On Kissing Gauchos

The ship stayed two days in Buenos Aires, and on the second day I went to a ranch outside the city, to learn about the life, both traditional and contemporary, of gauchos.  The ranch had belonged to an Irish family, who did raised horses and cattle.  They had five children, and one of them now owns the ranch and lives elsewhere on the property.  The family home is a museum, showing life as it was, and there were some lovely old ponchos and other weavings.  And, not in the museum, but on the property, are a lot of pretty horses.

 

And, this being a tourist destination, there were also tango dancers and musicians who performed some of the traditional gaucho songs.

Gauchos are cowboys.  The picture below shows a man dancing using his bola, which is a hunting weapon.  Accurately thrown, they can be deadly.

The next photo shows a typical belt, which for a reason I didn't learn, was made of old coins.  Perhaps it's how they kept their money, before the days of banks.

The next picture is of the family chapel, to give you an idea of the architecture.

  

We went riding, as you can see, and the gauchos then showed us how they herd horses and cattle.  

It's lovely here, and in many ways, similar to the Canadian prairies.

  Different flora, though.

  

The gauchos brought in a herd of horses, and then divided them into groups by colour.

 

 

 
 

  

I love this next photo because the horse looks so annoyed and the other one seems to be comforting him.

 

Okay, finally I'll get to the kissing gauchos part.  After the herding, they showed us a game of skill they play.  A tiny ring, and inch and a half in diameter, is hung from the bottom of a strap hanging from a wooden frame.  The gaucho holds a small stick, not much bigger than a chop stick, rides his horse at full gallop under the frame, and tried to snatch the ring on his stick.   If he succeeds, he gives the ring to a woman watching, in return for a kiss.  Their skill was impressive, and after the first couple of rings had been given, I decided I wanted one.  I surprised myself, because when the next guy got a ring, I stepped up beside the field and waved at him.  And over he rode!  I don't think of myself as being quite so brazen, and it made me think of how, for centuries, women have watched me perform athletic feats and offered kisses and more to the winners.  It was strange to see myself as part of this long-time form of interaction between the sexes.  I did wonder if there are ever any women gauchos, and some of the men in the audience were joking that they'd been ripped off, since they didn't get to kiss anyone.  It was fun, though, and impressive to watch.  And if watching set my little female heart to fluttering, well, I'm not the first to react that way.

 

Hopefully you can see the little stick in the above picture.  The rings are hanging from the three straps, but they're so small they were hard to see.

 

Here's my guy, about to get his kiss.  It's impressive how far down they can lean and still remain in the saddle.  And besides, he's cute, isn't he.

    And here are the triumphant warriors.  They all got their rings far more often than they missed.

 

The hats that look like berets are the traditional gaucho hat. 

   I took a lot of pictures, so here are some more, some last views of this lovely place.

Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires is a lovely city, and I wish I'd had more time there.  It's a city of contrasts, and there are many different areas and types of people living there.  It was raining heavily my day there, and so I didn't see as much as I'd hoped, but I'll show you what I did see.  One person there told me that one of the contrasts is that there are areas where the people don't have enough money to live, and there is one area where they spend a lot after they die.

  The area where they spend a lot is the Cementeria Recoleto.

 

It's a beautiful place, a big like a maze as so many mausoleums have been built that the passages between the 'streets' are very narrow.

 

The cemetery first opened in 1821, and has been enlarged a couple of times, but it's pretty full.  Families spend a lot of money to build their own mausoleum, and then they have to spend more for regular upkeep, but people in South America have much stronger connections to their dead than we do in Canada and the US.  The Day of the Dead is an important holiday there, and in Mexico.  The Lacunal, a new novel by Barbara Kingsolver, which we just finished reading in the book club here, and is set partly in Mexico, has a character saying that she can't imagine the US celebrating the Day of the Dead.  This is interesting to think about, and I think it's because Americans have always been much more focused on the future than on their past.  The attitude towards the past  does more to shape a country's personality than I'd realized before.  I won't go into detail here about this issue, but we had some good discussions based on the book.

 

  The rainy, misty day suited the cemetery, adding an eerie, other-worldly atmosphere.  I've always loved cemeteries, love the peace that they all have, and reading the stories told my the headstones.  Eva Peron is buried in this one.

 

 The balcony above the entry is, I was told by several people, where Madonna stood to sing Don't Cry for Me, Argentine, when she was filming the movie Evita.

 

The above is from an area called La Boca, which means 'mouth'.  That refers to a river mouth.  The area used to be very poor.  When people wanted to fix up their homes a little, they couldn't afford to get a whole can of paint, so they would find paint cans that were almost empty, and use the bits of paint.  This gave their homes a patchwork look.

 

The current locals have kept this colourful tradition, and the area is now trendy and touristy.  There are lots of local artists and artisans, which I always enjoy, outdoor cafes, and buskers dancing tango and showing off traditional clothing.

