There is much to be said for thorough preparation. So many problems can be
minimized or even eliminated with prior planing and thoughtful research,
making the entire undertaking more pleasant and productive. Perhaps someday
I will experience those advantages first hand; but so far, it seems like I
end up rushing out the door on every adventure with only my good intentions
intact. For this trip, I was determined to resurrect at least a little of
my Spanish from college; and even went so far as to get materials from the
library. Unfortunately, that’s as far as I got; and I ended up trying to
cram on the airplane. Maybe it’s just as well, since the locals in Buenos
Aires have decided to make a few minor changes anyway. For example, that
wonderful double “L” we learned to pronounce as “Y” in “Pollo” (chicken) and
“Llave” (key) has been transformed into a “J” sound; no one is quite sure
how. Needless to say, it didn’t help my confusion level any; and I’m still
not certain what it was that I ate for dinner the first night. But it was
good!
Languages are such a pain. Not only because there are so darn many of them
that you are guaranteed to be unable to communicate with a fairly large
segment of the world’s population, however many you might be fluent in, but
there are so many thoughts and feelings which are almost impossible to
describe in any of them. While it was source of amusement to many with
whom I tried to talk in Buenos Aires when I would interject words or phrases
from some other language into a conversation, I personally found it very
frustrating. And now, as I sit here trying to share what the experience was
like for me, I am finding even my English insufficient to the task.
However, since I still haven’t mastered telepathy, I guess it will have to
suffice. I hope you can make some sense from it.
So, the burning question on everyone’s mind: does the water in the sink
really drain backwards? Yes, it does; though I was there for three days
before I remembered to look. I found many other things much more
noticeable: the sun shining from the North, for example, and the fact that
it was Winter! I know; what kind of fool goes to Buenos Aires when it’s
cold? An oboe-playing fool, I guess. Buenos Aires is actually located
about as far south of the Equator as Atlanta is to the north; so while they
claim in all the tourist pamphlets that it never ever snows, it did get
below 40 degrees F. while I was there. Which is a very good thing, since I
would not want to see the effects of ice and snow on this city. When I
lived in Atlanta, I used to make fun of the locals because once or twice
every winter, we would get a few snow flurries and everyone would freak out.
Schools and government would shut down, the radio would warn people to
remain indoors, and hundreds of people would drive off the road or into each
other because they didn’t have a clue as to how one drives on ice or snow.
Well, I shudder when I think of what might happen in Buenos Aires. First of
all, you must know that it shares many characteristics in common with New
York City: there are millions of cars. Mostly cheap Japanese or European
diesels in terrible condition (making the air quality terrible – several
days my eyes could not tolerate contact lenses), and driven on roads either
barely wide enough to accommodate a bicycle or seven lanes across. In each
direction. With a monument in the middle; so if you didn’t get killed
trying to cross the first seven, there is a place to catch your breath
before attempting the second. (Though unlike New York, almost one of every
three cars is a taxi; and their sitting around all day with their motors
running might have something to do with the pollution being so bad.) Also
like NYC, the buildings are very tall and built right up to the street; so
you can’t see around corners. And of course, they too drive as if by demons
possessed. It was difficult enough trying to figure out how any of them
survived to adulthood as it is; I can’t begin to imagine what carnage would
be wrecked by the addition of snow and ice!
However, if you survive the streets, Buenos Aires has many wonderful
charms. There is a huge exodus from the city Friday after work, so the
traffic (and air quality) are vastly improved on the weekends. There are
also large parks within the city, complete with special areas for dogs and
special containers for that which they leave behind. Many of the historical
buildings and neighborhoods I found most beautiful, especially ones
discovered by accident. I had played hooky Sunday morning to visited the
antique markets in San Thelmo, and managed to catch the right bus going the
wrong direction when I was ready to leave. Being too cheap to just get off
once I admitted that I had made an error, I rode on out to La Boca – the
mouth of La Plata river where the old Genoan community of El Caminito was
founded. It turned out to be a lot of fun. Strapped for paint (or so the
story goes), they used whatever they could “procure” from the ships;
resulting in a neighborhood which resembled a brightly-colored patchwork
quilt more than anything else I can think of. It was here that the
once-disreputable but now omnipresent Tango was first conceived; and while
it was fun to watch the first few days, by the time I left I was showing
distinct signs of the dreaded “La Cumprasita” fatigue. These are a dancing
people, however, and even when the dance halls closed at five or six in the
morning they were still going strong. They also eat pretty well. Being the
grandson of a Texas rancher, I know this will sound like heresy; but when I
discovered carne assado (grilled Argentine beef), I was done for. So tender
it would melt in my mouth; so juicy and full of flavor one could drown. A
small table grill covered with more meat than even I could eat, a huge salad
and some local red wine came to about $12.00. (Everything else in Bs. As
was quite expensive, however.) And best of all, the people were very
accepting and friendly. I’ve kind of gotten used to the German coolness
towards strangers, and the Latin outgoingness and warmth I found quite
refreshing. If only I could understand what they were saying!
You may have begun to wonder at this point if I ever made it to any of the
convention events at all, with so many distractions so close at hand. As a
matter of fact, with the exception of my travels on Sunday, I spent the
better part of every day immersed in oboe-related affairs. From 10:00 until
15:00 was spent in the convention center, trying out all the new instruments
and attending master classes, lectures, and performances by soloists and
small ensembles from all over the world. There was of course a far greater
degree of participation from Latin-American countries than ever before, and
not quite so many from the U.S.; but I don’t think the quality was any less.
From 16:00 until midnight were the large concerts, held in several
wonderful old halls and featuring a line-up that read like a who’s-who in
the double reed world. (Laurent Lefevre rocks, but Alex Klein rules!) So
while I would be hard pressed to say whether the city or the conference
presented the greater attraction, I’ll be feeding off the inspiration from
them both for some time to come. At least until Christmas. Strangely
enough, since I got home, Buenos Aires has popped up on CNN no less than
three times; once showing excerpts from a concert Daniel Barenboem gave in
the Teatro Colon right after we left.
Still, there remain several unanswered questions I’m pondering: Why do so
many more members International Double Reed Society have last names starting
with O-Z than A-N? My line at registration was fully twice as long as the
other one, and the division was already skewed. Perhaps all those years at
the back of the classroom warped our fragile little minds. Then there’s the
matter of currency: almost all prices in Argentina are listed in dollars! I
know that the Peso is tied to the dollar (1$=1AP), but I’ve never in all my
travels been in a country where the local automated teller machines give out
a foreign currency. Weird. Other burning issues: where do they hide the
toilet paper in the Teatro Colon, and why? What kind of person owns his own
Baryton Oboe? And just what is it that everyone is copying in the hundreds
of copy centers in Buenos Aires? There were almost as many of them as
taxis. Answers to these and other burning issues to follow. Maybe.