March 24th, Dia de la Memoria

Last Tuesday, March 24th, was the 33rd anniversary of the coup d'etat in Argentina (not the only one, but the most significant) that began the "Dirty War", a.k.a.7 years of military dictatorship and uncountable human rights violations.
I spent the afternoon with Vappu, Vicky and the murga at a big march through downtown. Here's some of the hubbub before we set off:
The march was pretty awesome.... I was with the murgas the whole time, so I didn't get to see the breadth of the thing, but Vicky said that it stretched for at least 10 blocks, and there were tons of different groups there: lots of political parties, people with posters with faces of the "desaparecidos" from their town, and of course the "Mesa de Trabajo," (Work Table), an organization that consists in the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, Abuelas of the Plaza de Mayo, and HIJOS, who are children of desaparecidos. There was lots of drums, chants,and theatricality! One murga organized a little skit where people carrying posters with bad things "repressed" all the other dancers, who were walking around with red blindfolds. Then, together they shout "No to repression!" the drums pick up and the bad people disappear!
I was one of the bad guys, "Ignorance"- here I am with "Capitalism"- check out the American flag face paint!
The march was at least 3 hours long, which is way longer if you're kinda dancing throughout! At a certain point it split up, one group ending in the Plaza San Martin and the other (the one I was in)at a police station where lots of corruption has gone on (I heard different stuff about kids even being killed there just 4 years ago but I'm not positive). There is a lot of anti-police sentiment here in Cordoba, and from what I've heard from more than one dark-skinned pal who ended up spending the weekend in jail for no good reason, it is pretty justified.
So yes, I left the march pretty invigorated with all the cries for social justice and human rights, as well as the inevitable call for memory of the horrors of the dictatorship and punishment for those involved (almost all of whom are roaming free to this day, thanks to pardons from recently-deceased ex-president Raul Alfonsin and total a-hole ex-president Carlos Menem). I was therefore surprised by my conversations with a few students about the holiday.
One student, a 44 year old accountant who was an adolescent during the dictatorship, seemed very cynical about the whole thing, saying that the march was a paltry percentage of Cordoba's population (arguably true) and that most Argentines are too busy trying to get by with crazy inflation and superlow salaries that "memory" isn't really a priority. Another student, a late 20's woman at the company where I teach, told me that she didn't support the holiday or the march, that it was an excuse for a vacation and that people, essentially, have a selective memory: she mentioned how the dictatorship was preceded by a good deal of violence from the left-wing Montaneros, and that the military killed a lot of innocent people as well as said radicals because they "didn't have time" to figure out who was "good" and who was "bad"... pretty nuts.
So yeah, I am learning that the stuff that seems pretty black and white from an outsider perspective is much more complicated inside the country. I know where I stand, but it's pretty interesting to hear other perspectives!

Video from the Corso!

Thanks to Vappu, there is now a video of the dance part of our presentation with the murga! I'm the one in the yellow pants rapping in an impossibly thick gringa accent.
Here's the link:
DESFILE!

Way better than "Dominicans"

Me: "What do we call people from the Dominican Republic?"
Student: "Dominican Republications?"

LA MUUUUUUUUUUUURGAAAAAAAAAA

"Volvio la murga, a seducirlos otra vez, sin que se dieran cuenta....."*

One of my top three favorite things about life in Cordoba (along with my great living situation and the previously mentioned veggie empanadas) is the murga. What is a murga you ask? Well, Wikipedia defines it as a group that makes music in the street for everybody, most often during the Carnaval season or other big party days. There's all sorts of styles, the two main ones here being: murga uruguaya, which is a choir that wears elaborate costumes and makeup and sings songs that almost always have both humor and social critique, and murga porteña, from Buenos Aires,which is much more about flashy dancing, loud drums and razzle-dazzle. (Think "You Got Served") Here in Cordoba there are TONS of murgas, most a combination of those two styles. It was my former guitar teacher who led me to my murga, Ni Lerda Ni Perezosa (Not Slow or Lazy). The name is, it must be admitted, ironic, because we have the reputation of being slow, lazy, and very, very flaky. Still, I love it. With the murga, I've had the chance to perform in the beautiful outdoors:In tons of plazas: at the opening of a public library, at protests dancing down the main avenue of Cordoba, at quinceneras and even at a wedding! (Here I am with Barby, another girl from the murga, and the bride and groom:) In some ways I'd say it's filled the hole left by the wonderful frisbee team at Vassar. Like the Boxing Nuns, we get in a circle and do a cheer before we go out, we wear matching-but-not-matching outfits, there's always the debate about whether the group wants to "get serious" or keep flying by the seat of our pants, and finally, it's made up of a pretty diverse collection of people (despite the reputation all murgueros have of being dirty hippies). In Ni Lerda, for example, we have med students, high schoolers and our resident poet, Felix, who is in his 60's and has quite the sense of humor (his nickname for me is "Sonrisa," or "Smile." This is much better than what he used to call me: "The Other German Girl." Blonde Barby had already taken the first spot).
Here are a few of the members strategizing before we hit the stage- guess which one's Felix:We even have a canine companero, Felix's loyal companion Eureka!
This past Sunday, we had our "corso," which means a free party for everyone in the plaza, ideally during the season of Carnaval. It was, of course, kinda badly organized, but really fun. We set up the stage (here is Vientito, the murga's resident clown, trying to mount a banner):painted our faces :
and settled in for what basically amounted to a neighborhood variety show! There were other murgas, like Patas Pa' Arriba (Feet in the Air):
a kids' murga (here's their percussion section):one adorable murguerito who insisted on being in the middle of the action:
a reggae band that played a little too long, jugglers and fire-breathers, a Nirvana-esque rock band, and, at the end, the ceremonial burning of the "Rey Momo"As it's been explained to me, Momo is like the Idiot King of the Carnaval, and when he goes up in flames, it's a symbol of a total destruction of hierarchies, equality and fiesta for everyone!
The only downside is when the wind picks up and blows flaming pieces of the Rey Momo onto the dancing public... I'm not sure what that's a symbol for.