The picture above the dancers is of a butterfly, mariposa in Spanish, that landed on one of an artist's paintings.  It seemed a fitting image for La Boca

Bits and Pieces

Cruising around the world is not for the faint of heart, or the weak of stomach.  We weren’t able to stop at the Falkland Islands because of a major storm there.  Winds were Gale Force 11, with gusts at times up to 12, which is hurricane force, or 70 knots an hour.  Waves were over 30 feet.  While this might have been interesting to see, (but not experience) the captain prudently decided against stopping there.  As always, he said the safety of passengers and crew is his first concern but he also mentioned, as all captains do, the risk to his ship.  So we detoured away from the storm, but there were still high winds and big waves, making for an uncomfortable ride.  Most people, though, seem to take the rougher days all in stride.  I suppose I don’t see the ones who are unhappy, because they stay in their cabins.



The captain speaks to us over the loudspeaker every day at 12:45, to tell us about what sort of weather and sea conditions to expect over the next 24 hours.  He also gives us our course and the current bearing.  While in the Antarctic, the furthest south we went was 66 degrees, which is not quite in the Antarctic circle, but is further south than I’ve been north.  He introduces himself each day, and for the first month it was usually in the same way:  “A very good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.  (Pause) This is Olav (another pause)  your Captain (in case we’ve forgotten who he is.)  He has a Dutch accent, like all the HollandAmerica captains I’ve sailed with.  (It’s funny, it’s still called sailing with, even though there are no sails).  People have told me about another captain they’ve sailed with, with a stronger accent, who always introduced himself by saying, “This is Keptin speaking,” in such a strong voice that they had to keep themselves from jumping up and saluting.

   Olav is a very good captain, good at keeping the ship moving in the desired direction and good with the guests.  Tomorrow Melissa and I get to take a tour of the bridge, so I’ll have more info available for you.



When I leave the dining room in the evening after dinner, which begins at 8:00, I pass through an interesting itinerary of music.  First is the Explorer’s Lounge, where a violin and piano play.  They cover just about any and all forms of music, from classical to Broadway to pop, and guests sit and enjoy a post-prandial drink as they relax and enjoy.  The violinist in energetic, and he jumps and dances and sometimes sings, too.  Then, as I move away from that area, I come to the Rembrandt Lounge, where piano man Stryker plays and sings.  Often there is a music game going on there, like Name That Tune or a singalong during which guests get up to the mike and sing either acapella or with Stryker.  Then, as I keep moving, that fades as the music from the Ocean Bar gets louder.  This is where the dance hosts reign, and the band there plays rhumbas and waltzes and other forms of more formal dance music.  I enjoy passing through this medley, it’s like going from port to port, and the bars are spaced just exactly right so the music from one area doesn’t interfere with any of the others.

The Ship is Noisy Tonight

The ship is a noisy place tonight.  In part it’s because the water became very wild as soon as we left the shelter of the Antarctic channel we were in.  The wind can be heard from some locations, a low howl, sometimes rising to a shriek.  In my cabin I can hear the bangs and pounds as waves hit the bow, and everywhere the ship creaks and rattles and thumps.

But the inhabitants are noisy, too.  The library is one of my favorite places, mid-ship, mid-height on Deck 5, a good place to be in rough weather.  It has the most comfortable chairs on board, leather with footrests.  From where I sit, I can see the waves, most tipped with whitecaps, rising and falling, racing at an angle to our course.  The wind whips spray high into the air, so the windows are drenched and I see thick flights of it fly past.

Usually at night the library is quiet, a few people like me reading, a few others on computers, doing internet, I assume.  Tonight, though, there is much coming a going.  Three men and a woman settle into a seating area on the other side of the room from me.  They speak Spanish, and are clearly having a good time, their conversation active and enthusiastic, but they speak so loudly it’s difficult to concentrate on my book.  People walk through, talking about the show they just saw, a comedian who was apparently very energetic, or about the band and who they danced with.  Crew members going off shift wander by, laughing but clearly ready for sleep, with perhaps a drink first at the crew bar.  As it gets later, other crew members come by, the night shift, cleaning and polishing the room, running vacuums, washing windows.  They’re always quiet, but four men arrive, guests, and sit at a table just behind me, ready to play cards, arguing good-naturedly about who should sit where.

