know that, though I am leaving for the moment, this place, these memories, the people all remain with me. I'll carry it all with me for as long as I gain in wisdom from such remembrances.

But there are also the difficult memories, the ones not mentioned in light conversation. They are heavy and people don't want to hear them unless they are comfortable with topics most people find indigestible. These are the memories that tend to stick the longest. They are the most difficult to understand, and often take the longest to let go.

This city can be cruel. It threatens the senses with images and actions that give rise to the hysteria and fury Porteños know so well. 

I have seen two dogs run over on the widest avenue in the world. The dogs marched across as the wide line of heavy machinery vroomed down upon them. All one could do was watch, as the dogs faced down the firing squad of cars careening forward. Both lived, but wimpered and limped away helplessly. Both stray.

You know you're hardened when you no longer feel guilty about seeing the homeless in the street, or the kids begging for food and change. You accept they have no right to food, no right to your money, though once you felt guilty when the faced you with their sob story and asked for change.

The world is not fair. It doesn't have to be fair. The homeless sleep in the streets. The beggars, always aggressive, with their brisk young walk--they are always young--approaching you, shaking your hand, pretending your friends, but you're nothing to them but what you can give. They only want you for what they deserve, your money.

The circumstances of others, their decisions, their needs, cannot and should not concern you. In this city idealism easily gives way to the realities of the situation. There are too many asking for help. There are too many trying to swindle. There are too many who will betray your trust at a moment's notice if they see an advantage in doing so.

You begin to look at people and circumstances coldly. You feel no compassion for those you don't know, those who are not your friends, you do not look at them, you ignore their pleas for money, that they have a baby to feed, that they haven't eaten in days, that they cannot work. You ignore all of that because people are capable of anything, and any sign of weakness, of guilt, of compassion, and you throw yourself to the sharks.

When those young bucks with their brisk walks see a weakness they do not let you go until they've gotten something. They stick to you like a leach, speaking and speaking, justifying their circumstances. They tell you it's not their fault. They cannot work. They are forced to beg in the street. They say everything they want you to hear, buttering you up for the picking, wearing you down with words and complaints and friendly gestures until the only way to get rid of them is to give them what they want. You must pay them to leave you in peace, and when you pay them you feel more guilty. They shake your hand, they pat you on the back, and they leave you thinking to themselves what a sucker.

Asado in Peruti Village - Misiones, Argentina.

Meanwhile you go home, knowing you were taken advantage of, and hating yourself for it. The more this happens the harder you become, until you're like the rock of Gibraltar. They can see when you're a rock. Your eyes, deadpan when they begin their usual speal, and they don't even finish. They know from looking at you that you're not shark bait, and they move on to give their speal to the next poor sod with a weakness for Christian guilt and compassion.

But then there are the late nights. The blur and rush of people mingling and connecting, all gathering at the asado, the joda, or the despedida, forming new connections, developing new networks, and becoming a part of new crowds. Friendships form through mutual connections, which come and go so quickly here. This is a city of transition, of constant change. It is vast, it is growing, and it is moving forward, sweeping the people along with it.

I am no longer swept along by the progress. I'm returning to slower waters, Vermont, my country home. I will miss you Buenos Aires, but this is not the end. I still drink mate, love asado, will build a parrilla, and will look forward to coming back, reconnecting, seeing those so close to my heart, and experiencing this wonderful city again.

All best until next time,

Kyle

Felix Felicis

As I have alluded to in previous posts, Buenos Aires is not necessarily the best place for getting a fine cup of coffee. Yes the city is full of quaint, Parisian cafes and yes the cafes have nobly dressed waiters, and yes the environment is vintage... but is the coffee any good? In general no. For me the measure of good coffee is the amount of sugar I have to add. If sugar is necessary, the coffee is no good. If I drink the coffee straight, then it's a sign they are doing something right.

They make a killer Americano!

In most neighborhoods in the city the cafes are very traditional. They serve tostadas and medialunas for breakfast, a filet with papas for lunch, and a merienda of common tea and toast with cheese and jelly. However, in Palermo one can find a number of high quality, artesanal cafes, all within a 10 block radius. That's a heavy concentration given the size of the city and the relative lack of good-tasting coffee anywhere else.