*The murga returned, to seduce you again, without you realizing it...

Off the Ledge

Hey everybody! First of all, an update. Since my near-suicide first post of '09, I have been filling my life with reading, work, murga, cooking things (like a soup that actually tasted like soup!) and lots of hanging out with the housemates, including an outing to hippie town San Marcos Sierras with awesome new Finnish roommate Vappu (the blondie awaiting her mate in the pic)
As a result, I am doing much better in Cordoba! I still miss the good old days in Austin, and it's still way too freakin hot, but am slowly burrowing back into my Argentinian existence. One of the things that is keeping me busy is the search for private students to fill my time and my pocketbook (hey, something's gotta pay for my lollipops, veggie empanadas and phone cards!). So far, it's not going so hot. The following are my Do's and Don'ts for starting your own English business.
Abby's Private Teachin' Tips

Do:Put up fliers in the schools. The less snobby ones will let you, and most kids have a pretty hard time with English here.
Don't: Expect said kids or said kids' parents to call you immediately. They're busy doing other stuff. But they will call. Eventually. Some day.
Do: Advertise the fact that you are a native speaker and have experience with all levels and ages.
Don't: Get discouraged when an uppity Irishman puts up fliers in YOUR neighborhood advertising the exact same things in the exact same words PLUS other stuff you didn't think to write.
Do: Answer the phone, it could be a potential student!
Don't: Answer the phone if you have just woken up. It could be a grumpy old lady with a billion questions you have no idea how to answer!
In conclusion, please let me know if you know anybody living in Cordoba who wants English classes. Maybe internet advertising is the trick?

A Reluctant Return, now time to RALLY

A week has passed since I left Austin and journeyed back to Cordoba, and my only excuse for not writing earlier, dear reader, is that it has been quite the bumpy transition back! My visit to Austin was better than I could have imagined, full of tacos, tea, and TV time (as well as Thundercloud, tex-mex, trips, treks on the bike, tender moments... I could go on all day). All the quality time with friends, family and framily renewed my heart, but also made me as melty and squishy as a marshmallow when the time came to return. It was like exiting the womb for the second time!
Nobody wants to read a depressing post, so I'll keep it short and un-dramatic: the first week has been HORRIBLE!!! I got sickish the night before I left and have been PLAGUED by stomach pains since then, it's BLISTERING hot and humid and there is no air conditioning to be found (but plenty of MOSQUITOS), the few friends I had have dropped off the face of the EARTH, and all I can think about is sitting on the couch with the Loomis ladies, watching Gossip Girl and eating Eliza's homemade CREPES!
Okay, okay, there's also been some good stuff. Friday night I got to see Manu Chau, for example, and I still have a few friends, mainly my roommates, who are awesome and have been super tolerant with my mood swings. Each day is a little easier,work is picking up, and yesterday I got some great advice about choosing to be positive, so that's the new gameplan! I've made a list of goals for this year to keep me focused, cause goodness knows 10 months may seem like a long time, but in the blink of an eye I'll be back on that couch in Austin, wishing I was still in Argentina.

By the numbers

It has been 13 months since I found myself on a plane to Miami, chatting with a toe-sock inventor and feeling pretty darn sad and nervous. 13 months since I was at the airport with my dad, listening to him rant about his treatment by the French on his visit to Paris ("I'm going to learn French and show those assholes!"). 13 months since I surrendered my cellphone to Eliza (and 12. 5 months since she dropped it in the toilet), 13 months since I shared one last cup of coffee in Clementine with Joey and L. Coco, closing an epic season of coffee shop adventures, 13 months since I saw so many friends and family, since I watched something stupid on MTV while I sunk ever deeper into the recliner, and 13 months since I had one last Chango's taco.

In those 13 months, I've kept pretty busy. I've crossed the Argentina-Chile border 7 times (but only once been harrassed to explain what the heck is a frisbee in front of all my co-travelers). I've learned and forgotten Chilean slang used nowhere else in the world. I've lived in 5 places and stayed for a while in plenty more. I've been invited to the table of people I barely know (a decision oft regretted once they saw how much this Loomis likes to eat). I've celebrated Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, my birthday, Saint Patrick's Day, 4th of July, Halloween and Thanksgiving, not to mention 25 de Mayo, Dia del Amigo and Dia de la Primavera. On plenty of those holidays, I've been homesick. I don't know the number of calls to the U.S., but it surely wasn't enough. I've taught approximately 350 English classes and a couple of cutting, gluing and coloring classes disguised as English classes. I've made wonderful friends from Argentina, Texas, Chile, Germany and Chicago, and one enemy from New Jersey. I've read 32 books, written 3 songs (weak, Joey, I know), and become a fan of 2 soap operas.

And now, on Thursday morning, after 13 months and 2 days with my feet in South America, I will step back onto American soil! And for as much as I've changed in this year, surely everything else has too. My dad probably has a few more gray hairs, my mom a few more highlights, my bro some new t-shirts and my sis a new boyfriend. Everybody's got new jobs and is living in houses I've never visited, there's a new president-elect and a Hey Cupcake! on Burnet Road.

It's been 13 months... and I am so ready for a visit home. Stock up the Honey Bunches of Oats, bean and cheese tacos and Nada Chicken subs, I'm on my way!