I give up on the library and move to my next-favourite spot, two chairs sitting all by themselves in an area by the midship stairway and elevators.  Usually there’s no one there, and tonight is the same, no one sitting there, but the flow of people seems greater than usual.  Or maybe I’m just more in need of solitude.  Crew members go in and out of a door marked Staff Only, which clearly leads to the kitchen, because they wheel carts piled high with plastic boxes that lean from side to side with the roll of the ship, or with used coffee and tea sets rattling their china clinks.  There’s a pretty high metal ridge on the floor just where the door opens, probably covering the joining of the inside and outside carpets.  Each time the person or persons wheeling the carts have to reach down, sometimes at the same time as they’re reaching up to steady the load, so they can lift the wheels over the bump.  Guests wander by, seeking their cabins after the evening’s entertainment.  A couple walks by, shoulders rigid.  They stand around the corner from me, waiting for an elevator, and continue a fight they’ve been having.  The woman yells she won’t get an elevator with him, that he hit her with his watch, and that he’ll get to the cabin ten minutes after her.  I don’t really understand what’s going on, but I consider leaving as his voice, which starts low enough that I can’t hear what he’s saying, rises in volume.  She’s getting more upset about going in the elevator, and I hope they don’t come back and see me sitting there, knowing I would have heard them.  Fortunately, he somehow gets her to enter the elevator, although I can still hear her voice, decreasing in volume, as the elevator rises or falls.

Two crewmen go by with a cart piled high with boxes.  One sings, a song I almost recognize, and the other joins in with a high falsetto.  They don’t notice me.

Another crewman goes into the door, then comes out, nods and smiles at me.  He returns a little later and we chat, about how he has been to Antarctica two years ago on the Rotterdam and how it’s my first time.  (I’ve discovered that since I wear a name badge, the crew are much more likely to talk to me.  I’m not exactly one of them, but I’m close. )  He’s on night shift now, does this two weeks on and two weeks off.  We talk about penguins, and where I’m from.  He is surprised to hear I’m traveling with my daughter, he thought I’d be traveling alone.  He has warm eyes and a nice smile, is just starting his shift at 11:30 p.m., is relaxed and alert, ready to do his work, but happy to stand and talk for a while.

More people come and go, most don’t notice me, a few do.  Most who do ignore me, which is unusual, because on this ship usually everyone smiles and says hello to everyone they meet.  It’s late, though, and the ship is rolling, which means everyone dances a bit as they walk the hall, sashaying from side to side, sometimes catching themselves on the wall, sometimes scowling with fierce concentration as they work hard to keep themselves moving in a straight line.

I return to my cabin where the ship’s motion is more evident.  Melissa is out somewhere, and it’s blessedly quiet.  I lie on the couch and try to pretend that the ship’s motion is soothing me.

Playing in the Snow

When we first arrived in Antarctica, the ship announced that there'd be the equivalent of a Polar Bear swim, a Penguin Swim, I guess.  Melissa, of course, was determined to do this.  I'm still shaking off the last of my cold, so decided I'd take pictures instead.  We assumed that the water in the outdoor pool would be actual Antarctic water, but steam rose from its surface, and it was quite warm.  I guess no one wanted the shock to anyone's body to be too great.  It was cold out on deck, though, although not very cold for us tough Canadians.

Melissa enjoyed her swim so much that she decided to do it again, and the day it snowed was perfect.  Some friends decided to join her.

In the above picture you can see how much the ship was rolling.  At one point there was what we all thought was a rogue wave, one much bigger than the rest, because a good proportion of the pools water ended up on deck.  The Captain came on the loudspeaker, though, to tell us he'd had to make a sudden turn to avoid an iceberg.  Visibility at this point was almost nil, due to heavy fog.  I noticed after that, the ship slowed down.

 

Ah, my maternal heart swells to show you this image of my little snow angel.

Antarctica

We were very lucky with weather in Antarctica.  The first day was sunny with calm seas, the second was overcast and a little misty, which made everything look ethereal.  The third day was typical summer weather here, heavy fog, a snow storm (see Playing in the Snow) and rough water.
  Antarctica is amazing, and I actually don't have the words to describe it.  I've been to Alaska and saw icebergs in Newfoundland, but neither comes close to the sheer overpowering nature of this southern part of the planet.  Even photos don't really show it, but they're the best I have.  Here goes:

 

  

  

It's hard for you to tell the scale in the pictures, so I though this might help.  It looks as if the ship is about to ram to shore, but we're actually at least a half mile off, here.

 

  

  

  

Icebergs are frequent and come in all shapes and sizes.  Often they carry passengers, seals and penguins.  There was one that looked a lot like a cruise ship, and there were penguins standing out on all the decks and balconies.  I wondered how the passengers got on board the bergs.  Did they swim to them, or were they standing on what they thought was solid land which then broke off?

 

This is a penguin colony.  I can't remember what type of penguins these are, but will fill in that info later.

Cape Horn

In the past, rounding Cape Horn was something sailors thought about with dread.  Known for high winds and rough seas, it was one of the most dangerous passages a sailing ship could do.

The winds and waves were in evidence when the Amsterdam cruised by.  Cape Horn showed herself in all of her mercurial moods, in sunshine,

and shrouded in gray. 

It even snowed for a while, and this is summer here.  And then, shortly before we headed further south on the way to Antarctica, and while I thought about the old square-rigged boats heeling to one side as they battled the wind and prayed to survive, Cape Horn showed us one last facet of her  personality.  A rainbow.