The large picture windows offer a wonderful view onto the street

In my last post I talked about Lattente. Aside from Lattente, there are a few other cafes in the vicinity that offer trendy, new ways to drink coffee that really highlight the flavors of the beans, allowing for a more artistic, interactive experience. These include Full City Coffee, Coffee Lab, and recently opened Felix Felicis. In these local cafes you're not just drinking cafe con leche sweetened with sugar, in these cafes you get to experience the soil, the climate, and the altitude of coffee-growing regions around the world. Forget leche, lets drink coffee the real way.

Creative postcards make a
wonderful and inexpensive gift.

Recently opened Felix Felicis, located on Cabrera and Serrano, offers yet another wonderful excuse for enjoying a hot cup of artesanal coffee. The baristas are well-trained, having worked and trained in cafes such as Lattente. The location lacks decoration as of yet, but the white walls and expansive sidewalk offer great potential, and the large glass windows allow in lots of light and provide an excellent view for those who wish to sip their coffee at one of the window seats and watch the city pass by.

I went for opening day and tried an Americano which was quite good, and which had the strong, sweetly acidic flavor of the Colombian beans they use. They don't serve much in terms of food, as Felix Felicis is more about sharing quality coffee and conversation than it is about offering as much as possible for the clientele, and in a neighborhood of expats, students and tourists, this often makes for a winning combination.

Cheers,

Kyle

A view from the entrance!

The Beginning to a Farewell

Greetings all, 

I am writing this post after a long absence. After returning from Colombia in January I had several months of terrible fatigue and extreme lack of energy. Only later did I realize that the fatigue and tiredness was due to mononucleosis, a virus that can be debilitating but usually clears up after a month or two. 

Fortunately I have made a complete recovery, but during that time I made the decision to return to the states, and thus will be leaving Buenos Aires at the end of March. Having lived here for over two years I can say I have mixed feelings about the decision, but the date is set, and I must thus take full advantage of the little time I have left in this fine city. 

I would like to dedicate my last string of posts on Buenos Aires to sharing some of my favorite spots, both the touristy and the not-so-touristy. I'll start with a local cafe that serves some of the best coffee in Buenos Aires. 

1. Lattente

Buenos Aires is known as the Paris of the Americas. It has the French architecture, the parks, and picturesque cafes on nearly every corner. Surprisingly, however, good coffee is hard to find here. Most of the cafes use old machines and the coffee has a weak, headache-inducing flavor that I almost always need to mask with half a packet of sugar. I always measure the quality of a coffee by how much sugar I need to put in, and at Lattente, located in Palermo on Thames 1891, I've never put a single grain of sugar into the coffee.

The reason for this is that they use a blend of pure arabica coffee from Colombia, which they get from Coffee Lab, a coffee roaster and cafe also located in the Palermo area. All the baristas are expert coffee makers, and many have won coffee-making competitions in the past. The location has just been renovated and has a very community-oriented atmosphere. Instead of individual tables, there are several long tables in which the clients--all from diverse backgrounds--can intermingle and socialize.

They do not offer much in terms of food, but they do have some delicious almond and pistachio pastries to go with your Americano or cafe latte. And if you're a coffee connoisseur in search of that good cup then Lattente is one of the best cafes to try. Now, they even have single origin coffees which they prepare either using an aeropress or V60. Unfortunately they do not use the French Press, which is my favorite method of coffee preparation as it allows for a more rugged, earthy cup. But, there are many ways to prepare a good cup of coffee, and Lattente certainly does a good cup.     

Cheers to coffee, the most important meal of the day!

Kyle

Salento, Colombia

Hi y'all,

The Valley of Cocora with the Nevados
obscured by clouds in the distance.

