first impressions

there is no ocean, no river, no mountain to strangle or retain its growth in one direction or another. it stretches on a plane block by block with subtle assents and descents reminding one of the mountains that lie farther west, a range running diagonal to the Andes, but independent of them, on the surface. these slight hills are a tease. i want mountain, river, ocean...that drastic stop. the excuse. the reason. the because.

i lied. there is a river and steel that bridges across concrete, grass, an inner concrete funnel guiding the waters of the .....along. think LA with its multiple concrete rivers. think the Thames, and know: that is not what i see.

there is also a stream, i should mention. it also rolls over a concrete bed, but it has the privelege of passing under a canopy of trees and high rise apartments. this is the Cañada in the city's center. it is the little sister with a grand title and placement unaware of the expectations surrounding her. there might be seasons of flooding causing her to rise as her tall cage of white brick evidences. but, her, a threat? it is as if the city planners in their looking to the great cities of Buenos Aires, Vienna, Paris and their cooresponding water ways (Río de La Plata, the Danube, and the Seine)and felt obliged to encase their waters, al biet a stream, in rock and line it with trees whose roots can not drink of the waters it shadows.

i sit at a café along its "banks" and i sense that i might be some where, somewhere known with out explanation, but no. this is is a city growing up in the image of many other cities. maybe if i hadn´t come through buenos aires, i would have identified the tall, red brick apartments as endemic to córdoba. if i had come from Sao Paulo, i would have deemed them borrowed from the brazilians. maybe, if i hadn't lived in Río Dulce, I would not interpret the green as dim.

the arquitecture is layered. the colonial era preserves alongside art deco(the first and the second wave) and all that comes between. one plaza is a world heritage site while the city park has a man-made lake, ducks, geese, burnt grass, the norm.

but my question: why here? why a city here with little water, a dry climate in the interior of the country without extraordinary soil or mining? I asked, the one question i allowed myself before writing this. Answer: a stopping place between Lima, Potosi and Buenos Aires, between one coast and another, between silver and port. and so, this stopping place has become the American Capital of Culture, thus named in 2006, but nobody talks of that.

i walked the city today from the west end of the center where i had lunch with cecilia and her grandfather to the southern end near the university where the municiple theatre rests. on this 35 minute jaunt, i jotted down only two free cultural events (western philosophy courses and an introduction to chinese thought at different venues) when i could have made note of 13 free seminars, conferences, talks, workshops, etc.. and for a small price there are more.

at the municiple theatre i will see another film by john cassavetes. 5 pesos (US$1.25) per film. "Culture" is cheap here. Pop culture is the more expensive alternative.

it is culture of "advanced civilizations" where stray dogs lay their fat bodies in the middle of sidewalks undazed by the foot traffic stepping over or around them. they do not cower nor do they whimper. here, (most) humans are not so beaten down so they do not beat down upon other beings who have been taught silence is survival. here there is lots of writing, filming, designing of buildings, buying and selling of leather and land and boxed caverns in the air. there is little weaving, little sanding of coconut shells or sawing of bamboo stalks.

here, i am not impressed witht the exotic, with the abundance of bodies buzzing in the informal market economy. here, the busses beep out an automated ticket for you. they don't take your money. they take tokens. they are a public service so they have no need to race performing hare kare manouvers with your life aboard to get one more customer, to do one more run before night fall. here, if you are not at the bus stop, they won't pick you up. here, at the bus stops, people for lines and do not push to board. however, neither here nor there do schedules exist for these inner city drivers.

what i have been impressed with most since i have been in argentina, is the friendliness and sense of saftey. los argentinos son encantadores (argintineans are enchanting)is my new slogan. i say it so often to explain simple expressions of kindness that it has taken an ironic tone. Yesterday I joked, los argentinos son encantadores, they are going to find me the New York Times supplement and bring it to my doorstep with out charge. They do it,supposedly, for a gentleman in the neighboorhood, why not for me? A remnant of the small town life of old spain and rural italy that emanates even in the closing of downtown shops from early, saturday afternoon until late, monday morning. only to be shut again, in many areas, for the afternoon siesta. supposedly the workers of the Disco, a chain of supermarkets open on sundays, run add campaigns saying that they too have the right to spend sunday`s with their families. however, if they do work they are well compensated: paid as a holiday and given a paid day off when they desire.

my narrow experience, less than a month in the country, has revealed a people not so initially guarded as guatemaleans and mexicans can be. neither a recent history of civil war nor an inferiority complex toward north americans and europeans plagues them.

to some of the older generation, seeing the policeman or woman on the bus not patrolling, but going to or from work like the others, can cause tension for the memories of dictators and military uprisings. to others, the police are to be spat on while entering soccer games or to insult if they even try to assert control over them. their force is laughable, some opine.

the movie ended at 8:30 and i thought that on this night of a sunday, easter holiday, a day when most of the center slept, i would be released to empty night streets and i would walk briskly to the bus station fretting until safe on the bus. but no, the closed bars were now filled with drinkers of espressos and quilsmer. the internet spots, closed for days were now welcoming people to reconnect. the night is to live.

here, nightfall does not force its citizen off the streets into their homes.

here, i am beginning to make my/another home.

cordoba
april 2009