On December 25th I took an excursion with Claudia and family to Salento, Colombia to eat some of the famed trucha, to breathe in the fresh air and to enjoy the stunning views of the Nevados (the volcanic mountain range). The road from Pereira to Salento was lined with telos on our way out of the city, but as we rose higher into the mountains the telos gave way to... well, nicer telos... which finally gave way to peasant homes and coffee plantations and a large species of pine that grows high in the mist-covered mountains of Colombia. I soaked in the view and the clean mountain air, and looked forward to tasting the trucha. Ahhh trucha. 

Salento is located in a valley in Quindio, one of the 32 departamentos (provinces) of Colombia. Deep in coffee country, Salento has stunning views of the central cordillera and the nevados, the high mountains and volcanoes that cut a jagged line through the heart of the country. 

The mirador overlooking the town of Salento.

"The Father of Quindio" as Salento is known--being the oldest town in the province--receives heavy tourist traffic every year. It is home to a beautiful Catholic church founded in 1843, a mirador where they sell "water with oxygen"--a joke due to the altitude--and an amazing view of the Valle de Cocora. One can also find all the typical trappings of a quaint touristy town including beautifully colored buildings, hippies strumming ukeleles, a variety of artesanal shops that sell touristy items sometimes completely unrelated to the town or its history, and residents who pose for pictures in the traditional dress--if only people still dressed that way.

Trucha buried in a steaming broth of melted cheese!

But one can also find the famed trucha, yes the savory, succulent, and satisfying trucha. Sometimes fried with butter, at other times drowned in a boiling broth of cheese and condiments, the trucha is a tasty part of the cultural landscape of Salento. To get to the point, trucha is Spanish for trout, a fish that can be found in the streams and rivers of this region and has long been a part of the daily menu for many of the residents and permatourists.

We dined at one of the small trucha stands that lined the Plaza de Bolivar, the main plaza of the town. The trucha came with patecon, fried and crispy plantain that looks and tastes like a giant tortilla. I ordered trucha hawaiian style, with cheese and pineapple, and it arrived boiling in the cheese and sauce in an iron skillet. Per person the prices were decent, about $5 USD per person or $6 USD including a drink.

Fried plantains known as patecon.

A quaint tourist town with perhaps too many tourists and tourist merchandise, Salento has great options for food and spectacular views that outweigh the touristic everywhereness of ukelele playing hippies and generic artesanal products.

Cheers,

Kyle

Me in the Plaza Bolivar with a girl in
traditional dress.

  

La Novena de Aguinaldos

Hi folks,

The children singing the Christmas songs for La Novena

I've decided to devote this post to describe a little more in depth about the Colombian Christmas celebrations, as they are in many ways similar, but also very different, from those in the United States. As for similarities, Papa Noel--Santa Claus--abounds; as well as Christmas lights of all colors that rival those found in the United States. The lights adorn the houses, yards and landscape; and everyone has a plastic Christmas tree.

However there is also a heavy Catholic influence, and one can find a pesebre, the Colombian version of the nativity scene, in nearly every house in the country.

The Children performing outside in front of all the adults.

In front of the pesebre, for the nine days leading up to Christmas, Colombians celebrate the custom of La Novena. Every night beginning the 16th of December at 6:30 or 7:30 (depending on the location), children and adults gather to recite prayers, sing, retell the story of the birth of Jesus Christ, and all accompanied by plenty of maraca shaking. At the end of each novena, the hosts of the novena give out a treat to all the kids, symbolic of the gifts given to Jesus on his birth--and to the gifts the kids will receive on Christmas!

La Novena was founded by a Franciscan father in Quito, Peru in the 18th century, and has been practiced and has been practiced in Colombia and the countries of northern South America ever since.

Alfonso (Mondongo) with the gift bag.

On December 24th they celebrate the largest Novena, in which the entire community comes together to celebrate with a choral recital performed by the children and a reading by the local priest. At the end of the novena the children choose gifts from a bag while adults pass out steaming cups of rice pudding. 

Colombia has managed to incorporate the bright, commercialized, western Christmas culture, with the older more traditional Catholic Christmas celebrations in a way that is both respectful of the old traditions but also fun and extroverted in a way that reflects the Colombian people.

Cheers,

Kyle

Playing the carrasca--
a percussion instrument common in northern Colombia